36. Ares
Ares
After my four-a.m. workout, dripping with sweat, muscles tense, and cock throbbing, I watch Lourdes sleep in my bed.
In the few days that we’ve been home, she’s been distant. Each night when I return from Club Wicked, she’s facing away from my side.
But I don’t think she’s asleep. God, I want her so much. It’s driving me mad.
I masturbate in the shower again, get dressed, and watch her some more until I feel the guards outside my bedroom waiting for me.
In my Wall Street office, I step away from irritating reports to put my head down and get my shit together.
Santorini lingers like heat beneath my skin.
I didn’t intend to let Lourdes see that version of me. The island is a weakness. New York is not. Here, I’m precise, and I never hesitate.
But I can’t fucking work.
“Good morning.” Daria’s voice lifts my head up.
“Sinclair’s body.” I don’t have time to waste on pleasantries right now. “Where is it?”
The scumbag had indeed found Quinlan, but the assassin was ready. He killed Lourdes’s husband in cold blood in his apartment. Only, that neighbor of his witnessed the whole thing. I had to stick around an extra day to question her myself to make sure she’d stay loyal.
“Morgue,” Daria says and then tells me she had to wrestle the body from Quinlan’s tracker duo, who Rhys called to clean up the mess.
David Sinclair can’t just vanish. He left behind a wife I want to marry, and I need his death to be official.
“The coroner signed off,” Daria adds. “The death certificate will be filed this morning.”
“As soon as possible, prepare a marriage license for Lourdes and me.”
“You told Alexander you’d never get married.” She folds her arms.
“I never thought a woman like Lourdes would tempt me to change my mind.” My answer doesn’t seem to satisfy her. “I will need a wife when I announce that other syndicates are now under my control, and I stand as the head of the Greek Mafia in North America.”
“Then it will be done.” Daria turns to leave, but stops.
I see her reflection and look up. “Yes?”
“That Nathan Craig account you let her keep,” Daria mentions the account I forgot about. “Shall I confiscate it?”
“No. She has no use for that money now. It was her escape from Sinclair.”
“What if she wants to escape you?” Daria asks, a lilt to her voice.
“She won’t,” I say quickly, not caring if that makes me sound na?ve. “And if she tries to run, I’ll know before she gets far.” I let the thought settle, already aware of the variables I’m choosing to ignore. “I’ll be the man she wants.”
If it kills me, I’ll figure out how to be that man.
“What about the threat from the Bratva?” Daria prods me to take a moment and think about what the hell I’m doing.
I lower my gaze to her. “With my name, no one will ever hurt her. And—”
“Ares, you know very well, mafia wives are prime targets.”
“Not anymore. Not after the consolidation. Heads of families will be too strong.”
“And you’re sure about that money?”
“When she’s settled into her reality, I’ll give her options for it. The allowance I plan for her will make that money irrelevant.”
“Do you have a number in mind?” she asks.
“I was thinking a million a month.” I half twist to see how the figure lands. “I’ll teach her how to spend it.”
Daria’s expression registers surprise, but not at the amount of Lourdes’s allowance. “Ares, was that a smile?”
“Hmmm. It might be.” In my line of work, there are few occasions to smile. “Don’t get used to seeing it. The only person I’ll smile for is my wife.”
Daria spins and leaves. I follow her movement as she passes Lourdes’s desk, and I’m surprised to see my future wife sitting at it.
She looks dressed impeccably in a severe black dress, her hair smoothly tucked into one of her work buns. Outside the breakroom, Wrath, Pride, Envy, and Greed stand against the wall like it’s a fucking perp lineup.
I wonder how in the world she convinced them to bring her here. Not to see me. But to work. Something dangerously close to admiration curls through me.
I open my office door and address the guards first. “Wait downstairs. All of you.”
They hesitate and look at her. Her.
“I thought I needed them,” she says, going through a useless stack of mail that piled up while we were gone.
I round the desk and bend down to whisper in her ear, “When you are with me, I’m your guard.”
She lifts her head to me, our lips brushing. “Because you travel with seven guards.”
“Good point.” I straighten and fix my tie. Then I frown, seeing the guards are still standing there.
I clear my throat, and Lourdes tosses a handful of envelopes on the desk.
In a pleasant voice she might use to ask a waitress for an extra napkin, she says, “Please wait downstairs, guys.”
Guys.
They turn in unison and disappear toward the elevator.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my gaze narrowing.
She meets my stare without flinching. “I work here.”
The simplicity of the statement almost makes me laugh.
“You can’t be my assistant anymore,” I reply evenly. “You’re going to be my wife.”
Her tense expression borders on frustration. “About that…”
Checking my watch again, I hide my irritation that Rhys Quinlan is late. I’m seizing something from the docks, a shipment notification Daria pulled from Sinclair’s phone.
Whatever Lourdes is going to say can’t unfold in the open.
“In my office.” I gesture for her to follow me.
Folding her arms, she says, “You just said I can’t be your assistant.”
“My threat of picking you up and carrying you applies here too, my lovely fiancée.”
She shakes her head and follows me into my office, closing the door behind us. I make her wait as I use the remote to rotate the windows blinds until it’s just the city and us. She stands near my desk, posture rigid despite the tremor I detect in her hands.
“David’s body is in the morgue. Messages have been sent to all syndicates: A declaration that you are mine.
” I hand her the marriage contract I had drawn up.
“I need you to sign this. The only reason we’re not already married is that David’s death certificate needs a couple of weeks to process.
I have someone working on a marriage license. ”
“You’ve been busy,” she scoffs, flipping the pages over. “I wonder if you’ll make me disappear that easily.”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice sharper than intended. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know what he was doing, Lourdes.”
“Just like I’m supposed to pretend you didn’t kill him,” she shoots back like a blade she’s been sharpening for days.
“I didn’t kill him,” I repeat, stepping closer. “If I had, there’d be nothing left to bury.”
Without looking at it any further, she tosses the marriage contract onto my desk. “And you think this fixes my problem?”
“Yes,” I hiss, my patience thinning. “It’s for your protection. We talked about this.”
Silence crashes down as quickly as her temper rose.
Her voice is low and suffocating when she says just above a whisper, “I can’t do this, Ares.”
I reach into the top drawer of my desk and withdraw the velvet box delivered an hour ago. I open it and set it down on the marriage contract.
“I picked this out,” I say quietly. “Just for you.” The large central diamond catches the bright morning light and sends colored prisms across the wall.
“I’m not caging you,” I continue, my tone softening as I circle the desk to stand before her.
“I am fortifying you, and I will not watch you die because you want space.”
She looks from the ring to the contract and back to me, her eyes shining. “It’s beautiful, but this whole world you’re talking about doesn’t seem real.”
I pull it from its cushioned slot and press the ring into her palm. “The dangers are very real, Lourdes. Wear my ring. It’s as good as my guards.”
Her jaw tightens, and for a moment I think she’ll throw it back at me.
Instead, she closes her fingers around it and picks up the marriage agreement. “I need to read this,” she says, and shuffles out of the office.
The silence that follows stretches taut as wire.
As the door closes, I stare at her through the glass. No, it doesn’t seem real that I’m here. Crazed. Over a woman. A woman who just walked out on me without accepting my marriage proposal.
Somewhere between that night at Winterhall and now, she fortified herself.
And I’m the one drowning.