47. Lourdes
Lourdes
Aweek later, Ares is at Club Wicked, and a call comes to my phone. I recognize the number as one of the doctors at Sandrine’s new facility here in New York.
It’s late, and my hands shake as I answer it, fearing something is wrong.
She just moved there a few days ago. She took the move positively, especially when I showed her pictures of the new place in New York.
“Hello?” I answer the call cautiously.
“Ms. Sinclair?” he says.
I cringe at that name. “Yes, it’s me. Is Sandrine all right?”
“Yes, yes. Sorry, I make calls to patients at the end of the day after reviewing charts and notes.”
“Oh,” I say, exhaling.
“I wanted to let you know that Sandrine has been experiencing some additional stress lately. I’d like to up her medication.”
My throat tightens. It’s because the move itself was stressful, I assume.
“I will start her on the new dose tomorrow.” The doctor clears his throat. “Can you be here most of the day and help us assess the effects?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I walk into my closet, where Dad’s boxes have been sitting.
Safe. But unopened. I worked hard to keep these memories. Jessica needs to know the truth soon. These will help.
“Have a good night,” he says.
“Thank you for the heads-up. I will see you tomorrow.” I end the call and jump at the sound of someone behind me.
“Who will you see tomorrow?” Ares stands in the doorway of my closet, looking his usual lethally gorgeous self.
“Ares! You scared me.” I nearly drop the phone. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” he says, sounding stoic.
I roll my eyes. “I mean home. You should be…”
He approaches me, taking off his jacket. “I should be at Club Wicked. But all I want to do is fuck you.”
That certainly does sound hot. Looking at the man who will be my husband, my future, I close one box’s flap and move toward him, my fingers already unbuttoning my blouse.
“What are those?” Ares says, pointing to the boxes behind me.
I tucked them behind some of the gowns that showed up a few days ago, ashamed of how dilapidated they are. “Things from my apartment closet.”
Ares gently moves closer. “What’s in them? You don’t have to keep your life in a box, Lourdes. This is your home now.”
His unbelievable sweetness melts my heart.
“They’re not my things. These have my father’s journals mostly,” I reply, running a hand through my hair. “I found them in the attic after he died.”
Ares freezes, his eyes crawling over the boxes and then back at me. “Journals for what?”
“He said they were from his job.” I shrug.
Ares’s normally tawny skin flashes white for a moment. “David was telling the truth.”
Hearing Ares say David’s name, and not in a violent way, but in an agreeable one, is like a record scratching to a shuddering halt.
“What? What truth did David tell you?”
I know they spoke. They had words the night Ares attempted to have him killed.
Ares studies me, his eyes calculating how to deal with my sudden change of mood.
“David came to my club way before that night with the woman,” he says cautiously.
My stomach tightens. Hmmm. Had he left that out? “What did he want?”
“I granted him five minutes. I waited for the bravado threats of a jealous husband warning a boss who makes his wife work late.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Men like David get jealous even over women they don’t want.”
“That wasn’t it,” Ares scoffs. “He told me your father was suspected of stealing money from the Bratva.”
The room tilts hearing my father and the Bratva in the same sentence.
“How would my father have stolen money from the Bratva?”
“You told me he worked for the largest construction company in Chicago,” Ares says, all matter-of-fact. “Mid-West Iron is the largest, and it’s owned by Yuri Volkov.”
“That… That…” My throat painfully dries up.
That part I didn’t know. I had no idea the Bratva owned Dad’s company. I thought he told me everything.
“David planned to hand you over to the Volkovs,” Ares continues. “That gave me two reasons to eliminate him and make you mine.”
I try to process this bombshell he kept from me.
“Lourdes, I need those journals.” Ares reaches for the box.
“For what?” I block them. “My father didn’t steal any money.”
As I say that, I don’t know if that’s true.
“That could be why he changed your sister’s name. Maybe they threatened her if he didn’t turn over the money.” Ares’s smile is sinister. Menacing. “I now have something Kirill Volkov wants.”
“You want to expose my father as a thief?” I bark out.
“If it will keep you safe, yes.”
The brutal honesty makes me stagger backward, but Ares closes the distance before I can escape. To where I don’t know.
“You’re just using me, aren’t you?” My throat goes tight. “That’s what this was all about. Getting dirt on the Bratva.”
“Lourdes, I have been honest with you since day one.” He grips me by the waist. Hard.
“How I wanted you from the moment I saw you.” His voice is steady but edged with something fierce.
“Months, I survived the obsession to make you mine. I held back more than you realize. Even when your husband had already broken his vows to you.”
“Stop, that has nothing to do with—”
“It’s everything!” Ares looks feral. “If I find something against Yuri, I’ll use it to keep you safe. I don’t care if that besmirches the reputation of a dead man. Who they likely killed. It’s the vengeance you deserve.”
The word vengeance threads through me, his voice terrifying. This is a side I’ve not seen before. But now I’m at the center of his thirst for revenge.
“I don’t fucking want vengeance against the Bratva. I want my sister.” I hold back tears. “I trusted you with my secrets. Now I find out you’ve been holding something back. You knew something about my life and didn’t trust me with it.”
“That initial money for your sister’s care had to come from somewhere. And there may be information on Yuri. I already know he has a bastard son who’s currently in jail.” Ares pins me with a stare. “Lourdes, I need to look at those journals.”
This part of Ares’s world doesn’t jive with how I want to live my life. With a tight throat, I walk back over to where the boxes are stacked and shove all the dresses aside.
“Do what you want with the journals.” From the top box, I gather my father’s notebooks and toss them onto the carpet. “You’re going to own me. That means you own everything.”
“Not everything,” he says.
“Yeah, you have my heart.” I back up, taking a breath. “But now I’m convinced, you don’t have one.”