49. Lourdes
Lourdes
We arrive on the roof of the Aurelian, where Ares is hosting the New Year’s Eve party like it’s the turn of the century. I guess for him, it is. And for other mafia families.
There will be a new power structure. Syndicates will now be recognized as single heads of all the families in the United States instead of smaller families running different cities.
Ares and his brothers are in a unique position with only one Greek family operating out of Los Angeles.
Atlas returned with that unruly leader’s head in a bag and a sworn oath from his commanders that Ares is their new king.
He presses a kiss to my forehead and leaves me under a string of lights to speak to his brothers about extra security for the guest list. Daria comes up beside me. She looks regal in her black pantsuit, her silver hair glinting under the lights.
“Don’t be too hard on Ares. He’s doing the best he can.” She takes a sip of her cocktail.
“Did you work for Alexander this way?”
Daria scoffs, “No. Or the man wouldn’t be dead. He didn’t listen to many people. Ares being one of them.”
“I saw pictures of them in Santorini. They didn’t look like they were close.”
“This is a rough life. It’s hard to be close to anyone.”
That startles me. What am I signing up for? I look down at my ring. It’s unbelievably beautiful, but what’s the point without love?
I catch a shadow coming toward me, and I look up to see Ares making his way over.
I hate how attracted to him I am. How he steals my breath.
I know he cares about me. And I know it’s beyond whatever power my father’s secrets are to him and how he can use them against the Bratva.
I see the way he looks at me. How he touches me and kisses me.
How he broke down in the penthouse earlier.
Ares never asks anyone what it will take. He just takes.
He approaches me now with his arm around a beautiful woman. My heart rate spikes, finally seeing the punch line to all of this. I’m for show, and she’s his mistress. But a tall man with auburn hair steps in pace with them, and he takes her hand from Ares.
“Lourdes, this is my sister Ava and her husband, Griffin Quinlan.” Ares takes his place beside me.
Relief burns away the shame of how I immediately hated this woman.
I put on a smile, as I’ve done with all my royal duties. “It’s wonderful to meet you. And I’m sorry about your brother Alexander.”
“That’s very sweet of you.” Ava cups both my hands. “We couldn’t believe it when Ares told us the news. You’re getting married.”
“Congratulations,” Griffin says, his Irish accent tickling something inside me.
It’s not an accent I hear often. I glance over his shoulder and see a group of men who look like Griffin, all with beautiful women. A dark-haired woman, a blonde with elaborate braids, and a pretty redhead.
I recall Ares telling me that he arranged Ava and Griffin’s marriage, but they look crazy about each other now.
“The king takes a queen,” Griffin adds with a smile for me.
“I’m the God of War,” Ares says with a growl. “That makes her my goddess.”
I don’t know if they know I was married before. Or that my husband was part of the organization that Griffin’s cousin and his top commanders took out the day after Christmas. Ares made sure to tell me that bloodbath had nothing to do with us, but it was never David’s boss who wanted me.
I am still under strict protection.
From the Bratva.
“Thank you,” I say to Ava. “It’s sudden. I know.”
“You don’t have to explain to them.” Ares presses his lips to my forehead.
“Do you want me to ask Sabine if you can get married at The Sterling hotel like we did?” Griffin offers, holding his wife by the waist.
“Ava slit a man’s throat at your wedding,” Ares says without moving a muscle in his handsome face. “I don’t see your sister hosting any more Zervas weddings.”
My extremities go cold. She slit a man’s throat? At her wedding? My God, what am I getting myself into with this family?
“Enjoy the party,” Ares says, his hand on my waist. “I want to show off my future wife to my guests.”
The other guests I meet are Fortune 500 CEOs, local politicians, a celebrity surgeon, a Michelin Star chef, a hockey team owner, and a cardinal.
Not a bird. An actual cardinal priest.
Shaking the hand of the president of Harvard didn’t really do it for me after that.
As we walk up to the other members of Griffin’s family, Daria steps in front of us with an anxious look on her face.
“We have a situation.” She removes an envelope from her jacket. “Atlas found this a few minutes ago. He and Ambrose are waiting for you by the elevators.”
My stomach drops, thinking Ares is going to leave me alone on New Year’s Eve. Before midnight. But he’s been planning this event for months. All the late nights were to unveil his new center of power, and now he’s leaving to hop on some crisis?
Then I look at him reading what Daria handed him, and his lips curl into a snarl.
“What is it?” I ask.
Ares ignores me and says, “Where are—”
“Dead,” Daria responds with little emotion, or she’s just trying to hold it together.
“Who’s dead?” I ask, holding my stomach.
No, not my sister. Daria wouldn’t look like she’s ready to throw up over my sister. She’s never even met her.
Also ignoring me, Daria keeps talking to Ares. “I have the extra security we hired for the event herding the guests toward the east railing to watch the fireworks.”
“Who. Is. Dead?” I snap.
“My guards,” Ares says and pulls me close to him again.
I run all their faces in my head. The four who stuck by me like glue for weeks. “Which… Which ones?”
“All of them,” he says and moves me to the elevator, and sure enough, seven men lay dead on the floor. All of them have single bullet holes in the forehead. “Daria, take Lourdes…”
“No. You aren’t sticking me somewhere, I—”
“Ares,” another man with an Irish accent calls out.
I glance back. It’s not Griffin. It’s the man with the redhead in a long green velvet dress. I’ve seen him in our office twice.
Ares waves him off, not looking at him. “Walk away, Quinlan. This doesn’t concern you.”
“We’re allies, Ares,” Griffin says, walking toward us.
“Not for this.” Ares steps aside to show them the dead guards. “Not anymore.”
“Not again!” Ava cries out.
Again? What the hell does that mean? From her wedding?
“Ares, we know your secret might be valuable to the wrong people,” Griffin says.
Secret. He knows my father might have stolen money from the Bratva.
“No one will touch this woman,” Ares says, eyes narrowed at me. “Any part of her.”
Atlas and Ambrose walk toward us, making apologies, and the Quinlans back off.
Fireworks over the river explode. The sound cracks through me and makes me jump. It sounds too close to gunfire. Even with Ares at my side, my pulse doesn’t settle.
The same man who just promised no one would touch me is standing over seven dead guards. Fear slips down my spine because I don’t know where I stand with either version of him.
Before I can process further, Ares kisses me with a rough mouth. It feels fake, like he’s doing it to send a message.
Or put a bigger target on my back.