57. Ares
Ares
Irun the last two weeks over in my mind as I adjust the cuff of my shirt, the cold metal of the watch against my wrist grounding me. Marriage is easy when spouses understand each other’s needs. I need power and control for the new direction I’m pulling my syndicate into.
My wife respects that power. And understands the balance in our relationship. All I’ve given her and what I’ve asked for in return. Which is very little. Yet, having her in my bed every night, giving herself to me, is something I never knew I needed.
I was bred to not need anything or anyone.
In a security meeting with Daria, I say, “Add more guards for Sandrine. Dr. Masters reported they will soon begin the transition of revealing her true identity. There could be outbursts.”
She adjusts her glasses. “There are three men outside the facility at all times, Ares.”
“Increase it to four,” I order.
“Ares… What is your concern?” She puts her glasses down on the table. “People never mattered to you like this. No, you don’t send innocents to the gallows. You don’t traffic women. But you sacrifice people who don’t matter to you without hesitation. Do you…love Mrs. Zervas?”
I laugh, but it’s humorless. Love is not in my DNA. It’s never been. “She is my wife, and she will have everything she needs, but no,” I say. “Not like that. Not the way you mean.”
Then, beneath my ribs is a familiar rhythm that’s only associated with my wife. It’s joined forces with the tight throat, the sweaty palms, and a jolt when I see her. The way she moans my name in bed, and I feel like the man she loves.
But love is not for me. Emotions are luxuries for men who can’t govern power. It’s a weakness I can’t afford. Especially not now.
Despite every effort to remain detached, I'm aware of one unsettling truth: Lourdes has claimed a piece of me. The feelings I have for her are getting stronger, but I don’t want them.
That is when a marriage gets messy.
Still, I cannot unhear the savage certainty in which Kirill stated that Sandrine belonged to him. Does he still love her? A missing woman after five years? Why?
Maybe it was the vodka talking, but the man appears, on all accounts, broken.
I don’t ever want to be broken like that.
“I’m moving into the Aurelian,” I say to Daria, closing down the tablet she gave me with her reports.
“Lourdes just got settled in your penthouse. You should—”
“No,” I cut her off sharply. “I’m moving there alone. That was the plan all along. Lourdes can stay in the penthouse.”
Distancing myself from her, at least for now, is the only way to keep myself from doing something that might fracture everything I’ve spent years building. I refuse to let the pull of her warmth, her laugh, her gaze, and her body compromise me any longer.
“When will you want Mrs. Zervas to join you there?” Daria asks.
I let the silence stretch a moment longer than necessary. “I don’t know.”
“When are you telling her that you’re moving?” Daria stands, since I’ve signaled the meeting is over.
“Tonight.”