Epilogue
LOURDES- MARCH
The sea is a sheet of hammered glass this morning. Soft hints of gold spread across the water as the sun climbs into the sky. I stand at the rail of the Helena, barefoot, wrapped in one of Ares’s shirts that still smells faintly like his cologne, salt, and sex.
The air is warm already, and the horizon feels endless in a way that makes everything else seem small.
Twelve more days.
That’s how long we have until nothing or no one demands anything of Ares and me.
His hands slide around my waist from behind. He doesn’t say anything at first, just rests his chin on my shoulder.
“You’re up early,” he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep.
“I couldn’t stay in bed,” I admit, leaning back into him. “Everything is so beautiful. It feels like if I close my eyes, I’ll miss something.”
He huffs a soft breath, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “You won’t miss anything. And if you do, it’s because I can’t stop fucking my wife. Then we’ll come back.”
I believe him.
That’s the strange, fragile miracle of this moment. After everything, after the way he walked away from me… I believe him.
I turn in his arms, settling myself against the solid heat of him. “How many more days until we reach Capri?”
“Three,” he says, kissing my neck.
Which means there is little to do except fuck. I am so down with that.
I smile, reaching up to press a kiss to his mouth. Everything feels like this is meant to last. Forever. Finally.
Ares’s hands slide to my stomach in a protective gesture that still steals my breath every time. “Mine. Both of you.”
Our future.
“I should go back in,” I say after a cleansing breath of salt and sea. “Try to sleep a little more.”
“We should,” he agrees.
We.
The word tingles me.
His thumb traces a slow path along my neck until the phone vibrates in his pocket.
Growling, he says, “Go on. I’ll join you in a minute.”
I nod and slip from his hold, casting one last look at the horizon before heading back into the state room.
“Zervas.” His voice is low, controlled, but I can hear the edge beneath it.
I don’t get a few feet away when I catch Ares go still in the glass door’s reflection.
“What do you mean she never came back?” he asks.
I tilt my head in curiosity. Who never came back? Where?
Lucia? Lola?
Ares listens, jaw tightening, and when his eyes cut to me, my stomach drops.
“It’s seven p.m. your time.” Ares’s expression darkens.
Seven p.m. I glance at the clock on the nightstand.
That’s…Arizona’s time.
“No,” I whisper, the word barely making it past my lips.
“An associate of mine, Daria Franklin, will be in touch with your head of security for more details. My wife and I will be there as soon as we can.” Ares ends the call without another word.
“What happened?” I demand, my voice breaking before I can stop it.
“Your sister never returned to the facility.” He doesn’t soften the blow. Doesn’t ease me into it. “Elodie took her out for a doctor’s appointment. Never brought her back.”
“That makes no sense.” Shaking, I grab my phone to call Elodie.
It rings.
Once.
Twice.
Then goes to voicemail.
“No.” I hang up and call again. “Come on, El, pick up.”
Bile rises in my throat when it goes right to voicemail this time.
The silence that follows is deafening, drowning out the yacht’s engines and the lapping of the water against the skin.
Ares makes another call, this time on speakerphone.
“Daria,” he says before she can even get out a hello.
“Ares,” she answers with a snap to her voice. “You’re on your honeymoon.”
“Sandrine is missing,” he says, ignoring her comment. “Marlowe just called and said she didn’t return before curfew. She was out for the day with her cousin. Elodie Vale.”
There’s a brief pause, then rapid clicking of keys in the background. “Give me a minute.”
I stand there, feeling useless, my phone still in my hand as I try Elodie again. And again. Each time the same result. Each time my chest tightens a little more.
“She wouldn’t just…leave Marlowe,” I say, more to myself than anyone.
“Lourdes,” Ares says, his hand closing around my wrist to still me. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing,” I snap, though it comes out uneven. “Something’s wrong.”
“I know.” His grip tightens just enough to ground me. “We’re going to figure it out.”
Daria’s voice cuts back in. “I’ve got something.”
We both go still.
“I’m pulling footage from the Marlowe campus,” she continues. “I have Sandrine and another woman. Brown hair. They’re in the parking lot. And… Uh oh.”
Ares’s eyes go wide. “Uh oh? Daria, with all you’ve seen, what the fuck is uh oh?”
“Ares, are we on speaker?”
“Yes, he is, Daria,” I jump in. “I’m here. What happened to my sister?”
“She… Um…”
I feel fucking faint.
“Daria, share your screen with us right fucking now,” Ares barks.
“Hold… Hold on.”
A notification pings. Ares taps the screen, angling it so we can both see.
The footage is grainy, but I can make out Marlowe’s lobby. People are moving in and out, and everything looks normal. But then there’s a man dressed in leather strutting out. He’s gigantic. And scary.
“I know who that is,” Ares says, his voice going cold in a way I’ve only heard a handful of times.
“Who is that?” I ask him.
“Drago,” Ares says. “Fuck.”
“Drago who?” But as I ask that, I follow the leather jacket man to a car in the parking lot. “Uh oh.”
That seems to be the only thing we can say. Even through the low resolution, I recognize the other man from the video on New Year’s Eve.
Tall. Handsome. Lethal. Lethally handsome if I’m being honest.
My breath catches. “That’s—”
Kirill Volkov.
“What happened to your video of Sandrine?” Ares asks Daria.
“I’m juggling multiple cameras,” Daria responds.
Panic claws its way up my throat. “Turn the yacht around,” I say, looking at Ares. “We have to go back. We have to fly to Arizona. Tonight.”
He’s already shaking his head, jaw set. “We’re two days out from Santorini. Even at full speed, we won’t make it to Arizona on my jet tonight.”
“Then get a helicopter,” I push, desperation swallowing me. “Something. Anything to—”
“Lourdes…” Ares says my name sharply to calm me down. “We’re in the middle of the Mediterranean. There’s no helipad on this yacht.”
The reality hits hard, stealing the air from my lungs.
Two days.
“If Kirill has her, he’ll bring her back to Chicago,” Daria says, her voice calm now through the speaker. “Do you want me to send men there? We can move now. You don’t have to wait.”
Chicago.
Ares’s gaze flicks to me.
I said it myself months ago. Kirill didn’t look like he’d hurt her in that video. Ares didn’t exactly agree with me. But something has changed his mind.
“She’s not in immediate danger,” Ares says into the phone, though his eyes never leave mine. “Not physically.”
“So you want to wait?” Daria asks, sounding skeptical of that plan.
“I want to know for sure where she is,” he replies. “If we move too soon, we risk spooking Kirill. Then he could put her somewhere else.”
My stomach twists, but I understand. “Please call him. Just to confirm, she’s with him. That she’s all right. Please,” I beg, my voice at nearly a whimper.
“I will.” Ares kisses me on the forehead. “Daria, get me a number for Volkov.”
“I’ll find a private line and text it to you.”
“We will fly right to Chicago from Santorini, Daria,” Ares continues. “Have everything ready.”
“It will be,” Daria says. “Call me the second you dock.”
The line goes dead.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until Ares pulls me into him, one arm wrapping around my shoulders, the other cradling the back of my head. I press my face into his chest as the fear finally spills over.
“I left her,” I whisper, the words breaking apart. “I left her in Arizona. Just like I did years ago.”
“You didn’t leave her,” Ares says firmly, his hand moving slowly through my hair. “She was safe. This is not on you.”
“But if I had stayed—”
“If you had stayed, this still would have happened,” he cuts in. “And worse, you would have been taken, too.”
“Elodie…” I sniff. “She’s missing as well!”
“If they were together, then Kirill has them both.”
He keeps checking his phone for a text from Daria with Kirill’s phone number. I thought he had all gangsters’ numbers on speed dial.
“It’s going to be all right,” Ares says into my hair, his voice low and steady as he holds me. When his phone beeps, he nods. “I got the number. I’m calling Kirill right now.”
I stare out at the water, the sun, and the horizon. The peace was an illusion. This was always coming. We should have seen it.
Men like Kirill Volkov don’t let go of women they believe belong to them.
The way Ares didn’t let go of me.
I exhale slowly, letting one positive light shine on me.
I’m not facing this alone.
I have the God of War at my back.
And we’re going to bring my sister home.
This is not the end.