Page 108 of Mafia Obsession

I don’t think I want to.

The car glides beneath the canopy, and immediately, men in dark coats move in practiced choreography. One opens the rear passenger door first, allowing the cold Chicago air to slip inside the limo. Ares steps out and then reaches back to help me. I take in the towering glass façade above us.

The driver lifts out two bags from the trunk. I notice Ares’s leather duffle from Santorini. The other is a brand-new, sleek two-tone canvas weekend bag I assume is holding the clothes he said he packed for me.

The driver passes both bags to a waiting concierge with a luggage cart. She looks accustomed to serving powerful men.

Our hands linked, Ares leads me through the wide automatic doors. The moment we step into the lobby, warmth and a fresh citrus smell rise around us. The sound of water from an indoor fountain echoes off the high ceilings.

I look for the front desk, but the sharply dressed woman from outside stops at a podium off to the side.

“Mr. Zervas, welcome back,” she says, keycard packets already in her hand. “Your suite is ready for you.”

I note the time is eleven a.m. No four-p.m. check-in for gangsters.

The concierge escorts us personally into a private elevator, and the head bell hop trails behind us with our bags.

We rise smoothly, the floor numbers climbing steadily untilthe doors open onto a quiet corridor at the very top of the building.

There are only two numbered doors, and the concierge leads us to one at the end of the hall.

Opening it for us, she says, “I’m a text away for anything you need, Mr. Zervas.”

Then she does something strange, she looks directly at me. “Both of you.”

In that moment, I don’t feel like a gangster’s woman. I feel like a person. “Thank you.”

I cross the threshold and stop. The suite is all warm light, sweeping city views, and the kind of understated luxury that makes the motel room I slept in last night seem like a pit.

“This way.” Ares takes both our bags in one hand and mine in the other.

He brings me down a hallway and into a bedroom. The king-size bed has crisp white linens turned down with immaculate precision.

He releases my hand and moves deeper into the bedroom. The simple act of emptying his pockets makes me smile. He sets down his phone and wallet onto the dresser near the door before shrugging out of his coat.

When he turns back toward me, his gaze softens slightly. “Come here.”

I don’t hesitate to go to him.

He slides the coat off my shoulders gently. He looks like he intends to hang it up for me, but then he does a double take at my outfit. “You wore that to work yesterday.”

“I left right from the office.”

“You wanted to get away from me that badly,” he says, sounding hurt.

He’s showing emotion for once.

“No, I wanted to be with my sister. That’s what I wanted all along.” I stand there feeling exposed. “I didn’t count on you coming into my life.”

“Now you know how I feel.” He presses a kiss to my lips.

He hangs my coat over the back of a nearby chair before guiding me gently toward the bathroom. The lights glow onautomatically when he pushes open the door.

This bathroom is bigger than that whole motel room. Pale marble gleams beneath soft recessed lighting while a wide soaking tub sits in the center of the room like a showpiece.

Without a word, Ares turns on the faucet handles, adjusting the water temperature until steam curls into the air. The water fills the tub in a steady rush.

Smiling, he glances back at me. Our eyes locked, he rolls up his sleeves to his forearms. The crisp white cotton is pulled back enough to reveal his dark tattoos etched into his right forearm. The shapes dance over the muscles while he checks the water again.