Page 120 of Mafia Obsession

“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.