Page 67 of Mafia Obsession

A faint shift in his lips suggests he appreciates my observation. “He did enough grinning for both of us. And fighting.”

“Where is Alexander?” I ask. “Does he live in another city?”

Ares goes still, looking almost confused by my question. “The Irish Mob murdered him.”

The words hit me like a slap. I stare agog.“What?”

Ares’s gaze wanders to the image that transfixed me. “We were at war with them for years.”

My hand clutches my throat. “I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. I glance back at the photograph, too. Alexander looks soalive.

“I should have realized,” I admit, feeling foolish. “When you said he was older. In families like yours, the oldest son is usually...” I trail off.

“In charge,” Ares finishes.

I nod to signal I understand. To show him it doesn’t scare me.

“Yes. Alexander was the head of our house.” A shadow passes over his face. “I was his second-in-command.”

“What happened?”

“He insisted we continue the war. He believed strength was the only language our enemies understood.” Ares touches the photograph now, stroking the image of a sibling he lost. “He recklessly escalated the tensions between our families with his order to kill the leader’s heir. It led to a dreadful retaliation. My beloved Alexander did not survive.”

My stomach twists. But the sharp simplicity of his words doesn’t dull the outcome.

I look from the photograph to Ares. The loss must have been years ago, but standing here, it suddenly feels more recent.

“Are you still at war with them?” I ask, swallowing roughly. “The Irish?”

It’s unimaginable that this kind of violence still exists in the shadows.

“I ended that war. And married my sister to them.”

“To the people who killed your brother?” I cry out.

He cocks his head, smiling at my passionate outburst. “There was a regime change. One I orchestrated. The new mobsters were savages, too. But with my recognition and offer of peace through marriage, not one ounce of Greek blood has been shed since.”

I study his profile. “The God of War chose peace.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “Even I knew it was time. Time to stop looking over our shoulders and rebuild wealth.”

I hear in his voice that he’s not exactly cold. He’s contained and guarded. Even if it looks like stifled rage.

“Can I see more rooms?” I ask, ambling toward him.

“Of course,” he says, taking my hand.

The rest of the day passes, and by the time the sky has deepened into indigo, I’ve seen nearly every room, the grounds, the pool area, and Alexander’s collection of antique cars.

Ares’s phone rings again and again. He takes call after call, and stress lines in his face grow deeper.

After he finishes one, I touch his arm. “Are these calls about David?”

“No.” His eyes hold me in place. “My men in New York are dealing with him. Hunting him. Texting me updates. Those calls were from local businessmen who had heard of my arrival. They want me to address a marine issue.”

“What… What issue?” I ask to show I’m interested.