Page 1 of Mafia Obsession

Chapter 1

Ares Zervas – Manhattan

“Lucia,” I say my cousin’s name softly. “I am speaking now, please do not interrupt me again.”

I fucking hate that.

My hand tightens around the hilt of a knife I’ve slipped from my jacket the minute she walked into my office at Club Wicked with that…man. The muted thump of music bleeds through the walls, but all I feel is my blood rushing through my veins, seeing her torn dress.

“Ares, I’m fine. Ian and I were just dancing.” Lucia nervously adjusts the strap under her jet-black hair as if I haven’t noticed.

I noticed the second my bouncers brought her in.

“I told your guys it was nothing.”

Standing to my full height, I say, “Thoseguysare in charge of the club, the dance floor, and the bar. I’m in charge ofyouand resolving thisproblem.”

With my eyes on her, I point to the man Lucia’s personal guard dragged into my office. Theproblem.

Lucia’s jaw clamps shut as she looks at me.Reallylooks at me. Then she glances around my lavish office, where every guard stands at the ready to act on my command. My cousin knows what I am. What I do. What my father, her uncle, did. Even if she and Lola, her twin, were too young to remember when Lucien Zervas was high-ranking in the Christou Greek Mafia. And the falling out of favor, an event that put us all at risk.

I know she remembers Alexander. My older brother, who killed our fatherandMr. Christou, then took control of the mafia in our name. But Alexander is gone. Killed by the Irish. Leaving me to end that war.

NowIstand as the head of the Greek Mafia.

And this man I’m staring at had the audacity to put his hands on my blood, tearing her dress.

“Lucia, you are a descendant of the most powerful Zervas line,” I tell her quietly. “We are bred from Gods. That means nomangets to decide where your consent ends.”

Her eyes lower. “Ian didn’t mean?—”

“I don’t care what Ian meant,” I shout. “I care what hedid.”

I acknowledge him, this Ian, for the first time. He didn’t matter until now. Now it’s time for him to be punished.

“Ian,” I say, his name tasting offensive on my tongue.

“Sir, I had no idea she?—”

“Silence,” I roar.

Tension in the room thickens. Two bouncers tighten their position in front of my office door. Lucia’s guard shifts nervously. She was touched on Razor’s watch.

Ian’s gaze moves from my towering, wide frame to Lucia with pleading eyes, as if she can save him. Perhaps she came in here thinking she could. She was raised to have a voice. To not shirk behind a man. I have a brief comicmemory of her calling Griffin Quinlan, the head of the Irish Mob, a ‘meanie.’

“Hold out your right hand,” I say to Ian, moving in front of him.

He blinks up at me. “What?”

“Your right hand,” I repeat. “Give it to me.”

Ian’s face reddens, panic blooming. “Please?—”

I grab his wrist and yank until the tendons give way.

“Ow! Fuck, what are you?—”

My grip locks his hand in mine, torque precise, pressure absolute. Bone gives way with a wet crack that echoes in the office.