Page 37 of Mafia Obsession

“I see a coroner’s report for someone with that same name who died in a car accident in Chicago around five years ago.” Something rustles in the background before Daria says, “I’ll run this down and see what else I find out.”

I don’t mention my suspicion. We both know when an accountant for the mafia dies in a car accident, it probably wasn’t anaccident.

But if he was taken out, why? I resist an eyeroll, thinking it was probably something old-school and boring, like the man was stealing from Yuri. Someone taught Lourdes how to skim from money transfers and set up a shell account. I bet it was her dead father.

“I need this as soon as humanly possible,” I add to Daria and end the call.

I pay that woman a fortune. But she’s deadly, cunning, and has free access to me. Even I’m not stupid enough to really get on her bad side.

“Volkov,” I murmur to myself.

Kirill isn’t in Manhattan to plant a flag. He’s here to make sure that when the crown passes, no one questions why it’s on his head. And it can’t be a coincidence that David, who moved here with Lourdes from Chicago, was in Kirill’s club. Both David and Lourdes appear to have been branded with identifying tattoos. His is on his neck and hers is on her wrist.

Something is happening. I feel it.

When I reach my Wall Street office, Lourdes is at her desk, head bent low, working on her laptop. I imagine she’s stealing money from me. The amusement I feel is so overwhelming, I goddamn tear up over it.

And it makes me so damn hard.

The sight of her like that, powerful and sneaky, corrodes my restraint.

I circle the desk slowly instead of summoning her to my office. She feels me before she sees me. Her shoulders stiffen, then she looks up, those amber eyes lifting into mine with a mixture of curiosity and warmth she tries to suppress.

I lean against the inside edge of her desk, close enough that she has to tilt her chin slightly to hold my gaze. Close enough that her rose-scented perfume rises faintly between us.

My gaze trails down her arm. “What does the tattoo on your wrist mean?”

“It’s nothing,” she says quickly, sounding upset that I’ve even noticed. “I was on a girls’ trip. Everyone was getting a tattoo.”

“Why there?” I point.

Her breath goes shaky. “I don’t know. I was drunk. It was Spring Break in Daytona Beach.”

My jaw twitches, thinking it’s a lie. Either that or Daria is off. Daria is never off.

Lourdes is not the doe-eyed beauty that stopped my heart at Winterhall. She doesn’t try to charm me, but she will challenge me when given the chance. And I welcome it.

I welcome that I can’t control what happens between us. It’s been a long time since I’ve been surprised.

“Is your husband back in town?” I change the subject assmoothly as I can.

The faintest flicker of dread crosses her face before she smooths it away. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“We have several meetings coming up in the next few weeks. If it will be a problem?—”

“It won’t be a problem,” she says firmly, her fingers tightening around the mouse.

I lean forward, letting her see exactly how serious I am about her. “Because if it is, he will bemyproblem.”

Chapter 13

Lourdes

It’s been two weeks at the new job, and every morning I leave the apartment before David wakes up. Or before he even gets home from either working or partying all night. I’ve been regularly using the Zervas company gym to work out, shower, and get dressed in the locker room.

I push myself hard, pumping iron, hoping that when I take off for Chicago, I’ll be strong enough to beat the hell out of David before I leave. If nothing else, the sweat burns away a little more of the insecurity under my skin.

Every morning without fail, there are fresh flowers waiting for me on my desk. Different varieties every day. White lilies, blood red roses, deep purple violets. But there is never a note.