Page 62 of Mafia Obsession

“We’re landing in a few minutes,” he says and gestures for me to sit next to him.

I sit and feel his body heat. He’s an inferno and smells so good. When I look at him, his gaze moves slowly over my face. It’s so intense I have to turn away and look out the window.

The plane dips and begins its descent. We cut through the clouds, and next, the wheels touch down smoothly.

I expect to see other planes and a small terminal. I’ve never been to Santorini, but all I see is a line of tall trees with grass on one side and sparkling water on the other.

“The Santorini airport is small,” I say, looking over my shoulder.

Ares just smiles. “This is my private airstrip.”

My jaw drops a little. “You have your own airport?”

He lowers his sunglasses to me like I should have expected this. Being whisked away to a safehouse with an impossibly gorgeous man is something women fantasize about. Maybe in my youth I did, too. When I had the luxury to dream.

I’m grown up now, and I understand what comes with a man of wealth, a man of the world, a man so powerful others fear him.

And being flown to a Greek island in the middle of the night withthat manwas never on my bingo card.

Chapter 22

Lourdes

Ares descends the airstairs first. I watch him as he pauses at the bottom, scanning the horizon. After a moment, he looks back up at me and extends his hand.

Not to steady me, it’s only four short steps. He’s claiming me the minute I step foot on this sun-drenched island.

I take his hand with a warm smile as the Santorini air fills my lungs. My body immediately knows this isn’t the same air as in New York. Even on a clear day.

Greek mythology might not be such a myth. This place created Gods. Of course, they need better air and water.

The sun warms my skin, and a light sea breeze carries something floral smelling I can’t place. Looking up, I feel like I can touch the white clouds against the unapologetically blue sky. It’s so vivid and so unreal at the same time.

Still holding my hand, Ares leads me to a waiting car.

“Is your home nearby?” I ask, climbing into the open-air Land Cruiser

With a look of surprise, he answers, “No. In case of an attack, we need time to fortify.”

An attack? I need time to absorb that. I watch Ares get in beside me. The driver takes off, no words between him and Ares.

The road winds along narrow cliffs. The Land Cruiser doesn’t absorb bumps in the cobblestone road or block the wind from ruining what I tried to do with my hair on the plane. I don’t dare look down. Ares doesn’t look stressed, so I keep my gaze on the picturesque white stone houses with red clay roofs clinging to the landscape in irregular patterns as if they sprouted from the land like weeds.

Ares stays silent for the entire ride, though one warm palm rests loosely over mine on the seat between us. His fingers don’t wrap around mine. Yet the hold feels possessive.

We reach an estate carved into the cliffside with layered terraces that descend toward the water on oneside. I’m so punch drunk from the beauty and fragrant air that I can barely see it through the tears in my eyes. It’s sprawling and expansive without being ostentatious. It radiates deadly power without flaunting it.

The land is beautiful, and it only feels foreboding when the Land Cruiser stops in front of a tall, gunmetal gray iron gate. The minute we reach the driveway apron, it opens.

As we pull up, three people wait near the entrance of the mansion. An older woman with silver threaded through dark hair and kind eyes stands with two men behind her.

Ares helps me out of the car and takes my hand.

“Kalosorisma, kyria,” the woman says with a bow to her head.

“She is welcoming you as the lady of the house,” Ares whispers.

“Hello,” I say with a weak smile, embarrassed, wishing I knew how to say hello back in Greek.