by Bella J.
I choked up and pushed back the heartache that threatened to paralyze me. “I love you too.”
He smiled, then he left, closing the door behind him. And then I heard the click of the lock.
Shit. He locked me in. Son of a—he knew me too goddamn well.
Panicked, I glanced around the room. I wouldn’t be able to control it much longer. It was torture already.
I spotted the phone on his bedside table and realized I only had one option left. I only had one way out of here. One way to keep them both alive.
I picked up the phone and dialed housekeeping.
“Hi. This is Layla. I’m phoning from Dante’s room. Could you do me a favor? I need to get hold of someone…Yes. I need to get a message to Antonio. It’s urgent.”
***
Dante
One thing I’d learned about Layla a long time ago—I knew when she was lying. I saw it in her eyes, playing off like movie credits. Because of the connection we shared, she was incapable of lying to me, which was also why I called bullshit ever since she walked into Vertigo claiming to be with Matteo.
She wasn’t really hungry like she claimed to be. Besides the fact that her eyes never lied to me, I also knew Layla had never been a breakfast eater. I used to constantly remind her breakfast was the most important meal of the day—especially for someone who loved the occasional morning jog. But I never could persuade her to get into the habit of eating early in the morning.
And then there was also the nail flicking she’d been doing before I walked out the door. It always was a dead giveaway with her.
So…she was lying—which was why I locked the door. Something was going on, and since she wasn’t giving me any answers, I needed to find another way to get to the bottom of this. And calling in a favor—which I had held on to as if it was the last ever get out of jail free card—was my only hope.
Dante: I need your help sooner rather than later.
I wasn’t even halfway down the stairs when he texted me back.
Unknown Number: I’m already on it.
Time was running out. I could feel it in my bones. Layla was starting to become desperate, restless. Earlier, Kate had mentioned something I needed to know, but I was one hundred percent sure Layla wasn’t planning on telling me.
“Dante.”
I turned to see Karina walking my way. It didn’t take a genius to notice the worry lines forming grooves on her forehead.
She stepped up and gave me a hug. “Lorik gave me the in a nutshell version.” She leaned back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She scowled at me with her dark eyes under thick lashes. “You’re kidding, right? Dante, you’re the only brother I ever worry about.”
“What? No way. I’m not the brother who walks around like he has a stick up his ass the whole time. At least I have a personality and this one thing they call…a life.” I winked at her, trying to play it down. The last thing I wanted was for my little sister to worry about me while she was planning one of the most important days of her life—her wedding.
She placed her hand on her hip. “Antonio might have a stick up his ass, but at least I know it’s that same stick that keeps him from doing stupid shit.”
I stared at her, deadpan. “Funny.”
“I’m serious. Dante. You can’t go around killing people when you don’t even know what Layla’s story is.”
“Jesus Christ. Someone needs to shove something in your annoying as fuck fiancé’s mouth.” I turned and continued down the stairs, the cluck of Karina’s heels making me painfully aware she was following me.
“Dante, I understand your concern about Layla. But I’m afraid I’m with Antonio on this one. She left you, leaving no trace to be found, and now she’s back and dating Matteo? Surely you’re intelligent enough to realize there are about a hundred reasons for you to not to get involved in this.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“I know you don’t. But do you really want to risk everything for her just because you don’t want to believe she moved on with a man like Matteo?”
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned abruptly to face her. “I don’t care what anyone says. She is not with Matteo out of her own goddamn free will. He is somehow controlling her, using her, and I will find out what it is and prove all of you wrong.”
Karina’s eyes softened. “Don’t get angry at Antonio and me. We are only looking out for you, and we don’t want you to get hurt. We’ve seen what losing Layla did to you once. I don’t want you to go through that again. I’m afraid you won’t survive it.”
I took a deep breath, trying my best to calm my racing heart. It irked me that everyone was up my ass about Layla, but I did understand my sister’s concern.
With a sigh, I placed my hands on her shoulders. “I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I know her, Karina. I know Layla better than anyone, which is why I’m not buying any of this.”
“Are you sure, Dante? Are you sure you really know her? Because maybe she’s not the same woman anymore. The woman you fell in love with.”
With a sullen look on her face and a whole river of pity running through her eyes, Karina made me think about it all. For a fleeting moment, I wondered “what if…?” What if Karina was right? What if Layla was no longer the woman I remembered? What if my actions were nothing more than a desperate man grasping at the last threads of a broken dream?
What was last night, then? If nothing of what I was feeling were true, and Layla was no longer the woman I had fallen in love with, then why did last night feel so absolutely right? Surely there was no way of imagining sharing something so intense with someone. My God, last night it felt like two broken souls had finally been reunited and put back together by the one thing powerful enough to heal any wounds. Love.
“No.” I shook my head. “No. I refuse to believe Layla is no longer the woman I remember.”
“Dante—”
“No.” I held up my hand. “Until you, or Antonio, or whoever the fuck else can prove to me otherwise, I will not believe anything other than that Layla is being used as a fucking pawn. And even if it will cost me my last fucking breath…I will not let her go.”
I turned and stormed off, more determined than ever to solve this whole goddamn mystery surrounding Layla. My instincts had never let me down before, and my instincts were fucking screaming.
Just as I reached the bottom of the stairs, Lucio came walking through the front door.
“Where is Kate?”
“Good morning to you too, cousin.”
I glared at him, silently conveying the message that now was not the time to fuck with me. “Where is she?”
“Do I look like her personal bodyguard?”
“Lucio, I’m serious. Layla is hiding something, and I’m convinced Kate knows what it is.”
Lucio shook his head. “Bro, I already tried talking to her. She won’t budge.”
“Maybe I can persuade her.”
“I don’t think so, man. She just said that Layla needs to be the one to tell you.”
I cocked a brow. “Tell me what?”
“Whatever it is Layla is hiding.”
“Goddammit.” I paced up and down, my mind reeling in a million different directions. Right now, I was two things an Italian man should never be at the same time. Determined and desperate. “Okay, you go find Kate and take her to the study. I need to get Layla some breakfast, then I’ll meet you there.”
Lucio pulled on his leather jacket. “You know what I think about all this, right?”
“What?”
He opened the front door. “I think the only way to solve this is going over to the Mancuso mansion and kill every motherfucker we can get our hands on.”
I had to smile. “You know I’d be all over that plan if it was even remotely possible.”
“God, I hate all the strategic planning. What happened to good old-fashioned mobster wars where you didn’t give
a fuck when or where you put a bullet in some poor bastard’s skull?”
“Dear cousin,” I placed my hand on his shoulder, “if I don’t get to the bottom of this very, very soon, we might just revert back to that good old-fashioned mobster war you crave so much.”
Lucio closed his eyes, the look of sheer delight painted all over his face. “A man can only dream.”
Smiling, I watched as he closed the door behind him. Even though Lucio was still young, he was an old-school mobster at heart. Sometimes I wondered why he was such a stone cold son of a bitch with not a compassionate bone in his body. I supposed the whole family wondered about him. One didn’t just get to be as cold-hearted as Lucio. Something turned him, but I had a feeling we would never find out what.
I took a deep breath and pulled my hands through my hair. My gut felt like someone shoved concrete slabs through my stomach. I wasn’t normally the type of guy who stressed too much about shit. But this wasn’t just any shit. This was Layla. This was the woman I loved, and that kind of upped the stakes. For years, I had lived like a man with nothing to lose, because truth be told, I really had nothing I could lose. Layla tore my heart out and took it with her, leaving behind a heartless bastard who didn’t give a shit. Now that she was back, I was suddenly a monster with a fucking heart, a beast with a weak spot…a demon with a goddamn soul. Karina was right. If I had to lose Layla all over again, I wouldn’t survive it. Not again. Not this time.
“Dante.”
I looked up and found my dad staring at me.
“Come join me in my study.”
Oh, fuck me sideways.
“Dad, I really—”
“It wasn’t a request.” The warning in his glare was loud and clear, and I sighed as I reluctantly walked into his study. I glanced at the grandfather clock, the loud tick-tock annoying the fuck out of me. As a boy, I used to daydream about taking a ten-pound hammer and smashing the fucking thing until it was nothing more than splinters. It was a miracle the damn thing was still standing with me living in the house.
It was just before ten in the morning, and since I couldn’t destroy the irritating as fuck clock, I thought it was as a good a time as any to start drinking. I poured myself a glass of bourbon.
My dad closed the door behind him. “Make that two.”
I shot him a sideward glance. “That’s very much unlike you, Dad. Drinking before noon.”
“Oh, trust me, it’s not the first time.” He took a seat on one of the leather couches, rubbing his palm down his face. Only then did I notice how tired he looked with the bags of fatigue under his eyes. The old man was getting—well, old.
“Dad, are you okay?” I handed him his drink.
“What do you think? Our family is on the verge of a full-on war. My son is a walking time bomb because of some woman. And I have a nephew with the potential to be the next American psycho walking around the house.”
I took a seat across from him. “You forgot having Lorik as a future son-in-law.”
“Don’t remind me.” He rubbed his temples, and I was once again reminded why I didn’t envy my dad, or Antonio, for that matter. All the worries and responsibilities causing the wrinkles around my father’s eyes would one day be Antonio’s. Thank God for the whole “the firstborn will take the throne” thing. I was not ashamed to admit I would have sucked being the boss. I was a lot of things, but a role model to others by adhering to the rules wasn’t one of them.
“Listen, Dante—”
“Dad, I know what you’re going to say.”
His brows knitted together. “You do?”
“Yes.” I tossed back my drink and placed the empty glass on the table next to me. “I understand your concern about the Layla and Matteo situation. But my instincts are telling me there’s something bigger going on, and—”
“Dante—”
“No, let me finish.” I took a deep breath. “For years, I’ve done everything you expected of me. You and Antonio trusted me enough to eliminate every threat, and to deal with delicate matters, things you couldn’t afford to get your hands dirty with. Now I’m asking you to trust me, to trust my instincts. Because, by God, I know I’m right about this.” I stood, my determination driving every action. “I know Layla is nothing more than a pawn to the Mancusos, and all of this is their plan to put our family in fucking checkmate. Am I the only one seeing the bigger picture here?”
My dad raised his hand. “Calm down, son. We are well aware.”
I balked. “We?”
“Yes, we.”
The door opened, and I expected Antonio to walk in, but what do you know, it was the “favor” I had called.
“Hello, Dante.”
I smiled, knowing that along with him, my fucking victory walked in as well. “Castello Fattore.”
A grin tugged at the edges of his mouth. “I believe you’re in need of my help.”
“That’s the fucking understatement of the year.” I shook his hand before pulling my palm down my face. The relief I felt was indescribable. If anyone had the influence and the means to help me, it was Castello Fattore. He was the fucking mobster king of New York City. Those who thought they had the balls to go against him usually lost them. And having him as an ally meant mountains could be moved on your behalf. Having this man owe you a favor was like owning the key to Heaven.
My father stood. “Castello and his family arrived early this morning. It appears he has been in your debt.” He shot me a knowing look, but I pretended to not notice.
Castello walked closer while unbuttoning his suit jacket. “Indeed I am. Your son here is quite…resourceful, Lorenzo. And this has proved quite valuable to me and is also a give and take friendship I’d like to keep for a very long time.”
I saw the way my father looked at me with a giant question mark on his forehead. But the little fact that I supplied Castello with a very hard-to-get-your-hands-on anesthetic drug in order to torture one of his employees was not something my father needed to know.
Castello gave a slight nod, and I knew it would remain our secret. After all, it was something he needed to do to save the woman he loved—which was exactly what I was trying to do right now. Castello and I had what you would call a mutual understanding.
Castello took a seat. “As I’ve shared with your father earlier, I have managed to gather some useful information regarding the Mancusos. Information I’m sure would be quite valuable to your cause, Dante.”
“What kind of information?”
His lips curled upward. “Information which would give you exactly what you need.”
“And what’s that?”
His gaze remained etched on mine. “Time.”
Man, it was easy to see why he intimidated ninety-nine percent of the population. The man reeked of confidence, demanding everyone’s attention simply by walking into a fucking a room. He was a hard as fuck, ruthless Italian crime boss, and someone you didn’t want to fuck with. Ask the poor bastard who once was his head of security but ended up six feet under because Castello tortured him to death in the most horrific—or as Lucio would say, most beautiful—ways.
I sat, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “I’m listening.”
Castello folded his hands as he leisurely leaned back on the couch. “There’s a shipment coming in tonight at Boston Harbor.”
“What kind of shipment?”
Castello seemed amused. “Fruit.”
“Fruit?”
He nodded. “Pineapples from Brazil, to be exact.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
Castello rubbed his chin. “Apparently, the Mancusos have become increasingly creative with how they import their shipments of illegal narcotics.”
For an intelligent man, I felt really fucking stupid at this stage. “And the pineapples—”
“Basically, they are stuffing the pineapples with cocaine and heroin. They cut the tops off, hollow it out, and place the drugs inside before putting the top back on.”
And then the lightbulb went on. Click. “Ohhhhhhhh.”
My dad poured some bourbon into a glass and handed it to Castello. “This is why we couldn’t figure out how they were getting the drugs into the city without us knowing. Our contact at the harbor had no clue.”
I leaned back. “Fuckers aren’t as stupid as I thought. So, what exactly are we planning to do with this information?”
Castello took a sip of his drink. “I’ll arrange for the container to be held at the harbor. The Mancusos won’t be able to get to it, and word on the street is they are running dangerously low on stock. They can’t afford a holdup on this shipment.”
“Okay. What’s the plan after you hijack—so to speak—the container?”
He smiled. “By holding back the container, it will give you leverage to use to your advantage. How you use it is up to you.” The smirk on his face screamed of amusement.
Sly motherfucker. There was a reason he was one of the most feared in our society, yet the most sought-after ally.
“How long do I have?”
“I can keep the container on lockdown until morning. Just keep in mind,” he stood, buttoning up his suit jacket, “by paying you back a favor in this way, I am putting myself and my family at risk, which is why I will only stay here with my wife and daughter until sunrise.”
That little fact set him apart from other men in our position. Where most men would put their family in hiding when business was going down, Castello chose to take his wife, Tatum, and daughter, Emily, with him. He believed there was no better person to keep them safe than himself. Where he went, they went. Rumor had it his wife was also a force to be reckoned with. An all-American girl turned Mafia queen. Go figure.
I stood and shook Castello’s hand. “Thank you.”
“My debt to you will be paid by this time tomorrow. Some advice, though.” He leaned closer. “A man’s strength is measured by the way he loves, and by the way he is loved. So if you have to slit the throat of every motherfucker who threatens your woman, then you do it with a goddamn smile on your face.”
