by I. A. Dice
“Four beers,” I said, and the bartender went straight to work.
I rested my elbows on the countertop and hid my face in my hands. Jean’s words echoed in my head for the past hour.
“You hope he’s looking for you, Layla. You want him to find you because you think he’ll forgive you.”
I refused to be naïve anymore. Frank brainwashed me to the point where I no longer knew what was right or wrong, but when he died, the hold he had on me died too, and I no longer felt naïve. Which was why I didn’t try and fool myself by thinking Dante would mercifully forgive me and take me back.
I also didn’t believe he’d be capable of hurting me. He loved me with everything he had. That kind of love doesn’t just disappear.
What now seemed like a lifetime ago, Dante made me a promise. But he didn’t keep it. And although I deserved worse, it hurt like nothing I experienced so far to know he had no intention of keeping that promise.
Dante put out the cigarette and made himself another whiskey on the rocks. I waited for him to speak, but didn’t count on hearing he cared about me too. I knew it just as well as I knew it’d take time for him to admit it.
“I won’t control you. I don’t need to know where you are at all times, but if you’re supposed to meet me and you don’t show up, don’t pick up the phone and no one knows where you are then I’ll be looking for you.” He moved closer, pecking my lips. “Always.” He kissed again. “Until I find you.”
“You good?” Rick nudged me. “C’mon. I’ll help you with that.” He grabbed two beers from the countertop and waited for me to take the other two. “Stop tormenting yourself, Layla. Dwelling on the past won’t help you move on. You need to distance yourself from what you’ve done, accept that it was unavoidable and that there’s nothing you can do to turn back time.”
“That’s the problem...” I said when we sat down. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Taylor’s head snapped from the screen of his cell phone. “You wouldn’t change anything? You mean you wouldn’t even tell Dante about Frank’s plan?”
I shook my head no and in a fit of courage, and above all – stupidity – I snatched the cell phone out of his hand. “I’ll borrow this for just a second.”
Since Jean handed me her phone, all I could think about was calling Dante and hearing his voice again. Before Taylor could protest, I got up and left, marching away from the restaurant while changing the iPhone’s settings to turn off the caller ID. After making sure three times that the correct option was on, I tapped Dante’s number on the screen.
My hands trembled so much I had to input it three times before I got it right. I stopped about a hundred yards away from the bar and sat down on the edge of the empty interstate.
The night sky was something else around here. Back in Chicago, among the skyscrapers and smog stars were rarely visible, and even when they were, it couldn’t compare to the views I had in Texas.
Away from Dallas, out in the open, the sky looked as if someone painted millions of stars on a huge black canvas, and stretched it far above my head. The moon looked more prominent, and somehow shone brighter, illuminating the horizon with a soft glow.
One deep breath wasn’t enough to calm my nerves, but I pressed the green button, and put the phone to my ear, staring into the night, counting the seconds, waiting to hear Dante’s voice.
“Hello?” he answered.
My legs turned to cotton candy. It’s been two weeks since I last heard him. Music blared in the background hinting his whereabouts.
I squeezed his hand, having a hard time believing he was real, and moreover – that he was mine. He stopped, and his expression changed to concern.
“Everything good?” He inched closer.
“Yes, all good.”
I raised on my toes, curious to see how serious he was about us. Whether such an obvious manifestation of feelings wouldn’t bother him when everyone who could see us, watched us.
He didn’t stop me.
I swallowed the lump in my throat but remained silent, covering my mouth to muffle the shaky breaths, counting to stay focused.
One.
I wanted to say something, to hear him again and guess from the tone of his voice if he still loved me. My mouth fell open, but my mind was blank, and words failed me. All I could do was listen to music and his steady breathing.
Two.
Tears stung my eyes. I imagined him sitting in the VIP box at Delta with a drink, surrounded by his men, focused expression on his handsome face, a hint of softness in his eyes.
Three.
“You promised,” I whispered, and a cold shiver ran down my spine, snapping me out of the haze.
“Layla,” he hissed, his voice low, coarse. “Where are you?”
I panicked, and cut the call, my heart beating so fast it was painful.
Soft footsteps sounded behind me, startling me that much more. I half expected Dante to materialize in front of me in all his lethal, unforgiving glory.
I scrambled to my feet and turned around, my body feeble, fragile, pulse throbbing in my ears.
“Are you insane?!” Jean spat out, hands on her hips, and murder on her mind. “Why did you call him?!”
“You told me to, remember?” My voice resembled the way I felt – scared, weak, defeated.
She grabbed my arm, dragging me back toward the bar. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Shit, Layla, what the hell were you thinking?! Did you tell him where you are? Is he coming?”
An unhealthy dose of panic resided in her voice, and I stopped, forcing her to do the same and look at me.
“I didn’t tell him anything. I cut the call the second he realized it was me.”
She frowned, crossing her arms. “So you didn’t even talk to him? Then why did you call him? Jesus, Layla, you’re unbelievable.”
“I can’t keep up with you,” I said, starting toward the bar again. “First you tell me to call him, then you’re pissed off I did, and now…” I sighed. “What did you expect me to do?”
“Let me think,” she mocked, her arms akimbo, a condescending look on the pale face. “Either call him and apologize or stop living in the past and get a grip! He’s not going to kill you. It’s been two weeks, and no show. He doesn’t want anything from you anymore.”
As cruel as her words were, cutting me deep, Jean was right. Dante wasn’t like any other guy. He had the means to find me but didn’t. Neither to kill me nor to forgive me. It was right about time to accept that those few weeks we shared were all life had planned for us.
Jean tugged on my arm, pointing at the bar. Archer left the building, lighting a cigarette, scanning the parking lot with a hunters look on his face. Our eyes locked, and a familiar, disturbing gesture followed.
A signal, a nonverbal order for me to stay where I was – He slid his right hand under the jacket, readjusting a gun in the holster.
I couldn’t see it, but I was sure it was there just as I was sure one bullet was meant for me. Dante’s face flashed before my eyes, and just like that, hope evaporated, leaving me scared and defenseless. My betrayal was unforgivable, and I deserved what was coming, but I hated Dante’s guts for hiring a hitman to pull the trigger instead of doing it himself.
“Get inside,” I told Jean, keeping my gaze fixed on Archer.
I didn’t want her to watch, she didn’t deserve the trauma. And she sure didn’t deserve to die if Archer had orders to leave no witnesses.
Before she could ask why I was sending her away, the door behind Archer’s back opened again, and Rick emerged with Taylor close behind.
They split up immediately, tension in their shoulders, panic on Taylors face, and ruthless concentration on Rick’s. Taylor rushed to the car, looking as if he was trying his best not to run away, screaming, while Rick marched across the parking lot, staring straight at me.
“We’re leaving,” he ordered, and the powerful, commanding tone could rival Dante’s. “Righ
t now.”
He glanced over his shoulder and took a step to the right. My eyes grew wide when I realized he was purposely standing in Archer’s line of shot, shielding me with his body.
A wave of cold shivers ran down my spine, and my face tingled. Goosebumps covered every inch of my body. The chilly evening air had little to do with it. I stepped to the left, refusing to let him take any risks.
“You should go,” I told him, still glaring at Archer.
He just stood there, watching, waiting, looking lethal.
“I’m not leaving you here,” Rick snapped, pulling on my arm, and acting as a shield again.
Archer got tired of waiting.
He drew the gun, aiming at the back of Rick’s head. Taylor just started the engine of the pick-up truck, but he was too far away to get us out of there in time.
Five fingers dug into my right arm, and Jean whimpered by my side. “He’s got a gun,” she whispered.
Time didn’t slow down as I watched Archer pull the trigger. I pushed Rick away and felt him jerk my arm to the side.
There was no loud bang, just a quiet hiss when the bullet left Archer’s gun, traveling through the air toward my head.
It didn’t reach its destination. Rick’s attempt at moving me out of the line of shot worked to some extent. The bullet went straight through my shoulder, half an inch below the collarbone.
Jean screamed and ducked just as a pick-up truck stopped abruptly behind Rick’s back. The passenger side door flew open.
“Get in!” Taylor screamed.
The second bullet hit the side of the car.
Jean was inside before Taylor finished talking. She jumped onto the passenger seat, and Rick hauled me onto the back, pressing on the wound. Chaos erupted around me. Jean cried, Taylor was swearing, the old engine blared as the car gained speed. Fear eradicated the pain, but I knew the second I’d see blood my mind would cease to work for me.
“What the fuck did you do!?” Rick fumed.
For the first time, his face showed something other than cold calculation or moderate interest. He was worried, scared almost, frantically trying to stop the bleeding.
“You could’ve died!”
“Better me than you,” I said, looking into his eyes. “I’m the one he wants. Let me out.”
“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Jean chanted, close to tears. “What is happening?!” She turned around, and her face paled even more when she looked out of the back window. “Oh god… He’s behind us!”
Rick turned around, swearing under his breath. “Put your foot down, Taylor. Get us to the city.”
“How did you know?” I asked Rick to redirect my thoughts from the blood, and the sudden onset of blinding pain.
“I didn’t like the way he acted since he saw you.” He glanced at me, then went back to watching the road behind us. “The way he was looking at you? I’ve seen that look before, and I don’t like what follows.”
My eyebrows furrowed, the roar of the old engine and Jean's pathetic whimpers made it difficult to hold a conversation.
“What are you thinking?”
“I think Dante hired him,” he said.
Jean gasped and covered her mouth. “You mean he’s out to kill her?”
Was the shooting not big enough of a hint?
We were doing about a hundred miles an hour. The car was shaking, and it felt as if it’d give up any second. And then Archer whizzed past us on a motorcycle as if we were at a standstill. My heart picked up, a sense of dread washed over me, and then disappeared when nothing happened.
He kept going until we could no longer see him.
A nervous chuckle escaped Taylor. He took his foot off the pedal, and the car began to slow down. The road ahead was empty, the town looming in the distance.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Rick spoke my mind.
And then a “fuck,” and a silhouette of a man standing in the middle of the road came into view. Archer’s arm was outstretched, a gun in his hand. Panic engulfed my mind.
He pulled the trigger. The front tire of Taylor’s pickup truck blew up. And the car went airborne.
It felt like in the movies. Time slowed down; sounds muted as the car flipped onto the side, then the roof, and kept rolling, fast. Rick held me flush against his chest only for a moment until the centrifugal force threw him against the window. The car kept on rolling, and I couldn’t tell which way was up.
The sound came back – a deafening noise of metal bending, glass breaking, and Jean screaming pierced my ears and pain resonated all over my body.
SEVEN
DANTE
Delta was once again bursting with half-naked women writhing on the dance floor. Music blasted from the speakers, the air smelled of coconuts and vanilla, and zero giant dildos were in sight.
The club looked more or less as it did before the fire, with a few details updated. A white to red color change of the floor-long curtains, which hung behind the DJ station happened. It was a subconscious decision, and I hadn’t realized at the time why my mind wanted red.
Layla called when I was on my way to the office.
She said one word, and one word was enough to put my mind at ease. She was alive, and although not yet safe, it was just a matter of time before I’d have her back. All I had to do was ask where she was.
But she hung up, and a private number waited at the top of the caller’s list when I tried to redial. It took effort to hold onto the phone instead of throwing it at the crowd of dancing people.
I refrained from going bat-shit crazy. I did, however, squeeze the cell so hard the screen cracked.
Spades and Nate waited for me in the office, sitting on the brand new leather couches – also red. A bottle of Bourbon stood on the table ready for our guests, along with eight crystal glasses, a box of Cuban cigars, and an ashtray.
The V brothers and Julij were due to arrive any minute for our first meeting since Chicago became mine. Julij hadn’t had the chance to meet the V brothers yet, and I was dreading Vinn and him working together. They were both young and cocky, and I could see things going sideways whenever they’d disagree. Julij had an invidious ability to piss off a man without doing or saying anything. His face was enough. He couldn’t hide his true emotions, and with Vinn being the kind unable to just drop it, I could see them clashing a lot.
“Caro called,” Spades started, but I shushed him and dialed Jackson’s number for the hundredth time since ordering him to find my girl yesterday morning.
God, it felt good to think about her as mine again.
“I still don’t know anything, Dante,” Jackson answered, his voice loud and clear through the speaker. “I told you it’ll take time. Longer if you won’t stop calling me every thirty minutes. Get a hobby. Start knitting or go fishing.”
Spades and Nate chuckled.
“Layla called,” I said, stopping either of them from jumping in with a snarky comment.
My men got to terms with my change of heart faster than the light goes on after flipping the switch. They knew my resolution to leave her be wouldn’t last, but allowed me to process her betrayal at my own pace.
Now they worked hard organizing search-parties to find Layla and trying to stop as many people from taking the job as they could.
It didn’t interfere with their yanking my chain all day, though.
Spades and Nate took it upon themselves to poke and prod on me for taking so fucking long before going after her. And I just knew they were trying to take my mind off the fact that hundreds of killers were out there, eager to score three million dollars. Keen to take away everything I cared for wrapped in a petite body.
What came as a surprise was that I didn’t need a distraction. I was fucking proud of the way I handled the situation. It seemed that my mind took the wheel and locked my heart in the trunk to focus and work in peace without ache, longing, and fear getting in the way.
“Did she say where she is?” Spades was the first to speak. He sat up, staring at
me, ready to go wherever the hell we’d need to go to get Layla.
“No. She called from a private number. Can you trace it, Jackson?”
“Yeah, sure I can. It’ll take a while, but it’ll be faster than what I had planned. I need your phone. Send Nate or Spades here, and I’ll get on it right away.”
Nate was up before Jackson finished talking. He took my phone, cut the call and left without a word.
“Here they come,” Spades said, looking at the screens showing a live feed from the cameras inside the club.
The V brothers, along with Caro, were climbing the metal staircase that led to the balcony. A moment later, the door to my office stood open, and Vince entered, holding a bottle of cognac.
“The club is looking good,” he said, shaking my hand.
“It looks the same,” Vinn cut in, patting my back. “Any news on Layla?”
“Not yet. How are things looking on your side?”
Vince took a seat and poured himself a glass of bourbon, glancing around to check if anyone else wanted some. I was off alcohol for the time being so I could get in the car at any given moment. Spades shook his head no too.
“None of our clients will touch the job, and all issued an order among their people to steer clear.”
“That’s a start,” I said, thinking of all the bosses we supplied. “Julij’s been calling off Nikolaj’s affiliates.”
The one in question chose that moment to enter the room. Vinn narrowed his eyes at him and sized up Dimitri, looking like a hunter choosing his prey.
I didn’t expect Julij to dive into new business ventures the day after Nikolaj’s funeral, but when he heard the V brothers were flying in to see me, he packed a suitcase and left New York by my side.
But that didn’t strike me as odd, really. What did, was Anatolij boarding the plane with us under a business meeting pretext.
There was something odd about him. The sophistication of Prince Charming mixed with the wickedness of Scar from the Lion King. The way he carried himself with a sense of authority, the way he spoke – like a commanding officer and the way he looked down fooled me into thinking he was like the bosses from the olden days. Like the infamous Al Capone Julij compared him to.
