Broken Promises

by I. A. Dice

  “You’ll have to forgive me, but I have no time for pleasantries. I’m in urgent need of protection,” I rubbed my forehead, expecting a blatant no, but Blake remained silent, letting me continue. “As you must be aware by now, there’s an open hit on Frankie’s daughter, Layla.”

  “So I’ve heard,” he sighed. “If the whispers are true I’m not at all surprised you ordered the hit. Although I must admit, you never struck me as a guy who’d…”

  “I didn’t order the hit,” I cut in.

  Why everyone’s first guess was me?

  Granted – not many people realized how much Layla meant to me, but why the hell every single person considered me the prime suspect?

  “This isn’t the time to get into details. You need to know two things for now. One – Frankie ordered the hit. And two...”

  “Hold it right there.” The tone and pace of his voice changed to animosity and anger. “You’re telling me that Frankie Harston ordered a hit on his own daughter? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve known him since day one in this life. He was my kind of guy. He had respect for La Cosa Nostra, he had respect for his family.”

  “Right until he didn’t,” I said, growing impatient. “He used her against me, and,” I let out the air through my nose. “This really isn’t the time for explanations. She’s been hiding in Texas, but someone got to her. An amateur, a newbie judging by the way he handled the job. She’s alive and at a hospital in Dallas, but news travels fast. If I know she’s there, everyone knows. It’s a matter of hours before the place is crowding with killers, and I need you to take her under your wings until I get there.”

  Blake remained silent as if needing time to process, to think it through and make up his mind up.

  “Name your price,” I urged, staring out the window, my palms growing damp.

  “I’m too old for this,” he sighed. “My son will take over soon, and I want you to hook him up with the right people. I want him safe and up there with you.”

  My eyes narrowed in confusion. “You want him to be my protégé? Where is this coming from?”

  Blake laughed. “Nikolaj is dead, Mr. Carrow. You’ve gained a powerful ally in Julij although you might not realize it yet. His father’s affiliates are now yours. And with the business venture you’ve set up with Detroit, with all those bosses relying on your product and bowing to you, you’re very fucking close to the top of this ladder. And I want my son on that ladder too.”

  “Done,” I said without hesitation, only just realizing how much power I held now that Frankie was dead and Julij joined the V brothers and me. If I hadn’t been preoccupied with Layla since the fateful night, it would’ve occurred to me sooner. More than half of the biggest bosses in the country were now working with me or relying on me.

  I was right where I wanted to be. And at the same time, I’d give it all up at the snap of fingers to keep Layla safe.

  “Kill anyone who tries to get to her,” I said through gritted teeth. “She’s your priority for the time being. I don’t care if it’s a nurse, someone claiming to be related to her or the goddamn police trying to see her. No one gets through.”

  A low satisfied chuckle was his first answer. “I’ve got just the guys to handle the job. Don’t worry, she’s safe here.”

  “Good. And I need someone on the inside too. You got a trusted, reliable doctor at the University Hospital?”

  “I’ll send you the details. His name is Howard, and a hundred grand will have him dancing to whatever tune you’re going to play.”

  Rookie sat behind the wheel, relaxed and seemingly unaffected, doing a hundred and thirty miles an hour. Spades and Nate had a hard time keeping up with us, and I could no longer see Cai and Jackson in the rearview mirror.

  It wasn’t that they lacked power under the hoods. Last week I swapped the three identical SRT8 Charges we had to Hellcats, so we all sat on the same horsepower. The difference was that neither Spades nor Cai could handle a car the way Rookie could; neither had the balls to watch the speed climb.

  And that was precisely why it was him by my side and not Spades. I wanted to get to Layla as soon as was humanly possible, and Rookie could make it happen.

  “That didn’t take much work,” he said, glancing at me while readjusting the beanie. “I expected more resistance.”

  “So did I,” I admitted, checking the phone every three seconds waiting for the doc’s details.

  Two minutes later I called Jackson and ordered him to wire a hundred grand over to a Howard Johnson. Once the transfer was complete, I dialed the number Blake sent.

  “Hello?” He answered, the Texan accent ringing in my ears.

  “Check your bank account.”

  He didn’t question me which hinted it wasn’t the first call he received with such an opener.

  He tapped on a keyboard for a few seconds. “I’m listening.” An unhealthy dose of excitement mixed with dread in his voice.

  Becoming one hundred grand richer in a matter of seconds would cheer up anyone, but Howard knew the money came with strings attached.

  “Layla Harston was admitted to your hospital an hour ago,” I said, watching the surroundings as they changed from city streets to a quiet interstate.

  “Yes,” Howard said. “I had Blake on the phone just now. You work fast, Dante. I haven’t seen Layla yet, but from what I gather, she was involved in a car crash.”

  “From now on until I arrive at the hospital in ten hours, you’re the only one allowed to touch her. No nurses, no other doctors. Only you. She needs a change of dressing – you do it. She wants a glass of water – you get it. She wants anything at all, no matter how unusual her wish – you accommodate. The one thing you can’t allow is for her to leave the room. Understood?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes. Whatever she wants is hers as long as she stays in her room.”

  “Exactly. Move her to the most far removed room you can think of. Don’t put it in her file. Blake’s people are on their way as we speak to stand ground at the door. They’ve got orders to kill anyone that isn’t you or me who tries to see her.”

  “I’ll make sure no one from the hospital does.”

  “Good.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose, preparing to ask a question I was afraid to hear the answer to. “Now talk to me. How is she?”

  More tapping on the keyboard followed. “Stable. Strained wrist, cuts, and bruises. A mild concussion. Twenty-six stitches on her thigh and eighteen on her shoulder plus three more on the gunshot wound. The bullet went straight through, and not much more than muscle tissue was damaged. She’s conscious, but…” he paused, his voice trailing off.

  I tensed. “But what?”

  “She’s hooked to diazepam... The attending’s note says she had a panic attack on the scene.”

  I rubbed my face, closing my eyes. The car crash alone must’ve been scary, but I knew it didn’t petrify her half as much as blood seeping from her wounds.

  “Make sure she doesn’t look at blood. She hates it.”

  “No blood. Got it.”

  NINE

  LAYLA

  My head felt as if someone had inflated a giant balloon inside. The humming and beeping of the machines surrounding the hospital bed weren’t making it better. It wasn’t pain. It’d be astounding if I felt pain while remaining hooked to the I.V. with painkillers. No, it was a constant, infuriating, and tiring pressure.

  My body felt feeble, fragile, and so heavy. Stitches pulled on my thigh and shoulder. A piece of broken glass did the latter. A large chunk of metal the former.

  From the moment Archer pulled the trigger to shoot the tire, everything was a blur. Greeted by a young doctor shortly after arriving at the hospital, I started coming out of the haze, pumped full of painkillers and with the effects of whatever they used to knock me out wearing off.

  All I remembered was the all-consuming panic; the fear wrapping itself around every muscle, every bone, and every cell of my body.

  And that was before I saw blo
od.

  By the time the ambulance arrived, I could no longer catch a breath. I remembered bits, muffled voices, Rick’s blurred face in front of me, his touch, and desperate attempts to help me. But he couldn’t. The ambulance crew had to tranquilize me to get me out of the pick-up truck. I was hysterical. Or so I was later told by the attending doctor.

  Not my proudest moment.

  Once I started to regain consciousness, fear was coming back too, and the doctor hooked me to Diazepam to calm me down and suture my wounds.

  And now, almost an hour later, that I.V. was still hooked to my arm, dripping slowly, keeping me calm, weak and tired.

  The door opened, and a tall man entered the room. He wore dark jeans and a grey jumper, but no white coat. Despite the meds, my heart rate sped up at the sight of a gun tucked in the holster by his belt. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, parading around with the metal handle in full view.

  The machine monitoring my heart rate started beeping faster, forcing a wicked smile on the man’s face. I struggled to prop myself up, and he moved to help me.

  “You hid well, Layla. I’ve been looking for you for two weeks,” he said, adjusting my pillow.

  I was speechless, gawking into his dark eyes, taking in the stiff posture, broad shoulders, and exotic looks. His accent and tanned complexion hinted a Latin descent

  He sized me up and snorted softly. “So young... How did you manage to fuck up your short life so bad, imp?”

  My eyebrows furrowed, and I studied him closer, remembering that someone used to call me an imp a long time ago.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he acted unnaturally pleased. “Come on, don’t hurt my feelings. Think harder, imp.”

  Once again, that strange sense of familiarity enveloped me like a soft blanket. I knew him, but couldn’t recall his name. Even his face didn’t seem familiar. Just the nickname. Knowing he came to kill me didn’t help me focus. I trembled inside but put on a mask of indifference. Diazepam was helping with that.

  I gawked at his dark complexion, black eyes, and a lengthy beard. My gaze fell down to wide shoulders, large hands, and then I took him in as a whole. Tall, athletic, nearing his forties. If it weren’t for what I noticed on his finger, I probably wouldn’t have remembered him. A signet ring, like the one Frankie and Dante wore, shone on his hand.

  For a fraction of a second, I felt relieved. That was until I realized his connection with me didn’t matter. Family or not, there was no room for mercy in the mafia world.

  Dante hired him to do a job, and if he didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t be here, watching me, smiling like a maniac.

  “Morte,” I whispered, dropping my gaze so he couldn’t see fear clouding my vision. Blood drained from my face, and the heart monitor started beeping faster again.

  The last time I saw him was many years ago, back when Dino ruled Chicago and Frankie barely advanced to his second in command. Morte used to be a regular guest in our home when I was a child. No wonder... he was my godfather.

  He was Frank’s age and worked for Dino alongside him. I remembered him as if through a fog. I couldn’t have been more than five years old when I saw him for the last time.

  “Hello, imp.” Morte grinned, but there was nothing friendly about that smile. He was excited in a disconcerting way. “I’ll repeat the question. What did you do to deserve to die at nineteen?”

  My fear gave him a sick satisfaction, so I clenched my teeth harder, shrugged, and gave up without a fight. My body was too exhausted and too heavy to hold me up, let alone run for dear life.

  “Tell him I’m sorry,” I said, eyeing my hands.

  He chuckled, the sound making me shiver with disgust.

  “I assume you mean Dante? The kill order didn’t come from Carrow, Layla. It came from your father.”

  My eyes snapped to him in surprise. Although shock was a better fitting word. A pure, incessant shock.

  I felt as if someone suddenly pulled the rug from under my feet as if the sky turned green before my eyes.

  “Frankie told you to kill me?” I asked after a moment, barely recognizing my own voice among the multitude of thoughts swirling in my head.

  “No, no, no imp,” he hurried closer, collapsing on the bed, and forcing me to make him some room. He leaned toward me, alarmed. “I wouldn’t hurt you. You’re family, remember?” He crossed his legs and winked. “This job isn’t for me. It’s for everyone. Anyone can walk in here and kill you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I was so confused I felt dizzy. Frankie wanted me dead? My own father wanted me to die?

  “Hypocrite!” screamed my conscience.

  “It’s an open job. Instead of one hitman, you get hundreds,” Morte shrugged and got even closer as if to let me in on a secret. “Frankie wanted Dante to stay with nothing even if something went wrong that night,” he snorted softly. “And didn’t you surprise us all?”

  An aura of insanity surrounded him. He acted odd, his attitude changing every few seconds, the dark eyes full of crazy.

  “I mean nothing to Dante now. My death won’t change a thing.”

  This was too much. My life was too fucked up to try and fight for it. Dante hated me, and my father wanted me to die to satisfy his need for vengeance.

  Morte ignored my words. “Frankie told me about his plan and your role in it a few weeks before he died. He hired me because he thought Dante might kill him...” he chuckled again and patted my hand. “And it was you! You killed your father, betrayed him despite agreeing to help him take Dante out.” He spoke slowly, with admiration and approval. “I didn’t expect such a turn of events. On the other hand... Dante was always good with women. They all fell head over heels for him.” He clicked his tongue. “See? You’re not as strong as daddy thought you are.”

  “You’re stalling. Just get it over and done with.”

  Morte shook his head again. “I told you the job isn’t mine to do. Pay attention, imp.”

  “You said, Frankie hired you!” I snapped, my body rigid, refusing to follow my mind and give up.

  I didn’t want to hear more. All my life, my parents let me down at every turn, but I always had a way to justify their lack of love and attention. Now, this… This couldn’t be explained. In no rational or irrational way. It was ridiculous, unnatural, and incompatible with every human’s basic instinct – to protect their offspring.

  Frankie was an anomaly.

  And I was an anomaly because of him, and the sick genes he passed to me. I killed him, and it was also not in line with instinct, it wasn’t natural either.

  Nothing in my life made any sense. It seemed that all I knew was just an illusion. A mirage.

  How could I be so stupid? So blind? How could I have not noticed that my own father was a psychopath? He was a monster in a human body, he was... Dehumanized.

  “Earth to the imp,” Morte hissed. “Did you hear what I said?”

  I looked at him and shook my head.

  He sighed irritated, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Frankie hired me for surveillance, Layla. Not to do the dirty work. I wouldn’t agree to that. Not even for the three million. I’m the promoter. I put it in motion right after Frank’s death. Good job you hid so well or else you’d be dead by now.”

  He paused for a moment, looked around and, finding what he was looking for, crossed the room to pour himself a glass of water.

  “The only reason I’m here now is that Archer called in you were dead two hours ago. Before I could wire him the money, I had to see it with my own eyes. Imagine my surprise to find that he’s the dead one. But it’s all good. I’m glad we got to talk. I’ve been looking for you for two weeks now too...”

  “Why?” I wrapped my arms around me, pushing away my emotions. I wanted to curl into a ball and cry.

  Morte came back to sit on the bed and squeezed my hand. “Finally! You’re starting to ask the right questions. Frankie wanted me to tell you why he ordered the hit. He wanted you to
know that you’ll die in the name of the greater good.” He scratched his beard. “At least he saw it that way. He wanted you to try and understand him, though if he knew you’d kill him, there’d be a different reason for the hit.”

  “Understand him?” I scoffed. “How am I supposed to do that? He wanted me dead.”

  Morte raised his hands, massaging his temples. “Frankie was somewhat crazy all his life, but after Dino’s death, it got worse. In a way, you did him a favor. It’s a pity you have to die too.”

  “Frank deserved what he got. You knew him, you know how he was. And when Dino died, nothing mattered to him except Dante. He was obsessed. He controlled my life for years before he told me about the plan. I killed him because Dante gave me everything I needed, everything I never had.”

  “Dante got a little irritated when he found out, didn’t he?” Morte sat up, clearly excited to get some inside information.

  He was curious, but I wasn’t about to relay that night back to him. I clenched my teeth, refusing to cooperate.

  He grimaced, but then the same manic smile crawled onto his mouth. “You said you’re nothing to Dante now, so tell me… Why did he get a whole army of pawns on their toes just to find you? He’s nobody without you, and he knows it.”

  The damn heart monitor sped up once more, but this time pulse thudded in my ears loud and partially drowned out background noise.

  Dante was looking for me. He wanted to protect me. He still cared.

  Morte took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, I saw pity.

  “I hope whoever kills you does it quickly, painlessly. You don’t deserve to suffer, imp.” He moved closer, kissed my forehead, and winked, before leaving the room in a hurry.

  I stared at the closed door, struggling to make sense of my life. I was nineteen for crying out loud. This wasn’t the time to die. It was time to have fun, make mistakes, and live the way I’d never be able to live again. It was time to stay up all night with friends, drink, and do silly things. The time to fall in love every Friday evening, and forget about the guy by Sunday afternoon.