Chapter 105

The estate bustled with movement: Marcello men arming themselves, strategizing, talking shit, waving proverbial fists at the enemy, posturing, preparing for war … All the things men did.

But still, they awaited my command.

I stood at the head of the table in the grand dining room, where a makeshift war council had gathered.

The room that had once been filled with warmth and family meals now felt cold, transformed into a battlefield before a single shot had been fired. And still, I couldn’t process this cold dichotomy, or the turn my life had taken to lead me here.

My mind buzzed with one thought—retaliation.

At least they’d let me bring Aldo home; he was unconscious down the hall, sequestered in our bedroom behind soundproof and bulletproof walls. Heavy sedation had rendered him utterly unable to lend even a thought to this fight.

Good.

With the severity of his injuries, there was no way he should be involved in any capacity. The stress alone would hinder his healing. And knowing Aldo, he’d do more than stress, think.

However, with Aldo fully out of commission, it meant I was left to make the vital call of our next move.

Strike back now, or take time to strategize and risk appearing weak?

The Rossettis had nearly killed my husband; clearly they were no longer content to lurk in the shadows, pulling violent but harmless pranks. They’d progressed to a new level, and clearly they wouldn't stop here.

If I hesitated, they would think I was weak, and they would come again. And next time, I wagered, they’d hit even harder.

Next time, would they take a life I loved?

I exhaled slowly, then lifted my gaze to address my war council. “We need to move quickly. We send a message.”

Carlo grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

But before I could issue the order, a low male voice interrupted. “Don’t do this.”

I spun.

Ethan stood in the doorway on the far side of the room, his presence an unwelcome shadow in the room of Marcello loyalists. A few of the men tensed, hands drifting toward their weapons, but I held up a hand, silently telling them to stand down.

Besides, there were really only two ways Ethan could’ve gotten inside—either Aldo or Vanessa had let him in. Probably to talk sense into me.

I sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

I left the war council in the dining room and followed Ethan out into the hall. “So, was it my husband or my best friend that let you in?”

“I’m not naming any names.”

“Ethan—”

“Layla.” Ethan spun to face me, his face a map of shadows in the dim hall. “You don’t have to go down this road.”

My jaw clenched. “No? The Rossettis nearly killed my husband, Ethan. What would you have me do? Send them flowers?”

“I’m not saying that.” Ethan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m saying there’s another way. Let me help you. We bring them down legally—evidence, arrests, prison. No blood on your hands.”

I stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against the fire building in my chest. It was tempting. The idea of justice without the cycle of violence. A world where I didn’t have to become what I had feared for so long.

A scoffed laugh from down the hall made us both turn. Carlo stood in the hall outside the dining room door. “And how do you think that’ll work out, Detective? When was the last time you sat a gangster down in a courtroom and locked him behind bars?”

Ethan’s jaw ticked. “Even you can’t escape the law.”

“No. But people like Rossetti can buy judges. They make witnesses disappear. They tamper with evidence. He’s not afraid of you or your law.”

Ethan didn’t waver. “Then we hit them with something they can’t escape. Financial records, connections to politicians, corruption cases. We expose them, make them pariahs, ruin their empire from the inside.”

“And then, when Rossetti’s gone, you do that to Aldo, right?” Carlo crossed his arms and glared Ethan down.

“Enough.” My fingers curled into fists. “Neither of you are the bad guy here, and fighting with each other only makes Rossetti stronger.”

Both men turned to me, and I knew I had to make an important choice—and in one of their eyes, I would choose wrong. If I chose Ethan’s way, I would be right in the eyes of the law, and weak in the eyes of the family, the Rossettis.

And if I chose Carlo’s way, the Mafia way, maybe I would prove myself strong, tough. Maybe I’d protect my husband and my family. But at what cost to my soul—to my relationships? To myself?

“You can do this, Layla,” Ethan said, his voice soft, smooth, like a whisper through trees. Like a soft caress of hope. “Trust me. Together, we can do something so much more powerful than with guns and bombs.”

Could I? Could I do this without spilling blood?

“And what if you fail?” Carlo asked, stepping forward. “What if you try to take them down legally, and you can’t. What if you just provoke them further?”

“Did you ever think that maybe they want you to come after them?” Ethan asked, eyes flashing as he glared at Carlo. “That maybe they bated the angry little Number Two to see if the guard dog would come running, teeth snapping?”

Carlo’s jaw flexed. “Excuse me?”

“They expect you to come after them.” Ethan turned back towards me, his expression softening. “You really think they’d hit Aldo and not expect retaliation? Which means they can handle it.”

“It means they think they can handle it.” Carlo snarled. “They think taking out our head means we’re headless.”

“They think we’re weak,” I agreed, and something inside me hardened like a compressed diamond. “They’re wrong.”

“You’re the queen of this family now,” Carlo said. “Time to show the underworld what kind of queen you’re going to be. I’ll be in the war-room when you’re ready.”

He turned, leaving me and Ethan in the hall once more.

Ethan only regarded me with sad eyes, his expression resigned. Like he knew I’d made up my mind. “A good queen doesn’t throw her people into a war without thinking.”

“This isn’t a war we started,” I said, my voice a low hum. “But it’s one I can’t afford to lose.”

Ethan shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. “You’re better than this, Layla. I know you are.”

I turned away to stare at the carved paneling on the wall.

Two paths stretched before me. One where I placed my faith in Ethan, in law, in a system I had never truly trusted. And one where I took the path I’d once sworn I never would—the path of violence, power, and vengeance.

When I finally spoke, my voice was quiet but firm. “I need to find out how the Rossettis knew about the restaurant. Someone fed them that information.”

Ethan’s expression darkened. “Layla—”

I turned to him, my voice tinged with something colder than before. “You should go, Ethan.”

“Layla—”

“I don’t think you’ll like what you see if you stay much longer.”