Chapter 24

Layla

He was safe.

Alive.

Wrapped in my arms. Breathing, warm, little heart thudding against my palm. Alive, safe, here.

“Eli. Eli.” Panic still clutched my throat in a brutal vice, choking out the sobs, the words built up in my chest. “I thought … I thought they …”

My words came out in shattered, ragged fragments. Unformed thoughts broken by fear and relief. I couldn’t hold him tight enough, couldn’t reassure myself enough that everything would be all right.

But was he all right?

I pulled away, my hands roving over his tiny body to check for injuries, seeking out signs of blood, bruises, pain … “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

Eli shook his head, his wide, frightened eyes meeting mine. “No, Mama. I’m okay.”

I leaned in again, pressed a kiss to his forehead, only distantly aware of the way sobs wracked my chest. My tears leaked into his soft white-blond hair as I held him close.

A warm hand fell on my shoulder. Steadying me.

“He’s okay,” Aldo’s soft voice wrapped around me like an embrace. No, not Aldo’s voice. Vasco’s. “He’s okay. We’re okay.”

I wanted to lean into that voice. Let it engulf me, like a blanket of safety and security and protection. I tilted my gaze up from Eli’s hair into Aldo’s face.

The mask was broken. In its place, the lines of his face mapped out an expression of anguish and fear and worry.

That look drove my own worry back, and something hard and hot roared into the space left behind. Anger. Worry? What right had he to be worried?

Because with my son in the hands of a bad man, Aldo had—

“How could you?” My voice shook with rage as I stood, keeping one hand on Eli’s shoulder to turn his face into my side. “You shot at my son! How did you know you wouldn’t hit him?”

Aldo’s jaw tightened, and the lines of his face smoothed back into that mask of impassivity. “I had no choice,” he said flatly. “They would’ve taken him. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

Oh, how I hated that fucking mask.

“No choice?” My voice rose, and my hand tightened over Eli’s shoulder. “You were reckless, Aldo. You shot two men in front of him, and you didn’t even care. As long as you got what you wanted—your revenge.”

“Revenge?” For a moment, the mask cracked, and Aldo’s eyes flashed with rage. “You think I shot these men for revenge? It was the only way—”

“No.” I started up the beach, still holding Eli tight against my side, away from the bodies in the sand behind us. The bodies I wouldn't look at, surely didn’t want Eli to see. “You put my son’s life at risk—why? Now that you know he’s not your son, you don’t care about his life?”

A sick sort of satisfaction filled me at the way those words hit like a blow, the way the mask cracked. He froze, halfway up the beach.

“That doesn’t change anything,” he said, his voice so quiet, he almost sounded like my Vasco again. “Who he is to me doesn’t matter. He’s your son, and that means he’s under my protection. And I’ll do whatever it takes—”

Pain clutched my chest in sharp fingers.

“That’s unacceptable,” I shot back, my voice trembling with fury. “You almost made him die for you! I can’t do this anymore, Aldo. I can’t stay here and watch you risk everything I love.”

These last few weeks had been a nightmare—of violence, of fear, of heartbreak. And I couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t live this life. Not when so much was clearly at risk.

Aldo stepped forward, his expression unreadable in the faded moonlight. “You’re not leaving. Not now, not like this. It’s not safe out there, Layla. They’ll come for you again.”

“And whose fault is that, Aldo?” My words fell like heavy stones between us, plop plop plop, sharp and staccato. “You dragged me back into your world, and now my son is paying the price. I’m done.”

The silence that fell between us was so heavy, so thick and tangible, I might have cut it with a knife. His face was still that mask, but his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, mimicking my own labored breathing.

What was he feeling?

Thinking?

Had my words struck anything inside him?

But before I could ask, a sharp cry cut through the quiet like the aforementioned knife. An unfamiliar man in a black suit staggered to his knees in the sand, clutching his side.

Crimson blood seeped through his fingers.

The sight of that blood drove back everything else. I was a doctor first and foremost, and the instinct took hold. Without realizing I was doing it, I nudged Eli towards Aldo.

I dropped to my knees in front of the bleeding man. One of Aldo’s, one of the men who’d chased the attackers down the beach, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was bleeding, that his life was fading—but I could save it.

“He’s been shot,” I said, my hands already working to tear his shirt from the wound. “I need something to stop the bleeding.”

“I’ve got him.” Carlo appeared at the man’s side, his face a set of grim lines. “We’ll get him inside—”

“I need to stitch him now. Here,” I found myself saying, like I was watching another woman work from a distance. “But I need medical supplies. Do you have those?”

Carlo’s head tilted up past me, towards Aldo, but I didn’t bother to look back. Aldo must have given his permission, though, because Carlo lifted his phone to his ear. “I need a med kit down at the beach. Now!”

“Good. Help me get him lying down.”

Carlo nodded, and with the aid of another suit-clad man, lay their wounded comrade in the soft sand. The man grimaced, biting back another cry of pain, but I kept my fingers tight against his wound. “Good. You’re all right.”

Someone else knelt beside me, and I knew without looking who it was. Knew from the soft scent of cologne, the warmth of his big body. The feel of him. I turned just enough to ensure that he still held Eli protectively against him.

The wounded man groaned again, pulling my attention back. Sweat slicked his pale face, and his eyes rolled back to show me the whites.

“Stay with me,” I commanded, keeping my voice firm but gentle. “You’re going to be fine. Just keep breathing for me. Can you do that?”

He managed a weak nod, and I went to work. Adrenaline flooded my veins—from the chase down the beach, from the fear and worry, from the anger—but my hands didn’t shake as I cleared his shirt away from the wound.

I might not be a Mafia don, but I knew how to keep my head in a crisis.

Soft footsteps preceded the arrival of yet another man in a suit—this one bearing a much-appreciated white box. “Med kit.”

“Right here.” I barely glanced up to direct him beside me. “Find me a disinfectant and a sterile needle. Thread. The bullet exited clean, so I’ll just need to stitch and bandage …”

The words trailed off as my training took over. I threw orders into the night, and Aldo’s men obeyed. My hands flew between the medical kit and the body beside me. Bandages replaced needle and thread.

At long last, I sat back. The man lay in the sand, breathing normally again. Blood stained his chest, my hands, my clothes, but he was stable.

“He’ll live,” I said. “You can bring him back to the house—carefully.”

Carlo nodded, and with a few pointed fingers, directed the remaining men to lift the fallen one. He groaned, but they kept him steady as they carried him away from the beach.

Leaving me. And Aldo. And Eli.

With a sterile wipe, I scrubbed as much blood away from my hands as I could; I’d still need a shower. I didn’t look at Aldo, though I felt him watching me. Knew he’d been watching me this whole time.

“I mean it,” I sighed. “I’m done with this shit. This isn’t the life I want, and it’s surely not the life I want for my son.”

I looked up in time to see Aldo’s jaw flex with tension. But he merely nodded. “Thank you.”

I didn’t dignify his gratitude with a response. He didn’t deserve it. Instead, I took Eli’s hand in mine. Sudden exhaustion stole over me, weighing my bones down. “Come on, baby. Let’s go get cleaned up.”

I didn’t turn as I led my son up the beach. Didn’t look back to see if Aldo was watching us depart.

I knew he was.

I just didn’t care.