Chapter 29

Aldo

I arrived in the kitchen late the next morning—to ensure Layla had already left for work—to find an unexpected visitor awaiting me with crossed arms.

I bit back a groan of dismay at the sight of the tiny Italian woman in my kitchen. “Hello, Mother.”

“So good to see you, Vasco.” Melissa Marcello hovered beside the kitchen window, bathed in sunlight that turned the grey streaks of her hair to silver highlights. She stood a grand total of four feet ten inches, but the way she could glare down a grown man, one might never have guessed her height disadvantage.

Now, with her hands on her hips, lips pursed, face twisted in judgment, I knew I was in for a reckoning.

Still, I crossed the room to her, leaned in to place a kiss on each of her cheeks. As a good Italian son should do for his good Italian mother. Mafia or not, we respected cultural traditions.

“Have you had breakfast?” I asked, because I wasn’t ready for whatever speech she’d probably thought up on the car ride over from her Upper East Side penthouse. “Coffee?”

Of course, it was foolish to think I might be able to delay the true purpose of her visit. My mother was nothing if not focused, dedicated to her cause.

“You know I’m not here for the coffee or the breakfast.” Mother’s expression didn’t so much as falter. “I know you know why I’m here.”

I headed for the coffee maker, because in the very least, I would be properly caffeinated for this conversation. “I assume it’s not to ask after my wellbeing, either.”

“You seem well enough.” Her lips tightened in displeasure. “Considering there was an attack on your home four nights ago.”

I sighed, but kept my focus on the coffee. “There was, yes. And everyone lived. My security team is working on fixing the breach. I’ve doubled personnel on the estate, and I have an outside company installing new alarms—”

“I heard they weren’t after you.” Mother always could stop a train in its tracks with her unflinching bluntness. Like a stone wall of human flesh.

It was admirable. It was terrifying.

“No.” I wrapped my fingers around my mug and faced my mother. “They were after a guest in my home.”

“Layla Bennett. Your ex-wife. And her son, Eli.” More bluntness. This, arguably, worse than the last.

She’d done her research, of course. Carlo might have been able to find me just about any answer I wanted, but Mother’s reach might have been even more impressive than my own.

I held in a sigh and gave her the truth. “Yes, Mother.”

“Her son, who is not your son, and your ex-wife,” Mother barrelled right on, without so much as pausing for breath, “who are both staying in your house, under your care. Who’ve popped up on Moretti’s radar as people that are somehow important to you.”

I winced. Me. Don of the Marcello family, one of the most feared men in New York City. I flinched like a chastised child. “Something like that.”

“Vasco!” Mother reached out to slap at my ear, just hard enough for me to feel her irritation. Perhaps without realizing she was doing it, she slipped back into Italian. “Are you stupid? What were you thinking, bringing her here?”

How was I supposed to answer that? “She was in danger—”

“So put her in a safehouse in California or Kansas!” Mother snapped, still in Italian. “You don’t bring her into your house and paint a target on her back—and everyone around her! You put her life into more danger. Put her son’s life into danger. Your life. Everyone in this household’s life.”

I held back my wince this time, even though I knew she was right. I’d acted so foolishly. Continued to act foolishly.

“You wanted to keep her close,” sighed Mother, softening minutely. Almost fondly. “Because you still love her.”

My shoulders stiffened with surprise. Mother was astute, certainly, but to see through me that quickly, that easily … It was uncanny.

Or maybe I was just that transparent.

“If you truly loved her,” Mother’s voice went cold again, “you’d do as I say. Send her away. Marry Aurora. Produce an actual heir and put an end to all this discontent once and for all.”

I closed my eyes, focused on the warmth of the drink in my hands. She was right. I knew she was right. Layla’s life would be so much simpler if I sent her away. She’d need to rebuild a bit, find a new home, a new job, certainly.

But she’d be safe.

Away from Moretti and his devious machinations. Away from me, and all the danger my brutal life represented. I could still see the way her face had crumbled last night, when I’d told her the truth behind that shot.

“Vasco!” Mother swatted me on the side of the head again, harder this time. Irritation becoming anger. “You’re being stupid! You can’t afford to be stupid. Stupid gets you killed. Gets your family killed.”

“I know.” My teeth clenched hard enough to make my jaw ache.

“You know, you know.” Mother glared. “But you’re not doing anything about it! You refuse to marry Aurora, even after all these years! She’s been so good to you—”

“I know.”

“But you think you need to love …” Mother scoffed. “You think your father married me for love?”

I swallowed down the commentary that rose in my throat—that my father had never loved anyone—and let her continue.

“You have a duty to this family, Aldo Marcello.” She turned suddenly professional—using my chosen name instead of my given one. She even switched back into speaking English. “You’re one of the best leaders this family has ever had. But you’re letting your emotions get in the way of your good sense. And you’re going to get someone killed.”

“I’m not going to get anyone killed,” I said, but was that a promise I could make? Was it even a conviction I could believe? The situation was already so far out of my control—she was right. And I knew it.

Mother did, too. “That woman needs to be moved out of this estate.”

“Mother, you can’t speak—”

“It’s fine, Aldo.” The feminine voice caused both of us to turn towards the kitchen doorway, where a small, blonde woman stood glaring with an intensity to rival that of my Mafia mother. “That woman is more than ready to be moved out of this hellhole.”

“Layla—” I took half a step towards her. Why was she still here? “I thought you went to work.”

But she and my mother simultaneously stopped me in my tracks. My mother with a hand on my arm—though I barely felt the touch.

It was Layla’s gaze, the anger burning through it, that froze me in place. “No, Aldo. Vasco. Whatever you’re going by these days. I’m finished with this. I have no desire to have any kind of relationship with you—professional or otherwise.”

The words echoed hollowly in my head. “It’s not safe.”

“Oh, because I’ve been so safe with you.” She crossed her arms, and the smile that half-turned her mouth was anything but amused. “I was shot at in a car. My son was kidnapped in your safe home. You keeping me here isn’t keeping me safe. Clearly. It’s time for me to leave.”

I couldn’t find the words to protest.