Chapter 34

Aldo

Waves crashed faintly against the hull of the luxury yacht. The sound might once have soothed me—a signal of escape, of the open ocean surrounding me. Except this time, I wasn’t on the boat.

I stood at the end of the long, lightly bobbing dock, staring out over the marina. “Give me good news, Car.”

“Well, you don’t see the Moretti’s yacht, do you?” Beside me, Carlo directed his gaze towards the empty mooring a few hundred yards away from the dock.

I didn’t turn. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

“The Little Dipper sank a hundred miles off the coast of Florida, and every person on board made it off alive. Except …”

“Tell me you got them.” My right hand clenched into a fist at my side, out of Carlo’s notice. I hated this kind of work, but I certainly wasn’t about to let anyone—even Carlo—question whether I had the backbone for it.

“Every passenger escaped the wreck, except three men,” Carlo said. “All with the last name Moretti.”

“Good.” I turned away from the open mooring and stalked back up the pier. “Let’s hope they get the message.”

Carlo followed me up the dock, and I heard more in his silence than in his words. Perhaps worry wasn’t quite the right word, but he’d surely noted how focused I’d been in the past handful of days.

I’d thrown myself into my work, with a focus and dedication I hadn’t managed since I’d first returned from Alaska to find my father dead, brother missing, and the family on the brink of chaos.

He didn’t comment as we climbed into the car.

I slid my phone from my pocket and, without thinking, checked my notifications. Of course, there were plenty—from my men, from my mother, from Aurora … but I dismissed them all.

The one person I wanted to hear from had been remarkably silent the past few days.

She’d gone off with Marco after their cute family dinner together, and I … I hadn’t been able to bear the thought of them together. My security on her place had reported no suspicious activity, and I hadn’t inquired further.

She was right.

I needed to let her go.

So why did her silence fill me with such unease? Was it merely the desperate longing of a lost lover? Or something more? I’d been Don for eight years now, and in that time, I’d learned to trust my gut.

But with Layla, I couldn’t trust any part of myself.

Still …

I lifted my phone to contact the patrol at her house. The line rang in my ear. Rang, and rang, and rang.

I hung up, called another.

More ringing.

“Carlo, turn the car around,” I said, because the churn of unease had turned to full-on alert. “Take me to Layla’s new place.”

“Is something wrong?” Carlo was already diverting the car down a side street. He trusted me—and he trusted my instincts.

“Not sure.” I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. “But her guards aren’t answering.”

Carlo pushed harder on the gas.

Residential streets lined in brownstone rowhouses whipped past, the occasional sapling tree adding a pop of green to my peripherals. I barely saw any of it.

And when Layla’s house—formerly my safehouse—drew into view, it was all I could do to stay in the car as Carlo steered it up the driveway. He’d barely cut the engine before I was out.

“Find the guards,” I barked at him, already trying the front door. Locked. I rang the bell, pounded my fist. “Layla? Eli?”

I didn’t wait for an answer.

I had my shoulder in the door, jimmying it open, before the bell had finished ringing. Because I knew. I knew, with that honed Mafia instinct, that something was wrong.

I didn’t need to walk into the kitchen to see the pan on the stove, shriveled vegetables curled and blacked inside, to know. I didn’t need to note the collapsed pile of blocks on the carpet beside the kitchen table.

My stomach dropped faster than an elevator cut loose of its cables.

Layla and Eli had left in a hurry.

“Carlo.” I hurried back outside to where my second-in-command waiting for me in the car. “I need the location of every property owned by Marco Ricci.”

“Boss?”

“I should have trusted my instincts much, much earlier,” I muttered as I slid into the passenger seat of the car. “He’s kidnapped Layla, and we have to find her.”

“Shit.” Carlo pulled his own phone out to consult his notes. “He owns a house out near the Finger Lakes, another in Stamford, there’s a penthouse on Fifth Ave—”

“Penthouse.” I didn’t question my damned gut this time. I knew that’s where they were, and that’s where we were going.

Once again, Carlo didn’t question me. He merely put his foot on the gas, and drove.

---

I didn’t bother with formalities like asking the doorman to buzz me up. Carlo and I marched through the door and into the lobby of Marco’s building like we owned the place—and with our guns drawn, we essentially did.

The guard was quite eager to disclose Marco’s information with my pistol an inch from his jaw. Carlo tied him up—couldn’t have him calling for help—and in no time flat, I was riding the elevator towards Marco’s penthouse.

I kicked in the door without bothering to see if it was locked.

Gun lifted in front of me, I barrelled in. My eyes flit over the spacious room beyond, taking it in. Ready to shoot, ready to destroy anyone in my way.

Layla and Eli sat on the couch in the middle.

Marco stood behind them. One hand rested on Layla’s shoulder, the other held a gun—lifted and trained at me. “Hello, Aldo. I was wondering when you might show up.”

Layla’s head snapped towards me. Her face was pale, but her eyes flashed with a determination the likes of which I’d never seen before. Beside her, Eli sat calm and silent.

“This is your idea of a trap?” I eased slowly into the room. He wouldn’t shoot, I didn’t think. Not yet. He wanted me, here, for something. He wouldn’t shoot yet.

“I never said that.”

“Well, you wanted me to come here? I’m here.” I slide another step towards the couch. “Let’s talk, Marco.”

Marco smirked. “Talk? Is that what you think I want?”

“Marco,” Layla murmured. Her back went suddenly tense, like he’d tightened his fingers over her shoulder.

“Stay out of this, Layla.” The sudden tension in Marco’s voice said she’d struck some kind of nerve.

My own grip tightened on the gun. If he thought I’d hesitate to shoot, he was much mistaken.

“Let them go, Marco,” I said, keeping my voice low and even. “And let’s you and I have a chat. What do you want? Whatever it is, I can get it for you.”

I realized my mistake the moment the words left my mouth.

“Oh?” Marco’s easy grin slid back over his face. “Carte blanche from the head of the Marcellos? Does she mean that much to you?”

“I protect my family,” I said, mimicking his loose posture and casual tone. “You give them back, we can make a deal.”

Marco’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, but this is so much more satisfying. Watching you squirm. Knowing this time, you can’t protect what’s yours.”

“Want to bet?” I asked. “You want to see who pulls the trigger faster?”

“Marco,” Layla said again, and this time she turned to face him. So he’d get the full brunt of those blue eyes—such damaging eyes. “Why don’t you let Eli go? Let him go, the three of us can talk, okay?”

Somehow, those were the words that reached him. Made him pause. Made him lower the gun the barest fraction of an inch.

My gun cracked, and Marco staggered backwards. Staggered to his knees. Hands clasped over his face. Blood pouring from between his fingers.

I didn’t bother to check him. I was already rushing towards Layla. “Are you all right?”

She started to nod, but her gaze slid past me. To something just beyond my shoulder—

I spun as Marco leapt from behind the couch, gun cocked in his trembling fingers.

“No!” Layla dove towards Eli.

Marco’s gun cracked as he raced for the door.

Layla crumpled to the floor in front of me, and I shot without aiming after Marco’s retreating form. Crack, crack, crack. Bullets sent drywall raining down from the walls as Marco hurtled for the hallway.

He staggered through the door and out of sight. I should chase him. Blood splattered the floor in his wake, but I couldn’t be sure if I’d hit him again. I could catch him if I ran—

But, I had eyes only for Layla.

“Layla.” In an instant, I was on my knees beside her, rolling her so her ghost-white face stared up at me.

“Mommy?” Eli crouched on her other side, his usually calm demeanor replaced with wide-eyed terror. “Mommy!”

“I’m … okay,” she murmured, and her right hand reached up for her left shoulder. Blood soaked through her dark blouse.

“You are gonna be okay,” I agreed, already wrangling my phone out of my pocket. I didn’t bother with an ambulance.

My men were faster.

“I’m gonna call in a doctor,” I said to her, or maybe it was to Carlo on the other end of the line. “Just hold on, okay.”

Layla winced but managed a weak smile. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“I know, baby,” I murmured, weaving my fingers through hers. “I know you are.”