Chapter 38

Layla

I pulled in a deep inhale, squared my shoulders, and stepped through the door into the hospital. As a doctor this time, not a patient. Back where I should be—but still, my heart raced as the familiar hum of the lobby washed over me.

Could I really just return to my life as if nothing had happened—Marco’s betrayal, the kidnapping, the gunshot … And as I strode through the lobby, I realized I’d have a new challenge to add to the list.

The eyes of every single nurse, doctor, and intern in the place followed me. Crap. They knew. Of course they knew; I’d been a patient at this hospital, and stories like mine didn’t stay quiet.

I could only imagine the things they’d say in my wake.

One of the nurses eyeballed me as I neared the break room. I could practically see her lining up a string of questions, so I waved, and opted not to enter the room. I could get coffee later.

The last thing I wanted was to start my first day back talking about the incident that had taken me out of work. That had thrown my entire life into a chaotic disarray I wasn’t sure could ever be straightened out.

Not when the world knew Eli’s parentage.

Not when Aldo had no other heirs.

Not with Marco still in the wind.

That last thought sat heavy in my chest, a constant weight that sank into my stomach in a clutch of cold dread whenever I thought about it too much.

Would Marco seek vengeance?

I honestly could only hope that work today was busy enough to distract me—from the memories that promised to haunt me forever, the worries that hovered like a flock of black crows … and the gossip that I’m sure would craft dozens of new stories with me in the starring role.

I’d never been so eager to meet my first patient.

Twelve hours later, I staggered out of the hospital, rubbing sleep from my eyes. How had I ever endured twelve hours of constant work? Exhaustion dragged at my bones.

So when my phone buzzed in my pocket as I jimmied my keys into the car, I nearly groaned. When was the last time a ringing phone had meant something good?

I slid into the driver’s seat. Aldo’s name flashed across the screen of my cell.

I sighed. Answered. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to see how work went?” He sounded almost apologetic—I winced. Oops.

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing my voice to soften, if only minutely. “Just tired. Ready to go home and sleep.”

“Oh. Right.” There he went sounding chastised again. “Um. Okay.”

I bit back a second sigh. “Why are you calling?”

“I was just … well … I was hoping you might have dinner with me, but if you’re tired …”

My fingers tightened on the phone. Did I want to have dinner with him? I didn’t know, honestly. I was too tired to now. “Not tonight, Vas, really. I’m … I need to sleep.”

It was the best answer I could give. The only one. The truth.

“Okay,” he said, surprisingly without any fight. “Just … I know it’s hard right now. But all of it doesn’t have to be complicated.”

My chest ached. “Good night, Aldo.”

Aldo

I drained the amber liquid, cubes clinking together, and set the empty glass on the side table on my right. Seated to my left on the leather sofa, Carlo swished his own half-drunk scotch. “You gonna talk to me, or just drink til you drown?”

I gritted my teeth, but poured another glass anyway.

“Vas.” Carlo kicked at my shoe with his own. “Talk to me.”

I sighed and set the glass down. The alcohol was doing nothing to unknot the frustrated coiled tight in my chest. “I just … I don’t get it.”

“Layla.” It wasn’t a question. He stared down into his glass like maybe he could read my future in booze and ice instead of tea leaves.

“Always.” I tilted my head back against the sofa to stare into the depths of the ceiling. Maybe my future was up there? Or I was drunker than I’d realized. “She’s here, you know? She’s back in my life—despite everything I did to set her free. Eli is my goddamned son. It feels like …”

“Fate.”

“Destiny.” I turned my head to look at him sideways. “It feels like fucking destiny. Like we were meant to be together. But …”

“You’re not together,” Carlo noted dryly.

“What would I do without you around to finish my sentences?”

“Drink more, I suspect.”

I laughed, but didn’t feel it, like the sound coming out of my mouth didn’t reach my heart. How could it, when my heart belonged to her—and time after time she refused me.

“Why can’t she just love me?” Shit, I’d said those words out loud, hadn’t I? I really was drunker than I’d realized.

“You realize how bad that sounds?” Carlo drained his glass and leaned forward to set it on the coffee table at our knees. “Right?”

I scowled. “I didn’t mean it like that. But we were happy once, you know? She loved me. And—”

“And you left her. Because you thought you were protecting her.” Carlo leaned back onto the arm of the couch so he was partially looking at me.

“I was protecting her.” My breath felt too shallow, and I didn’t think I could blame the booze on this.

“Were you?” Carlo’s brows lifted in a neat arch. “Or were you protecting yourself?”

I had to look away. His dark eyes weren’t accusing, but … but he was still right. To think I was protecting her, that had been a lie. She’d suffered so much because of me.

Because I could do just as much damage when I wasn’t involved in her life as when I was. I’d left her to raise a child and juggle a career—alone.

“I don’t know how to fix it.” Did I sound like a petulant child? Probably. “I want her back, Carlo. Not just because of Eli. I want her. I … I love her.”

Carlo studied me for a long moment, face serious. “You sure about that? Because if you’re serious, then you need to do something about it.”

“Do—”

“Not flowers, Vas. Come on.” Carlo rolled his eyes. “Not sending bodyguards following her around. Not patrolling her life. You need to remind her why she fell for you in the first place, you know? Show her you, not just the Mafia king.”

“But …” But this is who I am now, I wanted to say. It was true—and a lie all at once. Are we not a compilation both of our masks and hidden selves? Are we not as much the person we portray to the world as we are the secrets we hide away?

My mask was as much a part of my life as the Vasco of Alaska was.

Like he could read my mind, Carlo nodded. “She has to love you for who you are, but she has to choose to be with you for what you are.”

The words cut like knives. That was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? That who I was and what I was were at such odds.

I tilted my head back up towards the ceiling. “And if she doesn’t want to be with me?”

“Then you let her go.” Carlo shrugged, like it was just that easy. Maybe it was. I’d let her go once before. “But if you don’t try, you’ll never know.”

The words settled in my heart, in my mind. I knew they’d play on repeat over and over, while I tried to sleep, when I heard her leave for work in the morning, when I smelled coffee and shampoo lingering in the kitchen the next day.

Unless, that is, I decided right now what I was going to do.

“You’re right.” I sat up. “I’m going to show her how much she means to me.”

“Why does that worry me?” Carlo asked, but his mouth tilted in half a smile. “You need my help?”

“Always.”