Chapter 71

Layla

The weight of the revelation—of the truth—hung over me like a heavy blanket. I’d never questioned why I’d never met my mother’s parents, her family. She’d claimed to be estranged, and I’d been ten when she died.

My father’s mother, my Nonna, had become my everything.

And I’d never questioned it. Never wanted more. Never needed more.

But now, with the evidence laid out in front of me, literally in my hands, I realized how much my own mother’s past—and her family—seemed like Vasco’s mysterious past I’d never known, never bothered to question.

I’d learned the mistake of not asking questions.

“How did this happen?” I tilted my gaze up to meet Irena’s eyes, shifted to study Dmitri. “And why did she never find you?”

“A violent power struggle in the family left our family home in ruins.” Dmitri slid back into his own empty armchair. “In the chaos, your mother went missing. We searched for weeks afterwards. Offered rewards. Begged. Employed detectives and police, special investigators …”

“Our searches turned up nothing.” Irena’s eyes shone with unshed tears, but she blinked them effortlessly away—the mark of a woman who’d grown accustomed to staying strong in the face of pain.

I should know.

“We never stopped our investigations entirely,” Dmitri continued, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “But she’d vanished, and we gave up hope of ever knowing what had happened to our beloved daughter.”

My heart clenched. What a horrible thought—not just to lose your child, but to not know the manner in which she’d been lost. If she was even alive anymore.

I couldn’t fathom such heartbreak.

“So you can imagine,” said Irena, “our surprise when your DNA sample came back as a match. It opened up an entire world of information we’d thought lost.”

“You investigated me,” I realized. How much did they know—about me, about Eli? About Vasco, my parents, my grandmother, my life …

“We investigated you only as much as was required to trace you back to our daughter,” Dmitri clarified in a firm voice.

“We needed to know—” Irena’s voice cracked, the first break in her composure, and something in me cracked, too. As much as I’d grown tired of secrets, lies, and investigations, I couldn’t fault Irena and Dmitri for their invasion of my privacy.

If someone had stolen Eli away, I’d have done the same.

“And what did you find?” I asked, my voice low, trembling. As much as I wanted—needed—to know, I also was under no illusions as to how damn much the truth could hurt.

A sudden warmth at my shoulder told me Aldo had leaned forward. Words could never describe how much that simplest of movements meant to me—how the heat of him, the soft scent of his cologne, felt like everything.

Safety. Home.

“She was kidnapped by a warring branch of the Russian mob,” Dmitri said, his voice carefully neutral in a way that spoke of tucking emotions beneath a mask. “Raised as their daughter for nearly five years, until she was fifteen.”

My throat felt too thick. My breath caught, the oxygen struggling to find my lungs. Aldo’s warm hand curled comfortingly around the crest of my shoulder.

Safe. Home.

“She escaped at fifteen,” Irena said, her fingers going white on the armrests of her chair. “Started a new life far from her old one.”

“We don’t know why she never tried to find us,” Dmitri murmured, his voice going soft and his gaze turning distant, “but we suspect it was too dangerous.”

“Or she’d simply had enough of life in the mob,” Irena said, and something in me knew that her version was the truth. My mother had run—and she’d never looked back.

Aldo squeezed his hand still resting on my shoulder, that smallest of gestures bringing a wave of comfort.

“She met your father on a chance encounter several years later.” Irena’s voice assumed a more cheerful tone. “And the rest I suppose is less distant history. You were born, and they started their family, far from the reach of your mother’s dark past.”

The final words hung heavy in the air between us. I sifted through them, searching, searching for something to say—but what? Was I supposed to offer these strange people comfort?

“I had no idea,” I finally murmured, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. “My mother never told me about any of this. About any of her life. And I …”

I’d never asked.

“She was protecting you,” Dmitri said gently. “But now, the truth has found its way back to you. And with that truth comes an opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?” Aldo spoke for the first time since the Orlovs’ story had started. Of course, he was ever the practical-thinking Don—but his hand never left my shoulder.

Dmitri leaned forward towards me. “We want to help you, Layla.”

“So you’ve said,” Aldo replied, his words formal, clipped. “But you’ve yet to explain how.”

“The Orlov family has resources.” Dmitri leaned back, and his gaze bounced from Aldo to me. “We could help tip the balance of this conflict.”

“You’re suggesting an alliance.” Aldo’s words weren’t a question.

“That’s exactly what we’re suggesting.” Irena stood, stepped forward to narrow the distance between her chair and mine. “If we work together, we can end the Moretti-Falcone reign of chaos. Restore order to New York.”

It sounded like a good offer—like the only way we could be sure of ending this endless war. But I’d been in this world for long enough to know that no offer like this came without strings attached.

Aldo, it seemed, was on the same page. “We’d have access to your … resources. But what would you get? What’s our price?”

Dmitri’s gaze dropped to mine. “For Layla to reconnect with her roots. To reclaim her place in our family.”

“You want me to be part of your world.” My stomach twisted. “To be involved with family business.”

“In some capacity, yes,” Dmitri said.

“We want you to be the granddaughter we never got to know,” Irena clarified. “We have a son who will take over the family. He has sons. His legacy is secure. We only want to know you. And your mother.”

I waited for someone else to speak, to change the offer, add or remove something, issue a counter-offer. Until I realized they were all looking at me. Dmitri, Irena, and Aldo behind me.

All three waited for me to decide.

I hesitated, mind racing. The offer was tempting, but it came with strings—strings that tied me to a family and a legacy I had never asked for.

“You’re already part of this family, and this war,” Irina said softly. “Whether you like it or not. This is your chance to take control of it. To use it for good.”

And how could I deny the truth of those words? I’d known for a long, long time now that I was embroiled in the politics and danger, enmeshed in the world of the mob and the Mafia. This was my life.

And I was done denying it.

“I accept your offer,” I said, rising from my seat to look Irena in the eye. “But I have my own request.”

“Anything.”

I tilted my gaze back towards Aldo. His eyes were soft, warm. Supportive. This was my decision, my life, and he was letting me make it.

“Aldo Marcello is the don of the Marcello Mafia family, but he is also the father of my son. If we form an alliance, Orlov and Marcello, it won’t just be a legal agreement.”

My words resounded throughout the room. The impact of them.

“You mean, it will be bonded in blood,” Dmitri clarified. “In family ties.”

I nodded. “It will be a permanent alliance between our two families—Marcello and Orlov. Italian and Russian.”

Dmitri and Irena exchanged a glance, one that spoke volumes in a single flick of the eyes, the way only a truly bonded pair can communicate.

My chest ached to watch them.

“We accept,” Irena said finally, and she offered her hand to me.