Chapter 72

Aldo

Layla sat silent in the passenger seat of my car. I steered through the evening-dark streets of the city, resisting the urge to put a comforting hand on her shoulder or thigh. Resisting the urge to ask, to banish the quiet with words.

She needed this quiet, I knew.

This was not a normal silence, or even a pensive one. Certainly, she must have been reflecting over the past handful of hours—we had spent most of the day with the Orlovs.

But it was more than that.

The Orlovs were quite lovely people. Friendly, hospitable, charming. Forthcoming, talkative … They’d been everything Layla deserved in a long-lost family. Everything the Marcellos needed in an alliance.

Tea had followed breakfast and was then followed by lunch, and the conversation had never ceased between the three.

Layla had told them all about the mother she remembered—her love of games and crafts, her beautiful smile, the way she’d told stories at bedtime and sang to lull Layla to sleep. She’d been the perfect mother in every way, and Layla’s model for her own parenting of Eli.

The Orlovs, in turn, had shared stories of her mother’s childhood. How soft and sweet she’d been, and yet how fierce and determined. How she’d loved caring for animals and other children, and they’d always assumed she’d grow up to be a veterinarian or doctor.

They’d all cried to reflect that she’d instead become a mother, and that had perhaps been the best fit of all.

Layla had told them about Eli—how he was every bit the kind and determined boy his grandmother would have loved. She’d relayed stories of her own life, too—childhood, school, career.

Me.

And then, of course, the talks had turned to business.

The Orlovs were indeed a powerful family. A family with insurmountable resources and connections even greater than my own. Not to mention, their place within the Russian hierarchy was secured by generations of family legacy—and heirs.

Binding my family to theirs—Italian to Russian—would give us wealth and power the likes of which I’d never imagined. It was a legacy even my father could not have dreamed of for us.

Now, something told me that Layla’s mind wandered over our strategy for the coming weeks, rather than tales of her mother’s teatime with her stuffed animals.

“What are you thinking?” I finally asked as we pulled into the driveway of the Marcello estate. I parked the car, but neither of us opened our doors, made any move to climb out.

“I’m thinking that my mother spent her whole life running from this,” Layla murmured, her gaze never leaving the windshield in front of her. “And in the end, it found her anyway. Found me. Found Eli.”

I winced. “That doesn’t mean you have to—”

“No.” Her head whipped towards me, blue eyes blazing. “That’s exactly what it means. I’m done running. It’s time I embrace who I am, Aldo.”

“And who is that?” I asked, my voice so quiet it barely registered over the hum of the radio. “Who are you, Layla?”

“I’m a daughter of the Russian mob,” she said, unwavering. “I’m a donna of the Italian Mafia. And I’m the mother of Eli Bennett. Which means that I’m Layla fucking Bennett, and I’m done running away from my problems.”

My brows lifted, and my heart slammed my ribs. I’d never seen her look so fierce and beautiful. There was nothing about her I’d change—not her last name, not her vehemence, not her stance.

“If you want to fight,” I said, “we will fight.”

“And now, with the help of my family, we will win.”

Her family’s help would certainly tip the scales in our favor. But watching Layla now, I thought that it wouldn’t be the Orlovs who won this war.

It would be Layla fucking Bennett.

The woman I loved more than life itself.

“We will win,” I agreed, and I leaned in to press my lips against hers. “And when we do, I will make you my wife—from now until the end of time.”

“And I will always be yours.” She tilted her head until her forehead met mine. So we sat together like that, skin to skin, sharing breaths. Sharing a moment that would be shattered soon enough.

But it was like Layla had said. We had to live for these moments, for these shared breaths and heartbeats. Cherish them, because we never knew how long they’d last—or how many more we’d be granted.

“I love you, Layla Bennett,” I whispered against her lips. “For all that you are. All you’ve ever been. And all you ever will be. I’m sorry I ever tried to leave you. To take your choice away.”

For I could see now that Layla was not someone anyone could control. She was a force of nature, a tidal wave, a spinning planet that commanded her own gravity—and we were but her lowly moons.

“I love you, Aldo Marcello,” she whispered back. “But I’m going to tell you that on an altar. In a white dress. After we win this war.” Her mouth curved into a small smile. “And this time, you will not deny me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied. “I won’t leave you ever again, and that’s a promise.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to that.” Too soon, she sat back, shattering our moment, just as I knew it had to be. “But right now, we’ve got a war to plan. I won’t marry you until I know we’re safe. And Eli is safe.”

She reached for the handle of her door.

The buzz of a phone froze us both to our positions.

“It’s yours,” I said, and Layla groaned. Her hand fell from the door to slide her phone from the pocket of her dress pants. She held it into the space between us, and I didn’t have to glance at her face to know her stomach had plummeted just as mine did.

Dmitri Orlov, the screen read. And the message beneath was far worse. Moretti is planning an attack. Stay alert. Will forward details as we find them.

“Shit.” Layla slumped forward to rest her head on the dash. “We didn’t even get an entire day. Not even one day to sit and breathe.”

“It’s war.” I rubbed a comforting hand between her shoulder blades. “No rest for the wicked.”

“I know, I know.” Layla sighed, but pulled herself upright again. “Well, I guess we’ll be putting our alliance to the test nice and quick then.”

“Indeed.” I popped my door open. “Shall we make sure nothing’s on fire inside our estate?”

Layla followed me out the door. “If it’s not, it will be soon, I’m sure.”

I was inclined to agree. This was war—and that meant things would surely get worse long before they got better. We hadn’t reached the darkest part of the night just yet.

Layla and I had finally united. With each other, and with her family. We were stronger than ever. Our relationship was strong. My family was strong.

But we were still a long way off from the dawn.

Fortunately, I had faith that this sunrise, when it finally came, would be the most beautiful either of us had ever known.

With Layla by my side, every sunrise would be the most beautiful.