Chapter 77

Layla

Marco’s factory loomed in the distance, its hulking silhouette black against the faded night sky of the never-dark city. The SUV’s tinted windows blocked out much of the glow spilling from the behemoth building’s security floodlights, but that almost made it feel more eerie.

The air inside the car was stifling, choking, even though the cracked windows let in cool night air. I thought it likely had more to do with my racing thoughts and racing heart than the actual air temperature.

I was, in short, fucking terrified.

Every detail of the plan played on repeat through my head. Each scenario, each contingency, looping around over and over and over. If this happens, do this … but if this happens, do this instead …

We’d prepared for as much as we could, but there was no such thing as certainty in war. I might have been new to this game, but I’d learned fast—and that had been one of my first lessons.

I knew how one wrong move, and this could all turn violent, bloody.

Fatal.

How in one grand move, I could lose everything important to me.

“We’re almost there,” Aldo’s voice echoed through the car’s speaker. How did he sound so calm when everything in me felt like a raging, frothing sea of fear and nerves and uncertainty?

He sounded like we were going to a business meeting, rather than into a trap that could lead to all our deaths. And the ruin of not just one, but two families.

“Our men are in position inside.” Dmitri’s voice followed Aldo’s, equally as calm and collected. How did they do this?

“I’m ready.” My own voice sounded so small, so soft, compared to his. Why had I thought I was strong enough for this?

“You’re sure?” Aldo replied immediately, his tone softening with concern. “It’s not too late to back out.”

But it was. I’d agreed to do this, to end the war. There was no backing out now. I’d see this through to whatever end.

For Eli.

My hands clenched into fists in my lap, fighting the painful ache of my heart against my ribs. Fighting my own fear and uncertainty.

I was doing this for Eli. For Aldo. For all of New York.

Because all of us in this damned city deserved peace.

I couldn’t see Aldo’s face. He was stationed out on a neighboring street, ready to strike and prevent any reinforcements from coming in. But I could picture that face. Could picture the lines of sharp focus, the bold bite of brightness in his eyes.

Strategy and anger—his fuels for success. He wasn’t just fighting for his life tonight; he was fighting for mine, for Eli’s, for the fragile future we had barely begun to hope for.

And if anyone could make this plan work, it was Aldo Marcello.

I’d told him I trusted him—and I did.

“I’m ready,” I said, and this time, my voice didn’t waver. Even as the factory loomed outside the window.

Any moment now.

Any second …

The SUV pulled past the factory to the nondescript house just past it—the alleged safehouse where Aldo appeared to be taking me. The engine had barely cut before the driver was swinging open my door.

My breath caught as the cool night air hit my skin. The factor loomed even larger now, an ominous structure riddled with broken windows and rusting machinery, like the skeletal remains of a more productive age.

The scent of oil and decay hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the violence that was about to unfold.

Two of Aldo’s guards flanked me, but I spun on my heel before they could fall into stride beside me. “I don’t need your protection.”

“But the don said—”

“I don’t care what he said,” I scoffed, loud enough my voice echoed through the still air. Loud enough anyone watching would more than hear my every word. “I have just as much authority has he does—and I won’t be babysat like a child.”

The guards hesitated—pretended to—before one of them shrugged. “Not like it’s a long walk.”

“We’ll be in the car if you need us,” the other agreed.

So it was alone and unguarded that I headed towards that ramshackle house beside the factory. The SUV lingered, the guards leaning against it in their quest to keep a respectful distance—and leaving the impression of weakness, of unwatchfulnes.

My footsteps echoed across the worn pavement as I approached the rundown house. My pulse pounded inside my skull.

The silence surrounding me was deafening—not so much as a stray piece of trash swept across the street to assuage the heavy quiet. Marco was nearby. Watching.

I was sure of it.

The thought made my stomach churn, but I pulled a deep breath through my nose, questing for calm. I was the keystone of this entire plan, and I could do this. For Eli.

“Bold of you,” Marco’s voice slid through the dark and the quiet like a caress against my ears, “to come here unguarded.”

I froze, my eyes and ears straining to place him. Every muscle tensed, ready—to flee or fight. To reach for the gun in my waistband.

“Our last encounter gave you courage, is that it?” Ahead, something shifted in the shadows, and my pistol was drawn and aimed in a split second.

But there was nothing to aim at.

“You feel strong, because you got a gun on me?” Marco continued. More shifting shadows, to my left this time. I spun, keeping my pistol lifted.

“You really think you can play with the big dogs, Layla?” The voice came from my right, and this time, when I turned, Marco appeared in front of me.

Like a wraith from the shadows.

His own pistol was drawn and aimed at me. But before I could make a move, someone else stepped out. And another. Another.

His guards surrounded me, each pointing a gun at me.

“Not this time,” said Marco. “This time, I’m in charge. And you’re coming with me.”

I let one of the guards take my pistol. I let another clap an oversized palm on my shoulder. And I let Marco lead me into the factory—his stronghold where we’d all make our final stand.

The doors clanged behind me, shutting me away into a massive room cluttered with old machines that likely hadn’t run for years, if not decades. Nothing moved, save for Marco and my entourage.

“We’ll see how Aldo likes it when someone takes from him,” Marco snarled.

The first gunshot cracked the stillness.

I ducked on instinct. Someone shouted.

Another shot cracked, followed by another shout. My entourage dispersed in an instant—and I dove for cover behind the closest machine.

Around me, chaos erupted.

Gunfire erupted from every direction, deafening in the enclosed space. Men raced through the shadows, footsteps and shouts echoing around the bullets. Various thuds and crashes added to the cacophony.

I ducked further behind the machine, sliding sideways towards the opening on the other side. My fingers found their way to the second pistol on my person, the one I’d hidden under the leg of my pant in a calf holster.

The battle had begun.

And this time, I wouldn’t be sitting on the sidelines.