Carlton waits for us downstairs, and just like all of Dante’s men, he acts as if I never left. He’s giving Dante a hard time, making fun of his protectiveness while checking my stitches to make sure the wounds heal at an expected rate.
“She needs the pill, too,” Dante says when Carlton finishes the thorough examination.
I cock an eyebrow in question.
“You’re not wearing the patch, and we’ve not used other protection the past two days, so you need the after pill. This isn’t the best time to get you pregnant.”
My cheeks turn hot when I understand what pill he has in mind. And because he so blatantly spoke about our sex life with Carlton and Grace in the room. She’s dusting the wine in the wine rack, avoiding eye contact with me since Dante introduced us. I guess she can sense I don’t like her. She’s young, pretty, and Dante adores her. What’s there to like?
Dante and I were so hungry for each other at the hotel, and all day yesterday, I paid no attention to protection or lack thereof. We only used a condom the first few times we had sex before Carlton put me on birth control. The have you got protection catchphrase never rooted in my brain.
Dante considers me from where he stands by the kitchen sink, sipping his coffee. A frown makes an appearance out of the blue. “Forget it.” His clips, his tone sharp. “Don’t even ask.”
“What?” I frown, confused by his sudden annoyance.
“No.” He takes a step forward, pointing a finger at me. “And that’s the end of this conversation.”
Grace chances a glance in our direction. Her ears perk up, and her cheeks flush pink as she skims over Dante. She averts her gaze hastily when she catches me watching her every move.
I focus back on him. “Don’t boss me around, or I swear to God—”
“No,” he snaps again, boiling the blood in my veins. “This one thing is out of the fucking question, Layla. We won’t even talk about kids for a few more years.”
“Stop interrupting me!” I throw my hands in the air and smack them on my thighs. Not the best idea, considering the stitches that sting like crazy. I wince, breathing through the pain. “You’re not my father; you’re not my boss. You’re my fiancé, so start acting like one.”
I didn’t have to point out Dante’s new status, but I can’t help the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head because of Grace. The enormity of my betrayal blew my insecurities out of proportion.
Dante exhales, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes briefly as if fighting an internal battle. “You’re too young…” he mutters before his eyes fly open. “Fuck it.” He crosses the room to crouch before me, hands on my legs. “Fine. You want a baby; you’re getting a baby.”
I exchange a confused look with Carlton, who watches Dante with one eyebrow raised that does little to hide his mild amusement. He shakes his head at me, shrugging his shoulders. I guess I’m not the only one who has no idea about what’s going on.
The look on Dante’s face is soothing and disturbing all at once. He’s willing to scrap whatever plan he has for us in the near future based on my whim. Non-existent future, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge this dreaded fact. Selfishly, I cheer inside that he holds my happiness on a pedestal.
“If you’d stop interrupting, I’d tell you I don’t want a baby.”
His shoulders sag, relief painting his face. “Good.” He takes my hand, kissing the inside of my wrist. “You’re too young, Star.”
“My imminent death poses a bigger problem than my age.”
“You’re safe. I told you no one will touch you. I told you to stop worrying.”
Easier said than done.
***
Grace walks into the house with an enthusiastic good morning! that bounces off the walls. Her smile slips when she realizes I’m the only one home. She only smiles when Dante’s around, infuriating me beyond reason. As long as she keeps her hands to herself, I don’t attack. I wouldn’t mind her presence half as much if he didn’t like her, but he does. A lot. Too freaking much.
“Good morning.” I cross my legs where I’m sitting on the couch. “Start upstairs today.”
If she wants to say something along the lines of you’re not my boss, she doesn’t let it show. Good for her because I am her boss, and she better not piss me off while I’m already jumpy. With a curt nod, she climbs the stairs, leaving me alone.
Unable to sit still, I get up to pace the living room, treading a path in the plush carpet I asked Dante to buy to keep my feet warm while we watch a movie in the evening. My eyes dart to the clock on the wall every few seconds while I’m waiting. Waiting way too long.
Dante left half an hour ago to meet a high-profile hacker Jackson found. He’s known for tracing those who can’t be traced. The prospect of this guy finding Morte lifted Dante’s foul mood ten times more than the best blowjob I gave him earlier could.
He’s on edge, worrying about my safety so much that he’ll end up gray-haired by the end of the month. I try to relax him whenever he’s home, but even sex isn’t enough to ease the tension of his muscles for longer than a few minutes.
I’m not sure why he’s so worried. So far, we’re in luck. I’ve been back in Chicago for five days, but no one has tried to kill me yet. It’d prove troublesome considering the armed army of Dante’s and Julij’s men outside the front door, the vicious dogs on the premises, and bulletproof windows throughout the house, which I’m not allowed to leave. Not even to inhale a mouthful of fresh air on the terrace.
I sigh, set my phone on the table, and glare at the door as if I can summon Julij if I stare at it long enough. What is taking him so long, anyway? He was at the hotel, not far from Dante’s house, when I called. He should be here by now.
For three days, I begged Dante to let me visit Jess. Be that as it may, she is my mother. Since my future has a big question mark painted all over it, I want an opportunity for a healthy, peaceful conversation, a few answers, and burying the hatchet. Maybe even a chance to build our relationship from scratch without Frank’s meddling.
As expected, Dante refused to let me visit or bring Jess over here. He claims he can’t trust anyone right now, not even the woman who told him where to find me.
No matter how many times I tried to convince him, his answer was always the same.
“No, Star. It’s not safe.”
He might’ve forgotten I’m not the type to be ordered around. He wants his sassy star back. He wants me to stop being afraid of him…
Here you go, baby.
I pace the living room back and forth for fifteen more minutes before Julij arrives in a whirlwind of blond hair and a steel-gray suit. He wraps his arms around my middle and lifts me a foot off the floor to peck my cheek in greeting: something he refrains from doing when Dante’s around.
“What do you need, sugar?” he asks, throwing himself against the couch, a sly smile on his face.
“How do you know I need something?”
“You told me to come as soon as possible. You sounded upset. Dante isn’t here. Your hands are shaking,” he counts, bending one finger at every point. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” I glance toward the door leading to the garage, motioning for Julij to follow me downstairs. I’m not allowed out of the house, so I have to settle for the company of Dante’s many cars if I want to avoid prying ears.
Julij cocks an eyebrow, watching me for a moment as he rests his back against the Charger. I wonder if asking him for help is a good idea. Their business partnership has evolved into something close to a friendship. I’m not sure if I can trust Julij. Too bad I’m desperate and have no one else to turn to. Five days in lockdown and under constant surveillance is starting to take its toll on my agitated mind.
Dante’s unusually tense mood doesn’t help.
“I want to see Jess, and Dante won’t let me.”
Julij’s lips curl into an exaggerated horseshoe. “You poor thing! Would you like me to scold him?” he dramatizes with a chuckle. “Dante’s right, sugar. You shouldn’t leave the house no matter the reason; that’s one and two: are you one hundred percent sure you can trust Jess?”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t?”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m asking.”
With visible satisfaction, he lights a cigarette, inhaling a cloud of smoke. He closes his eyes briefly, letting it all out, surrounding himself with the gray cloud. The smell of tobacco hits my face, tempting me for the first time ever. I shake my head, dismissing the urge to snatch his cigarette.
For a moment, I watch the delight on his face, the longish blond hair, and blue eyes that seem lighter because of the steel jacket and snow-white shirt he wears. He’s a younger version of his father, their kinship unmistakable, but unlike Mr. Capone, Julij has a sense of style. Modern elegance. No hats or lengthy coats.
“I don’t know if I can trust her, but I want to see her. Who knows how long I have left? Dante won’t take care of everyone, even if he bends over backward—”
“He will,” Julij says, rubbing his temple in small circles. “He’ll walk on fucking water to make sure you’re safe. So, will I. We’ll bring this to an end, sugar. Don’t doubt us.”
I force a smile. He firmly believes that, but approaching the matter realistically, a happy end is out of the question. “Will you help me? I’d like to leave before Dante comes back.”
Julij stares at something behind me with a frown. Or maybe he’s staring into space, chasing his own thoughts. I’m not sure if he’s wondering how to sneak me out of the house or how to let me down easily.
If he says no, I’ll have to steal one of the cars and drive it myself. That might be an even worse idea than going with Julij. At least he has a gun and knows how to use it properly. I might’ve shot targets with Luca, but I’d be useless in the face of danger.
Julij inhales again, puffs up his cheeks, and parts his full lips, blowing out the smoke slowly, making a tasty-looking show of it. “Dante will lose his shit when he finds out. And he will. Fast. Probably within fifteen seconds of the garage door opening.” He pushes away from the car. “No way I can get you past security unnoticed, so we’ll do it Toretto-style.”
“Toretto?”
He rolls his eyes. “And you call yourself an American? “The Fast and the Furious” ring a bell? It’s a movie with impressive, high-speed car chases.” He looks around the cars in the garage until his gaze stops on Dante’s custom-tuned, neon green Challenger.
“That’s not very clandestine.” I frown when he snatches the key from the hanger by the stairs.
“True, but there’s nothing faster here. They’ll realize you want to run when we open the garage door, so we need a good kick to start with, and this,” he trails his fingers over the hood, “this definitely has a kick, sugar. Do you need to grab anything from upstairs?”
“No,” I say as I slide into the passenger seat.
My hands start to sweat as adrenaline rushes through my veins. The engagement ring weighs on my finger as if to remind me that I’m breaking all the rules and promises. Behind the wheel, Julij talks on the phone in Russian. He disconnects the call, glancing at me with undeniable glee glowing in his blue irises. I think he enjoys the idea of infuriating Dante.
“Fasten your seat belt.”
He doesn’t start the engine right away. Instead, he opens the garage door with a remote. It glides up slowly. With every inch of clearance, my pulse accelerates, whooshing in my ears, and pulsing in my neck. Several pairs of legs appear on the other side, but the engine is still dead.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, holding onto the seat.
“Waiting.”
I look at him with wide eyes, but before I say anything else, Julij turns the key, and the roar of the V8 cuts through the silence. Spades and the rest of the security appear in the half-opened door. Julij revs the engine, winks at me, then slams the pedal to the floor, forcing everyone to flee out of the way as we jump out of the garage.
The sudden change of ground from concrete to gravel throws the back of the car sideways. Julij steers the Challenger out of a most likely intentional oversteer. We gain speed, driving straight at the gate where Dimitri stands with a grave expression. He nods at his boss as we burn past, fitting into the hole between a concrete pillar and the still-opening gate. In the side mirror, I spot Jackson, his gun raised, aimed at our car. Spades jumps in front of him, knocks the pistol out of his hand, then shoves him toward the garage, gesturing and yelling.
“They’re about to chase us,” I say.
My throat constricts with the nerves, accompanied by a hollow feeling in my chest. I’ve always been a rebel, but this time, my rebellion doesn’t result from the desire to give Dante a hard time. I simply don’t believe I’ll live happily ever after. I want a chance to see my mother before I’m dead.
“Of course, they will. Hold on.”
I don’t have time to grab anything. The car turns sideways again when we make a sharp right at a far too high speed. I’m thrown at the door and knock my head against the window.
“Ouch,” I hiss, massaging the sore spot.
“I told you to hold on!”
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly prone to taking orders, am I? Apparently not even when they’re supposed to keep me from harm’s way.” I wince, eyes glued to the side mirror.
A moment later, a cacophony of horns filters through the closed windows, ringing in my ears. Traffic ahead veers off to the sides, splitting like the sea.
I brace my legs against the floor, my hands clasped around the door handle. Julij turns a blind eye to every red traffic light on our path, burning through the intersections and ninety-degree corners as if he really is the lead character in a high-budget action movie, escaping imminent death. His blatant disregard for traffic regulations will have us six feet under before the villain can catch up.
“Watch out!” I cry, pressing my back as far into the leather seat as humanly possible, when a truck moves from the right to cross the busy intersection ahead.
Julij slams on the brakes. Tires squeal, filling the car with a stench of rubber and burned brakes. Not even my tight hold on the handle keeps me in place when centrifugal force shoves me forward. My seatbelt locks, and the sudden stop knocks the breath out of me.
“Shit, hold on! Grab the fucking doorhandle and don’t let go.” he booms, then mutters something in Russian. He shifts into gear, stomping on the gas. The back tires lock, spinning fast before we shoot forward, crossing the intersection in a cloud of smoke. “And the fun begins.” He points to the rearview mirror.
Two Chargers, a Mustang, and Camaro emerge from the gray cloud, hot on our tail. Not even the police can organize a chase as fast as Spades.
“Turn right at the next traffic lights. We’ll go through the estate and lose them in the maze of short streets.”
Julij nods, his blue eyes firmly on the road. His unwavering focus is reassuring. The obstacle course ahead calls for undivided attention. Rush-hour traffic barely slows down Julij or the cars behind.
“You need to guide me, sugar. I don’t know Chicago well. Tell me when I should turn.”
My fingers ache from clutching the handle. My whole body is so taut it’ll take days to relax the muscles in my shoulders and back. Next to me, Julij’s the exact opposite. Annoyingly laid-back as he bites back a smile. Utterly unaffected by the heart-stopping close calls we just, somehow, lived through. He’s having a blast.
I straighten up, pumping my fingers to rid the stiffness, inhale two deep breaths, and attempt to control my trembling hands before I play the role of sat nav. Neither the Chargers, Mustang, nor the Camaro is visible in the side mirror. Either Dante’s people chose a different route or fell behind. They probably figured out the purpose of this trip. Spades was around when I asked Dante about meeting Jess. He’s a bright guy; he must’ve guessed where we’re heading. Even if he didn’t, he’s surely called Dante by now.
“I think we lost them,” I say five minutes later, directing Julij toward the house I used to call my own.
“Call Jess. Tell her to open the garage. Just because I took you doesn’t mean I’ll take any risks.”
“Do you think a sniper hunkers by the gate, and I’ll drop dead the second I exit the car? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s really enough that Dante’s overreacting for all of us.” The seatbelt saves me from a broken nose for the second time when Julij slams the brakes, stopping the car at the curb.
“Don’t underestimate what’s happening, Layla.” He turns his body my way. “It’s been five days, and there are already more bodies to account for than my father disposed of during his career. You have no idea how many amateurs and professionals found out about the hit and the price for your beautiful head or how many will try to kill you.”
A nasty chill starts at the top of my head, radiating to the tips of my fingers. “Dante said no one tried to get to me yet,” I swallow around, the pulse throbbing in my throat.
“What did you expect?! You thought he’d inform you every time we kill another hitman?” Julij huffs out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Some people would skin their kids for three million dollars. You’re the target of dozens, if not hundreds of people. They’ll kill you the first chance they get.” He curls his finger under my chin. “I won’t risk your safety any more than I already have.” Poorly disguised fear buzzing in his voice coupled with worry crinkling his forehead forces my heart into a higher gear. “I’ll take you to Jess, but you’re under my protection right now. I won’t let a hair fall off your head.”
More words seem to linger, unspoken. The air between us hums, teeming with tension sharp enough to bite my skin. I don’t understand why his sharp, assessing eyes bore into mine in such a steadfast way until he glances at my lips.
That’s not good. Looks like the infatuation that started in Dubai never went away. Instead, it evolved into deeper feelings. How have I not noticed this sooner?
He cares more than he should, and now, by stealing me from Dante’s house, he’s risked his alliance, business partnership, and friendship with Dante. A friendship that bloomed despite past animosities and will now most likely die an untimely death thanks to me.
Blood roars in my head the longer his eyes linger on my lips. He looks like he wants to eat me. Like he’s seconds away from gripping my face to catch my lips with his. The creases on his forehead deepen, and the determined look turns into a pained scowl. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he lifts his hand, ghosting his thumb along my lower lip.
I watch, paralyzed, too stunned to say a single word.
“Call Jess,” he rasps quietly, moving his hand back to grip the steering wheel. “Right now, sugar.”
“But—”
“No buts! Either call her, or I’ll turn us around and take you straight to Dante.”
Irritation heats my insides, helping me out of my confusing haze fast. If I were standing, I’d oh-so maturely stomp my foot. “But I don’t have my phone!” I snap. “I left it at home.”
He pushes air through his nose—a long, amused exhalation, and hands me his cell phone, setting the car in motion.
“Turn right here,” I say.
And that’s a mistake…
A black Charger jumps out from the side street and stops in the middle of the road. Neither Spades, Jackson, nor any one of Dante’s men fly out of the car. Dante does.
His look of quiet contempt has my heart relocating, climbing up my throat. Rage radiates off him, flooding the air and my senses. It feels overwhelmingly like a hand on the back of my neck, forcing me to my knees.
Julij glances between me and Dante, who’s closing in on us, every step determined, shoulders tense. Anger surrounds him like an invisible force, stripping me of my courage. He’s a few steps from the bonnet when Julij’s hand smacks the steering wheel again. And then fuck! He throws the car into reverse pressing the pedal all the way down.
“That’ll take some fucking explaining, sugar.”
My eyes are on Dante, but the subtle change in how Julij said sugar doesn’t slip my attention. Something changed. A few seconds of his fingers on my lips turned our relationship upside down. Friendship flew out the window.
Dante’s back behind the wheel before we reverse onto the main street. Bitter bile churns in my stomach, and a cold sweat breaks out on my back. God, this was a stupid, stupid idea. “I’m in so much trouble,” I mutter, staring at my hands.
I redial Jess’s number and, without an explanation, tell her to open the damn garage. Ten more minutes pass before we arrive at our destination. I expected Dante’s men to get here faster, but we’re in luck. The driveway’s empty. Julij parks in the garage, kills the engine, and holds my hand, so I’ll stay inside until the door slides shut.
“Layla,” Jess chokes from where she stands in the doorway leading inside the house. An elegant black dress hugs her skinny frame, her hair is immaculate as always, but her ashen skin and eyes rimmed with pink, hint she’s still mourning her husband.
I shush the voices in my head telling me to stay away from my mother. They’ve been whispering at the back of my mind for years, but an invisible barrier that used to stop us from interacting is no longer there. That barrier was Frank, influencing all aspects of our lives.
“What are you doing here?” she asks when I wrap my arms around her in a tight, rigid embrace. “I thought Dante would hide you somewhere.”
“I’m staying in Chicago.”
She pushes me away, cupping my shoulders with both hands. She stares into my eyes for a moment as if willing me to understand everything she doesn’t know how to put into words. It seems to be a rule of thumb around here. We’re all so much better at loaded looks than an audible, I’m sorry.
Words aren’t necessary, though. Not this time. I’m sure we’re thinking the same thoughts. I’m certain we’re equally unsure how to proceed and if we’ll ever build a lasting, healthy relationship, but at the same time, we’re both willing to try.
We go inside to the living room, but neither of us sits before the front door bursts open, hitting the wall with a bang. A clatter of elegant shoes resounds in the house.
Dante enters first, followed by Spades and Jackson. They stop three steps in, Dante’s body rigid, eyes pinning Julij with a menacing stare. “What the fuck were you thinking? Who said you can take her?”
“She did.” Julij motions to me. “She’s not your prisoner.”
“No,” he admits, his tone far from calm. “But she is mine. You don’t get to decide what’s good for her.”
“Neither do you,” I clip.
I should probably learn when to bite my tongue. Dante’s not a dominating, alpha male. He’s usually the one to cave, apologize, or drop the argument whenever we disagree. He’s careful, protective, and always puts me first.
My comment is unjustified, but I can’t, for the life of me, keep my big mouth shut.
He shifts his gaze to me, perfectly composed on the outside—a clear sign his anger oscillates around at a cold-fury level. A cold sweat rushes down my back—an unjustified reaction once again, but the grim possibility of losing him is stronger than reason.
As if my thoughts are piped straight into his head, his attitude changes instantly, reducing anger to dust. His fists open, jaw relaxes, and shoulders drop an inch when he takes the first step toward me. I stumble back, the mechanical reaction something I have no control over.
A barely perceptible grimace pulls his face, but he doesn’t stop. He takes my hand, drawing me closer. “What did I say? You shouldn’t be afraid.”
“Then stop giving me reasons. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You tricked Julij into bringing you here even though I said no. It’s not safe, Star.”
“You said? Get. A. Dog.”
He lets go of me, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This won’t work if you don’t trust my judgment.”
“Trust?! Funny you should mention trust. How am I supposed to trust you when you keep things from me?”
Julij casts a warning glare my way, shaking his head softly behind Dante’s back. Too little too late…
Dante cocks an eyebrow, eyes roving my face as if he’s trying to find more information in my expression. I’m sure he can. There’s no need to spell it out. A pink glow of anger heats his skin like a flame running in dry grass, swiftly wiping off his carefully maintained composure. His eyes close briefly, and nostrils flare. The way he chews on his teeth and cracks his neck tells me he’s fighting to stay calm.
Just when I think he’s past the outburst stage, he turns on his heel and eliminates the distance separating him from Julij in two long strides. He throws his elbow back. Then forth, fast. His fist connects with Julij’s face. A loud crack sounds in the silent room—Julij’s nose or Dante’s knuckles. I can’t tell.
“You told her?! Was my don’t tell Layla too fucking subtle?”
“She’s not a helpless little girl!” he seethes, holding onto his bleeding nose. Drops of crimson find their way between his fingers, seeping down to stain his shirt. “She’s stronger than you think. You can’t shield her from everything.”
I feel myself drifting into the dreaded panic. Elastic, wobbly legs won’t hold me upright much longer. I suck in ragged breaths, peeling my eyes from Julij.
“Maybe,” Dante says. “But nothing will stop me from trying.” He steals a glance my way, his eyes full of something much more profound and feral than love. If not for the high-pitched ringing in my ears, I’d easily melt under the savage gaze of his green eyes, under the weight of his protectiveness pressing in on me from all angles. “Fuck.” He strides back to where I stand, silently, pathetically panicking. Warm hands cup my face. “Eyes on me, Layla. You’re okay.”
My head moves up and down like a bobblehead. “I’m okay, I… I shouldn’t have looked.”
His mouth twitches as he tries to don a smirk. “Yeah, you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be here, either. I go where you go.”
Goosebumps break out along my spine because I know he means more than following me here. “Good thing you’ll make sure I don’t go.”
