The sound of a gunshot pierces my ears. I’d recognize it everywhere and at any time, whether standing in the same room, a hundred meters away, or listening to it over the phone. I can’t fucking breathe when my conversation with Layla is interrupted by a gun going off in the background. One isolated shot first, then more, closer together.
I distinguish between pistols and machine guns while I scream, begging Layla to say something. She doesn’t. Before the shots stop, the connection breaks, and I can’t get through again. Anatolij’s not picking up either.
Fifteen minutes pass.
I have a hard time comprehending how on earth I haven’t lost my wits yet. With my heart on my shoulder, I push the black thoughts aside. My teeth threaten to break any second as I clench my jaw hard, searching for a rational explanation.
Maybe the sound came from the TV?
I’m lying to myself.
It wasn’t on the TV. It was a real gun.
One of the many hitmen found Layla…
I block the possible scenarios pushing at me from every direction and lock them away so as not to drive myself crazy before Anatolij answers his phone.
Somehow, I know she got hit. I can fucking feel it. Just as I can feel that she’s alive. There’s no other option.
She can’t die now.
Not when the hit is a few hours from being closed. Not when I’m about to bring her back home.
She can’t die.
“Call Julij.” Spades grips the wheel with all his might, speeding down the interstate toward the airport. “Maybe he can get in touch with one of Anatolij’s men.”
At least one of us is thinking straight.
With every passing second, my composure shatters more. Anatolij would’ve picked up the phone by now if nothing serious happened. But he’s not answering…
“What’s wrong?” Julij clips in my ear, his voice rough. The early hour must’ve triggered all kinds of alarm bells in his head.
“Something happened in Moscow. I was on the phone with Layla when the shooting started. They’re not answering their phones. I need Lew’s number.”
“Fuck. I’ll check what’s going on. I’ll call you back.”
I smash the back of my head against the headrest when he cuts the call before he gives me Lew’s number. I want to know what happened firsthand, but he’s not answering when I redial, probably already on the phone to Moscow.
Spades keeps his eyes trained on the road as if he’s afraid he’ll trigger an outburst if he looks at me. I’m sure he doesn’t trust me to stay this calm for much longer and prefers not to be the reason why I’ll snap. Whenever I do, a gun ends up in my hand, and I empty the barrel into the sky.
I’m itching to do it now, but a rational part of me locks the rage bubbling up somewhere at the back of my mind. It’ll come in handy when I have Morte in front of me. He’ll be the outlet for all the wrath coursing through my veins. In the end, this is his fucking fault. All of it. If he hadn’t agreed to help Frank, none of this would be happening right now.
Julij’s conversation with Lew takes almost ten minutes. My body turns cold when he rings back. One deep breath is all I need to prepare for the news I’m not ready to hear; for the words I never want to hear because hearing that the only person I love is hurt exceeds my capabilities.
Once again, with considerable surprise, I realize I can withstand much more than I ever deemed possible; that regardless of how bad things get, I’ll find a way to push forward.
“You need to get to Moscow, Dante,” Julij says, sending my mind into a frenzy. “Layla got hit. It’s bad. They took her to the hospital. She’s on the operating table as we speak.”
Any courage I hoped to have in the face of this piece of information fades into nothing. I double over in the seat, and for the second time in my life, I feel fucking helpless.
“The bullet went through and out. Missed the heart but hit the lung. Lew doesn’t know much; the doctors won’t tell him more than that. Anatolij’s unconscious. Lew accidentally shot him when taking care of the hitmen.”
“What exactly happened?” I hang my head low at the sudden onset of nausea.
“Three French men arrived. For quite some time, they’ve been trying to get in business with Anatolij. He’s not keen on them, so he refused point-blank. Lew said they were on their way out when one of them drew his gun. It looked like a last-minute decision. A spur of the moment. He took the shot, and the other two were unprepared.”
I fall silent, waiting for at least a minuscule amount of courage to fill my body so I can ask another question… “Will she be okay?”
“She will.” He answers immediately but doesn’t sound so sure. “She has to, right? The bullet missed the heart. That’s the main thing. Anatolij will get the best medical care money can buy. Don’t fucking doubt her.”
“She’s tough,” I admit.
“Yeah, she’s tough. She’ll be okay, but she needs you. Get to Moscow as soon as you can.”
“I’m on my way to the airport right now.”
“Good. I’ll get on the next flight out from New York. I’ll see you when I get there.”
It doesn’t bother me that he wants to see her too. I don’t care about anything other than Layla making it out alive. She has to. She has no right to leave me. Not now that she agreed to marry me. Not after all the shit, we went through. Not when we’re so fucking close to peace.
If there’s any justice in the world, then she’ll be just fine. And that’s what I pray for. That’s what I beg of God, the Devil, providence, fate, and everything that springs to mind. The rational part of my brain knows praying won’t do much more than calm my conscience, so I reach for the phone again to call the one person whose medical skills I trust endlessly. There’s not enough time for him to fly out with me, but he can board the next flight at ten a.m.
“Who should I keep alive this time?” Carlton chirps, fresh as a daisy. Muffled sounds in the background suggest he’s at the hospital. “Dante? What happened?”
“It’s Layla… she got hit. They’re operating.”
“Which hospital?”
“She’s not in Chicago. She’s in Moscow. The next flight leaves at ten. Can you make it?”
“Of course.”
Not one question or complaint. Not a second of hesitation. He didn’t even give me a chance to say thank you before he cut the call.
