Spades waits in the car, with the engine running to keep the inside warm. He looks at me when Layla and I take the back seat. No words are needed. His expression paints the picture perfectly—someone’s dead.
The only thing he overlooked tonight is that Layla’s not some half-brained bimbo sitting by my side who can’t figure out how to put an armrest down, let alone notice that something’s wrong. This time, it’s Layla.
Intelligent and perceptive Layla.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, sensing the heavy, ominous atmosphere.
“Who?” I counter, praying it’s not one of my men.
Spades shakes his head, refusing to talk while Layla listens to our every word. Whatever happened is fucking bad, bad.
She rolls her eyes, silently stewing. “I’ll wait outside,” she clips, not passing on the chance to slam the door on her way out of the car.
“Jackson called,” Spades says, forcing me to look away from my girl, who takes her phone out, pressing it to her ear. “Luca got a bit carried away. By a bit, I mean a whole fucking lot.”
“What did he do?”
“He checked the security footage and found the guy who hit Layla. He split his skull open on the curb.”
If there was a wall in front of me right now, my knuckles would bleed. I know the scene Luca based his act upon. Since he first saw American History, he wanted to kill someone that way. At the beginning of the movie, there’s one of the most brutal scenes in modern cinematography. Luca’s a bit psycho, but I didn’t expect him to ever take it that far.
“He found him outside,” Spades continues. “The guy stood with his friends, cleaning up his face. Jackson followed Luca but thought he was only trying to scare the guy. They argued for a moment before Luca rammed a baseball bat across his knees and made him bite the curb. Before Jackson realized he wasn’t fucking around, Luca jumped on the guy’s head.”
I rub my face, trying to devise the most effective way out of this situation. I can’t scold him for defending Layla, but he took it too fucking far. He executed a guy who hit her by accident. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and this guy has paid the ultimate price.
“I didn’t want to bother you because I know you want to take Layla home, but we’ve got sixty witnesses. It’s a matter of minutes before the cops raid the place.”
A long conversation with the chief of police is unavoidable. If charged, Luca will get a life sentence for murdering the guy in cold blood. Twenty-five years if I bribe relevant people. The problem is that Luca is one of my most trusted men. Given their bumpy start, it’s surprising he defended Layla to this extent, but I can’t leave him alone in this shit.
I own the cops, but with sixty witnesses and the footage, there’s no way of sweeping this under the carpet. The only light in the long, dark tunnel is Plan B.
Layla remains outside, talking over the phone, scraping her heel on the pavement. She makes her agitation known by sporting her signature calculated expression.
“I don’t want Layla to see any of this,” I say, determined to keep her in the dark. “You’ll leave me on the corner of the street, and you’ll take her back to my place.”
Spades nods, glancing at Layla through the side window. “That’s why I didn’t want her to hear the news. She’ll lose her shit if she finds out that guy is dead.”
I open the door, bracing to feel her anger. “Come on, Star. We’re leaving.”
She turns on her heel, says one more word to whoever she’s talking to, and gets in, slamming the door again. Spades performs an unintentional burnout on hospital grounds while Layla stares out the window, a fierce look on her perfect face. God, she’s so deep under my skin I feel her everywhere. Everything I do is with her on my mind. Tonight’s no exception. Covering up the murder and ensuring it never reaches her ears is my priority. She can’t find out. She’d be devastated, and I can’t fucking handle her tears.
I try taking her hand, but she jerks it away. “Don’t get pissy with me. You can’t hear or see it all.”
“I can’t? You don’t make decisions for me. I already told you that you don’t own me, Dante.”
Her attitude is the sexiest thing about her. She’s not scared and doesn’t care how she’ll come across, whether she’ll vex me or anyone else. I love that she speaks her mind, but I want to strangle her right now.
“You shouldn’t,” I hiss, careful not to sound too demanding, or a shit storm will ensue. “I’ve got to get back to Delta, but it’s no place for you to be right now. Spades will take you back to our house.”
She clicks her tongue, looking away, her chin high, arms crossed. “Don’t rush. Adam’s picking me up from Delta. I’m going home.”
I grit my teeth so hard they start to fucking crack. Adam informing Frank about the situation is the last thing I need. “Call him and tell him that you changed your mind.”
“I haven’t. He’s on his way now. I’m going home.”
I fall into the trap of my own rage. The confined space, Layla’s attitude, the problems awaiting in Delta, and Luca’s stunt all bubble in my mind like the reaction of sodium bicarbonate with acid. I just want to protect her, keep her safe, calm, and happy, but she makes it fucking impossible.
I grab her by the chin, turning her head my way, so she’ll look me in the eye. “Spades will take you home. I don’t want to see Adam outside the club, so either call him off or get the fuck out of the car. He can pick you up from here.”
“Dante! Let her go, or I’ll make you!” Spades snaps. His voice is muffled, like he’s on the other side of a glass partition.
My gaze drops to my hand that’s gripping Layla’s face. I snap out of the haze, throwing myself back against the door. The look in her eyes makes my bones shiver… she’s no longer angry, no longer determined to showcase her independence. She’s upset. She’s fucking alarmed.
I open my mouth, but she raises her hand to shut me up. She’s not saying a word, staring at me with unseeing eyes.
We stop at the traffic lights by Lincoln Park, and Spades turns around, glaring at me. “Front seat. Right now, Dante!”
No fucking way. I stay where I am, with my back flush against the door as I try to make sense of what just happened. In some twisted, deranged way, my protectiveness of Layla turned against her. I wait for her to speak because I can’t utter a single word, mayhem ruling my mind. Ten hours. Just ten fucking hours passed since she told me she loves me, but now she’s looking at me with nothing but hatred.
It takes twenty seconds before she reacts. When she does, her small hand lands on my face. “That’s strike one.” Her voice is quiet but so powerful I feel her wrath as if it’s my own. “And one is all you get.”
“Fuck, Layla, I’m sorry, I—”
She shoots out of the car, cutting me off midsentence.
Spades locks the doors the second I twitch to follow her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Open the door.” I yank the handle. “Open the door, or I’ll break the window.”
He glances to the right to check on Layla. She’s walking in the opposite direction, a phone to her ear, her long navy dress brushing the sidewalk.
“I’ll break your hands if you touch her like that again.”
He should’ve done it just now. This is the first and last time I will ever vent my rage on Layla. The simple fact that she’s not scared tells me it’s not the first or even the tenth time she’s been treated that way. She’s immune to this shit. I don’t want to be another violent guy in her life. There are enough of those already. I’m supposed to be the one she’ll feel safe with, the one she’ll trust.
Well, I fucked that up beautifully.
Layla rests by a streetlamp, pulling the coat tighter around her delicate frame as I approach.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Nothing justifies what I just did.”
“You’re right. Nothing does. I’m manhandled by Frank and his men all the time. There’s nothing I can do to stop that; to rid them of my life. But this,” she points between us. “This is different. I can rid you. I don’t have to agree to this, and I won’t.”
The meaning of her words hits me like a tsunami. The wave consumes everything in its path, killing thousands of people. It leaves nothing but destruction behind. Layla’s words, the mere thought of losing her, have the same effect on me. It strips me of everything I care about, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.
She pushes away from the post when a car stops by the curb. She walks past me, and I turn around to see Adam. Layla motions for him to get back inside, taking the passenger seat, eyes on me as she holds the door open. “If you ever do that again, you can forget about me.” With that, she slams the door, and Adam drives away, the tires squealing on the road.
A rush of adrenaline ignites my nerve endings, and my heart picks up its rhythm. She’s livid, but she’s still mine. That’s all I need to know, not to lose my goddamn mind, but my fist lands on the metal of the streetlamp regardless.
I don’t fucking deserve that girl. Not by a long shot.
Spades gets out of the car. “She dumped your sorry ass yet?” I shake my head. “She should’ve.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I say, getting back in the car. “Come on. We’ve got shit to do.”
Ten minutes later, a sea of red and blue lights greets us in front of the club. Six police cars are parked on the road, and two ambulances by the entrance. The only thing missing is the fucking SWAT team. I light a cigarette, walking up to the chief of police, Jeremy, who stands over a black bag. We’re friends, for the lack of a better word. He charges a lot to make ninety-nine percent of my problems disappear, but one glance at his face is enough to know that the mess Luca created is not an easy fix.
“If it isn’t the boss.” He holds his hand out for me to shake, an ear-to-ear grin taking the width of his face as he bends down to unzip the body bag. “Awesome party!”
The guy’s face is split wide open; his jaw is unnaturally twisted. He’s missing eight, maybe ten teeth and a big chunk of his tongue. The skin from the broken nose lies on his cheek. The dirt mixes with dried blood that must’ve oozed from every hole, including his bloodshot eyes.
I let out all the air from my lungs, looking away, back at Jeremy. “Let’s talk in my office.”
He instructs his men to get rid of the onlookers before he follows me inside the empty club. The sound of our shoes tapping on the floor echoes throughout the place. Spades stops by the bar to grab a bottle of the most expensive bourbon.
Jeremy sits on the sofa with a loud sigh, wiping the non-existent sweat off his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “What a night,” he chirps. “So? What’s the story, Carrow? What happened?”
I rest against the desk. “No idea.” Playing dumb is my part. Jeremy enjoys being in the know, and it’s my goal to keep him happy. “I was at the hospital.”
“Well then, I’ll tell you what happened. One of your men, and I know which one because I’ve got the footage, executed the guy in the black bag, Alex Flemming. The only thing I don’t know is why he did it and why here in front of so many witnesses. You’re not usually this careless, gentlemen. What got into him?”
I offer Jeremy a Cuban cigar. “That’ll be one of the first questions I’ll ask him.”
“You must know why Alex is dead. What did he do?”
“It’s complicated,” Spades interjects.
“Oh, come on!” Jeremy throws his hands in the air. “It’s not like we just met. I’ll find out sooner or later. If you start talking, I might be able to help.”
I cross the room to sit in front of him. He’s right. There’s no hiding the reason. “He hit my girl.”
“Layla Harston, right?” He claps, overly excited as if watching an episode of his favorite show. “Am I to expect more bodies soon? Is the war coming to an end? You hooked up with Frankie’s daughter to get North under control?”
“Layla has nothing to do with what’s going on between Frank and me.” I’d give my right hand to make sure it stays that way.
Jeremy gestures for Spades to refill his glass. “That’s not very exciting. Anyway, back to the murder mystery. You ordered your people to sort the guy out, right?”
“No. Layla found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I rest my back on the couch, taking a drag of the cigar. “She got hit by accident. The guy aimed at someone else. A misunderstanding is all it was.”
Jeremy pouts, clearly unappeased. “So what? Luca killed Alex out of his own will? Without your order?”
“They don’t follow my orders one hundred percent of the time. You should know, some aren’t prone to do as they’re told.”
He rubs his beard, resting his elbows on his knees. “There’s not much I can do, Dante. Someone has to go down for murder. We’ve got a crowd of witnesses. To make matters worse, Luca’s a very colorful character,” he says, referring to his tattoos.
“Plan B?”
Plan B came into existence three years ago in similar circumstances. One of my men, Hue, killed a news stand owner at the Water Tower Place in broad daylight. Hue was young, stupid, and hot-headed. Not unlike Luca, he snapped like a dry twig. That’s what happened that day—the poor man gave him different cigarettes than he asked for. A life sentence hung above his head when chief Jeremy Smith made an entrance. Aware of my dealings with four ambitious daughters, he was keen to help.
We couldn’t pin it as an accident or an unfortunate event, but Jeremy came up with the idea of a look-alike doing time. He gave us a few hours to find the most suitable guy. A seemingly crazy idea, but Spades remembered about someone we met a few months earlier, Barry Baker. A miracle worker. He ran an institution for the worst kind of drug addicts, using them to do the dirty work for mafia bosses all over the US.
Hue had his whole life ahead of him. I couldn’t just sentence him to rot in jail, so we made the call. Not long later, Barry entered Delta with Mick, a twenty-year-old junkie addicted to the heaviest drugs. Rehab wasn’t helping. He battered his pregnant girlfriend and knew damn well he’d overdose or end up in jail. He chose option number two—voluntarily—for a high price. Including all the bribes, cuts, and money spent on lawyers, the total came close to two million dollars. A high price for one man’s life. Especially for the life of a man who hung himself six months later when his girlfriend left him. I could’ve saved two million, but there’s no foreseeing shit like that.
Jeremy clears his throat, rubbing his beard once more. “You’ve got three hours, Carrow. I want him at the station at six a.m.”
Spades waits until the door closes behind Jeremy before he calls Barry to explain the situation and send him Luca’s picture. The tattoos pose an issue, but I’ll worry if Barry finds the right guy.
I take my phone out to call the idiot. “Get your ass down here right now.” I let my anger show, hurling a crystal ashtray across the room. It flies an inch from Spades, earning me a you’re-fucking-insane kind of look.
“I’ll be there in twenty,” Luca says, his tone like that of a child who broke grandma’s tea set while playing soccer in the living room.
Spades finishes the last of his drink, refiling the glass. “What will you do with him?”
“I have no idea.” I rest my head on the desk. “I’m tired, pissed off, and something just doesn’t fucking fit.”
“You mean that Luca argued with Layla every chance he got, but now he killed the guy who hit her?”
I nod, massaging my temples. “I’m missing something.”
We sit in silence, buried in our thoughts, waiting for Luca to arrive. I’m also waiting for any sign from Layla. After my fuckup, it’s in my best interest to call her, but it has to wait until the morning.
Luca arrives fifteen minutes later, looking like he fled the set of a lame horror movie. Blood covers his shirt, trousers, and shoes. “You want me at the police station?”
“Sit,” I snap. “What the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know. I watched the footage… I saw Layla trying to escape the brawl.” He tugs at his hair. “The guy hit her so fucking hard her head turned.” The torment in his eyes makes no fucking sense. He’s protective, almost fucking possessive. “Something snapped inside me,” he continues, glancing at the floor. “My mind switched off. I was on some kind of autopilot. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Damn right you weren’t,” Spades clips.
“Sixty witnesses!” I boom, and Luca, who’s not easily scared, flinches in his seat. “CCTV, a crowd of people, and you jumped on his head!” I rest my hands on the side table by the sofa, looking him in the eyes, searching for any emotions; anything that’d prove Luca’s still there, that he’s not a psychopath. “You know it’s a life for this, right?”
He draws his gun, toying with it and looking into the barrel. “I won’t rot in jail. I’d rather pull the trigger.”
“Put it away. We’re waiting for Barry to call.”
“Plan B?” Luca meets my eyes.
“Yes, but before I sentence another innocent person, explain why. Two weeks ago, you claimed she was Frankie’s spy, but today you risked your freedom for a girl you fucking hate. Two plus two equals five here. Explain because I don’t get it!” I say as I stand up.
He hides his face in his hands, motionless for a moment as if he’s trying to make sense of it himself. “I don’t know why. I can’t explain it.” He jumps to his feet, pacing the room. “I don’t trust her, but it didn’t mean shit when I saw that guy hit her. You know my past, Dante.”
I move the weight of my body from one foot to the other, lighting a cigarette. I found Luca on the street when he was fourteen. His father beat his mother to death a few days earlier and was sent away, leaving Luca alone. He had nothing; no one to turn to, no house, no money, no hope.
“I used to be passive,” Luca says, filling the glass Jeremy used with bourbon. “I couldn’t protect my mom, but things are different now. Watching the footage, I remembered all of my mother’s bruises.”
“That doesn’t explain why you took it upon yourself to protect the girl you hate.”
He downs the drink, looking at his shoes. It takes a minute before he works up the courage to look at me again. It’s unusual for him to cower, but tonight his hesitation is natural. “I didn’t stop to think. I saw a woman being hurt, and I snapped. I don’t hate her, Boss. I just don’t trust her.”
A phone halts our conversation.
Barry has found a guy.
