I stopped at nothing for two weeks to make sure Layla didn’t find out about what happened at Delta. I bribed people daily, isolated her from the news, and broke a few jaws. Just when I thought the whole thing had blown over, and she’d long forgotten about it, a bold title appeared on the first page of the newspaper—A mob hit gets out of control.
Fucking assholes printed it on the day we’re supposed to fly to New York. As if they couldn’t have waited one day extra. On Fridays, the newspaper is handed out for free everywhere in the city—including Layla’s college. There’s no way she missed the article written by Max Grover, who relayed the statement presented in court. Then, he spewed his own truth, relying on anonymous sources as he speculated that the dead man was the same one who hit Layla.
It doesn’t matter who helped him write the article. The article itself doesn’t fucking matter. Johnathan’s been locked up for over a week. The case is closed. The problem is that the only person who wasn’t supposed to know a thing now knows everything. I’m faced with a massive moral dilemma: to lie or not to lie.
It’s almost five o’clock, and Layla’s due home any minute. I didn’t have time to take her to college this morning, so she took her car instead. The flight to New York leaves in three hours, and I wonder if I’ll be boarding the plane alone.
The sound of the alarm being disarmed rumbles through the quiet house like a clap of thunder when Layla enters the room. She rounds the bar in silence, a folded newspaper in hand. I watch her every move, muscles in my neck and shoulders painfully tense. The ringing silence doesn’t bode well. I’m growing painfully aware that she’s fucking brainwashed me. Before I met her, I would’ve screamed at or dismissed a girl who’d dare question my ways, but I can’t yell at Layla. I’m physically incapable of raising my voice after the outburst two weeks ago that almost cost me our relationship.
Now, she’s upset again. Guilt prickles at my eyes like an allergy. I should’ve seen the article coming. I should’ve known someone would try to uncover the truth, and I should’ve stopped it before it saw daylight. But I failed.
I failed to protect my star.
She places the paper on the countertop, letting it roll out, the bold title like a slap on my cheek. Layla turns to fill a glass with wine and swallows half in one go.
Not good.
She turns my way again, her eyes glistening with fresh tears, chin quivering as she holds her finger up, refusing to admit her weaknesses. Despite having a valid reason to be upset, she’s embarrassed about not handling the news better, making me realize once again that she’s too strong for her own good. Stronger than she fucking should be.
She wasn’t able to be weak around Frank. He doesn’t respect that. Layla’s one of the toughest people I know, but it fucking kills me that standing three feet from me, someone she should feel one hundred percent comfortable with, she fights to prove she’s tough.
“Is it true?” she asks, wiping the tears away.
There’s only so much a person can take… Layla can’t take much more, but it doesn’t stop her from trying. A rush of inordinate protectiveness spreads inside me like a contusion below the skin. I round the bar to pull her into my arms, but she steps back.
I expected many things: screaming, arguing, and punching, to name a few, but not this. I fist my hands, unsure if she’s afraid or just angry. Her sadness, coupled with not knowing, shatters my composure.
“Layla…”
“Don’t lie.” It sounds like a plea, but her attitude changes, anger replaces sadness as if it’s easier to control. “You had him killed? He didn’t do anything…” She’s not shouting, not raising her voice, but I feel her rage. “How could you?”
“I didn’t have him killed, star. I didn’t even want to punch him.” My teeth clench because that’s a fucking lie… I won’t do it to Layla. “Okay, I did, but I wasn’t going to look for him.” of course, I wanted to punch the fucker. I wanted to break his hands ten different ways.
“So what happened to him? Why is he dead?” Fresh tears dance in her gray eyes. “He’s dead because of me.”
I catch her hand, ignoring the weak protest, and pull her into my arms. “It’s not your fault.”
She presses her face to my shirt, tears staining the fabric. “It is. If I weren’t there, if I stayed home, if—”
“If you weren’t mine?”
She jerks away, shoving her finger in my chest. “If you didn’t love me, nothing would’ve happened!”
If I didn’t love her… Is that possible? I crossed a line at some point, and I don’t know when.
This is it.
She is it for me.
I’m over my head in love with her. I’m fucking terminal, and I won’t make it without her.
“Promise that you didn’t have him killed,” she whispers, drinking the rest of her wine.
“I swear.” I cup her face, wiping her cheeks with my thumbs. “If anyone ever hurts you and I decide they should die, I’ll kill them myself. Understood?”
It’s not a confession she wants to hear, but like a good girl, she nods, biting her lip, and sits at the bar. I stand behind her, one arm snaked around her collarbones as I kiss the crown of her head. It’s supposed to calm her, but it does more to calm me.
She has the right to know what happened, but the truth will only cause more trouble. The guy who’s in jail isn’t the one who killed. All Layla will see is that another innocent person’s life was ruined because of her.
I sit beside her, taking a cigarette out of the packet. “Do you want to know what happened?”
“No. I know it’s my fault. I know you didn’t kill him… I don’t need more.” She slides off the stool. “I’ll go and pack.”
I catch her hand. “I hate seeing your tears, but I’d rather see you cry than see you try to hide how you really feel. Don’t ever do that around me again. You don’t have to pretend when you’re with me.”
She leans down to kiss me with a small, sad smile.
We arrive at 165 East 72nd Street just before midnight. Isla greets us as soon as the elevator doors open in the living room of her apartment on the top floor. She embraces Layla, kissing her cheeks, excited beyond reason. She’s loved my girl ever since I mentioned she existed. She’s probably chosen the church, the wedding dress, and the names of her future grandkids.
Layla would start interrogating my mother if it weren’t that late, but she had to settle for a good night’s sleep in my arms. I lie awake most of the night, wondering about the future. Nikolaj’s death will be the beginning of an end.
With Julij refusing to work with Frank, and Nikolaj’s protection dying with him, Frank will be left with nothing. Chicago is too small for us both. One has to bow out, but neither of us will do so voluntarily.
It’s almost four in the morning when I last check the time. I’m not surprised I don’t find Layla beside me when the alarm rings at nine.
“What time did you get up?” I ask, finding her at the dining room table with my mother. A tape recorder is next to her coffee, and Isla watches us from above her rimless glasses, a full-blown smile stretching her thin lips.
“About two hours ago. I wanted to go over my notes, but your mom was up, so we got straight to work.”
Isla twitches in her seat, running her long fingers through her short hair. “She’s amazing, Dante… so intelligent.”
“That she is.” I snatch Layla’s coffee, stepping away when she frowns. “I’m glad you’re getting along because I need to leave for a while.”
“You’re leaving? Without breakfast?” Isla scowls. “I’ll get Marie to fix something for you in no time.”
I’m nearing my thirties, but she still treats me like a five-year-old. “I don’t have time for breakfast, Mom.” Ignoring the disapproving look, I crouch by Layla, resting my hands on her thighs. “I need to take care of something. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll be fine.” She kisses my forehead. “I doubt you’d find this interesting, so go ahead.”
I hand her the half-empty cup back, grab the keys to a rental Camaro, throwing my jacket on.
“Baby?” Layla stops me as I leave the room. “Say hi to him for me.”
I’m either getting worse at hiding things from her, or she’s too perceptive. Probably the latter. I enter the elevator but march back into the dining room before pressing any buttons.
“Did you forget something?”
“Yes.” I stop in the doorway. “Don’t leave the penthouse without me, Star. Call me if you need me.”
“Was he always so bossy?” she asks my mother.
“Layla, I mean it.”
The sleepless night and the possible scenarios that played in my head turned my protectiveness up a notch. It’s irrational, but I can’t do much about it.
She gets up, resting her hands on my chest, and pecks my cheek, too polite to kiss my lips in front of Isla. “I’ll be here. Bye, bye for now. I’m busy.”
I smirk, remembering she used those words to get rid of Adam when he rang her the first night she came to Delta.
Julij texted me earlier with the address for what turns out to be a restaurant when I park by the curb outside of the modern building in the heart of New York. One of Julij’s henchmen mans the door, standing still like a Grenadier Guard outside Buckingham Palace.
“Take the stairs,” he says, with a harsh accent.
All of Nikolaj’s men are Russian. It looks like Julij decided to uphold the tradition and surround himself with his fellow countrymen. I walk past a long bar and row of tables by the wall, then climb the stairs.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice two more henchmen standing in front of the emergency exit. The décor upstairs matches downstairs—dark brown tables, navy chairs, and bricks on the walls.
Julij sits by a large window overlooking the main street. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, shaking my hand. “How was the flight? What did you do with your beauty?”
“Layla’s at my mother’s.”
Julij sheds his suit jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair. “Excuse the time, but we can talk without witnesses while the place is closed. Coffee?”
“Yeah, black, one sugar. Is this your place?”
“It is. You like it?”
“Looks good…” One of his henchmen sets down a small tray in front of me and moves away, taking his colleague with him. They descend the stairs, leaving us alone to talk. “You mentioned working together. I’m open to offers.”
Julij gets up to fetch us an ashtray. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while. You’ve got a knack for business, Dante. You gained powerful allies despite not having Nikolaj’s protection. It’s one hell of an accomplishment to go from nothing to building the largest network in the country.”
Smuggling drugs with the V brothers from Detroit is the most profitable part of business, but apart from drugs, I smuggle alcohol, tobacco, and, recently, petroleum.
People approach me daily, offering their services, but I can’t stretch my wings because of Frank and his involvement with Nikolaj. Some of the most influential bosses in the US are Nikolaj’s puppets. It wouldn’t end well if I tried to undermine their activities.
“You deal under Frank’s nose, often with his people, but he has no idea.”
“Frank’s business is failing because he is too focused on getting rid of me.”
“Nikolaj suffers the consequences now, but soon, it’ll be me,” Julij clips. “He protects Frank because of their past. Otherwise, someone would have killed him by now.”
Frank and Nikolaj’s story began twenty years ago. Their lives intertwined during those years in many ways. Frankie used to tell me stories about how Nikolaj arrived in Chicago from Russia with his brother, wife, and Julij. He opened a restaurant in the city where, weeks later, Frank met both him and Jess. He was starting his career in the mob at the time, working for Dino,
Nikolaj didn’t care about the mafia until the restaurant went bust ten years ago. Frank convinced Dino to help Nikolaj get back on his feet. At Dino’s request, Nikolaj moved to New York and started working for the old boss. It quickly became apparent that Nikolaj is much better at cooking meth than stroganoff. He took over the city two years later. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Nikolaj made his fortune thanks to Frank.
Then the tables turned. After Dino’s death, everyone put a cross on Frank. He was Dino’s right-hand man, yet he killed him. Everyone who ever dealt with Dino moved to work with the boss from New York—Nikolaj; it was his turn to take Frank under his wings and offer protection.
“Whatever happened to your uncle?” I ask. “Frankie told me years ago that Nikolaj came here with his brother, but I never met him.”
“Anatolij? He wasn’t here long. Less than a year, I think. I don’t know what happened, but he and Nikolaj fell out. They’re still not talking.”
“What does he do now?”
“I don’t know who to compare him to…” He pauses for a minute, then bursts out laughing. “Too bad Layla’s not here. She’d enjoy this. Anatolij is in Russia like Al Capone was in America. He lives in Moscow. There isn’t anyone in the whole country who could mess him about. Anyway, while Nikolaj’s alive, Frank rules Chicago, but in a few months, the city will be yours. The whole city.”
“So, what’s your plan? You want to kill Frank?”
“Only if everything else fails.” Julij surrounds himself with a cloud of smoke. “I simply won’t do business with him when Nikolaj dies. If he steps aside, he’ll be safe. But even if I let him live, he won’t last six months unless he flees the country. He turned many people into enemies. Very unforgiving enemies.”
That’s not surprising. For six years, instead of taking advantage of the help offered, rebuilding his name, and creating the network he used to crave, Frank has tried everything to regain the South. I heard about deals gone wrong, FBI raids, and blatant murders. And that’s just a drop in the ocean. Like a racing horse, Frank wears blinders, scheming to eliminate me from the picture. The only thing he won’t do is put a bullet through my head.
Not without reason.
Eight years ago, we did our weekly rounds collecting money from the brothels that paid Dino for drugs and protection. One of the owners refused to pay. Marcus was a gambler; he used to lose a lot in the casinos, but that night he lost half a million dollars. He was high, probably drunk too, and when we walked into his office, he greeted us with a .44 Magnum. He aimed the gun at Frank’s head… I did the first thing that sprung to mind—I shoved Frank aside when Marcus slid his finger to the trigger, drew my gun, and shot him just as he fired his gun. The bullet intended for Frank hit the door.
He can’t kill me. He owes me his fucking life.
Julij’s smarter than I give him credit for. Working with me once he is in charge is one of the more prudent strategic moves he can make. He’s new in our world. He doesn’t know people or the rules. Nobody respects or trusts him yet. Nikolaj kept him in the shadows too long, and now Julij needs a way in. He needs me. He needs someone who’s respected, trusted, and feared. In return, he can give me something I crave: cut Frank out of the picture; stop doing business with him, and consequently rob him of protection.
“Frank won’t step down voluntarily.” I light a cigarette, throwing the packet on the table.
“I’d be surprised if he did, but he knows his protection dies with Nikolaj. I hoped Layla would force the two of you to forget about your differences, but after my chat with Frank, I realized he’ll never forgive you. You have to stay safe, Dante. Keep Layla safe too.”
I shake my head. “That’s a miss. Frank won’t kill me. If he could, he would’ve tried a long time ago, and Layla’s his daughter. He’s one evil fucker, but he won’t hurt her.”
“Do you really think he won’t kill you when it comes down to you or him?” He puts the cigar out, resting his elbows on the table. “I hear he’s looking for a hitman.”
“Let him look.” I brush it off despite the news coming as a surprise. “Don’t worry about Layla or me.”
I don’t like the idea of Layla under someone’s watchful eye at all times. She hates being controlled, and I really can’t see Frank hurting his own daughter.
Julij’s jaw works furiously. “Don’t be careless. Are you honestly one hundred percent certain Frank won’t use Layla? Maybe he won’t hurt her, but when he finds himself against a wall, she’ll be his only way out of this shit, and he will use her. If I know you’ll give up everything for her, then Frank knows it too.”
Maybe he has a point. Desperate men do desperate things. Frank is desperate. The ground is slipping from under his feet, and he’ll soon be buried alive.
“You have someone you can trust, or should I send my people to Chicago to watch over your girl?”
“I don’t surround myself with people I don’t trust.”
I don’t have to think about who Layla’s bodyguard will be. She won’t be pleased, but recent events prove that Luca’s perfect for the job. He’ll stop at nothing to keep her safe, and safe is all I need her to be if I’m to function like any other sane person.
