“You’ve got a snitch among your people.”
My informant’s words echo in the depths of my mind. If Layla hadn’t barged into the bathroom, willingly dropping to her knees for me last night, I would’ve left her to meet up with Spades and Nate.
Finding the rat is a priority.
Obviously not that fucking big, considering I preferred a surprisingly good blowjob and an hour-long session in bed with my girl over preparing a plan of action to find the mole.
My priorities have been in the drain since she came along. It’ll fucking get me killed if I don’t cap the crazy.
Just like I have someone among Frank’s men, Frank has a snitch among mine. Until recently, I knew who the double agent was—James. He became a part of my crew by accident, stumbling upon a business meeting gone bad. He witnessed Spades torturing a scumbag who owed me half a million dollars. I had two choices: kill him or employ him. I chose the latter. My bad. Three weeks later, Nate discovered that James was working for Daddy dearest.
Frank’s not as lucky. I didn’t plant a new guy among his people. No, I recruited someone who has worked with him for years. Someone he trusts—Kyle Shaner, first cousin of Frank’s great uncle’s daughter. Or something along those lines.
Kyle rang when Layla and I were on our way to the airport, heading home. He hadn’t yet found the identity of the snitch but said that Frankie knew about my meeting with Julij, which narrows down the list of suspects.
If not for the difficult choice, sex with Layla or chit-chat with Spades, I would’ve dragged my most trusted people out of bed to form a plan of action and find the fucking snitch. Knowing who means I get to control what he reports back to Frank. Not long before I met Layla, James vanished. The coincidence didn’t strike me as odd until now. My natural suspiciousness takes over, posing irrational questions and making me wonder if Layla walking into my life was just luck. Not many people knew about my meeting with Julij. My main entourage, Julij’s people, and Layla.
I squeeze the bridge of my nose. Nikolaj’s imminent death, and the long-awaited changes it foreshadows, I doubt everyone for no good reason. Layla can’t be a spy. She stays out of my work at all costs, so she has nothing to tell Frank. And it’s not like she’s fond of the guy.
She loves me.
She said it more times than I can fucking count.
The snitch could be anyone, really; someone smart enough to connect my visit to New York with the brief time Nikolaj has left, one of my guys’ girls, or even Frank himself. He’s a manipulative bastard, after all. He could’ve guessed I met with Julij and fed the idea to his people to catch the mole he knows I have up North.
It’s eight in the morning, but Layla’s no longer in bed. Naughty girl. She shouldn’t have left before I could eat her pussy for breakfast.
I reach for my phone to call Spades, ignoring the hour.
“It better be important,” he mutters, half asleep.
“Kyle called; we’ve got a new snitch. Get yourself together, pick up Nate, and I want you at my house in two hours.”
“Lucky bastard,” he says more to himself than to me. “We’ll be there at ten.”
“You and Nate, keep it to yourself for now.”
They’re the only two who know about Kyle, and it needs to stay that way. The more people who know, the greater the risk of exposing Kyle. He has to maintain his position until Chicago falls into my hands.
“Sure. We’ll be there.”
“And get someone to always watch Luca. I want to know his every move.”
I find Layla in the kitchen still in a black see-through nightdress, a focused expression on her doll-like face as she looks at the screen, biting her cheek. A pile of open books and the tape recorder she used while interrogating my mother litter the table.
“Who gave you permission to leave our bed?”
She jumps, looking over her shoulder. “Why are you sneaking up? You scared me.”
I move closer to kiss the top of her head. “I ask you a question.” Pushing her laptop aside, I catch her hand and don’t let go until she sits on the table.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
The nightdress hugs her frame, highlighting her boobs—the one part of her body she’s self-conscious about for no apparent reason. They’re not the largest but fit perfectly in my hands. I don’t need more than that. In fact, if I could change one thing about Layla, it wouldn’t be her looks or her personality. It’d be her surname. Apart from this easily fixable detail, she’s a dream.
My dream come true.
“You’re not allowed to leave the bed until I let you.” I bite on her ear and take her upstairs, determined to fill the two hours before Spades and Nate arrive with nothing but her moans.
Layla point-blank refused to skip classes all week in favor of sex, but I’m all over her the minute she gets home every day. Sex has always been my go-to tension reducer, and with all the problems hanging over my head, I can’t get enough of Layla no matter how long we’re in bed. How she managed to finish her dissertation on time is beyond me. We have sex at least three times a day. We’ve christened the bath, shower, kitchen, and living room. We tried every position I could think of to find those she enjoys most, but I can’t get enough of her. The sweet, breathless moans, the way she tastes and looks when she comes.
I gave the maid a few days off so she couldn’t listen to Layla’s moans, my growls, the bed slamming against the wall, or witness us on the couch while Layla rides me, with her mouth on my neck, my hands on her back. She enjoys dominating and is getting good at maintaining a demanding pace.
“You’ll be late,” I say when she walks out of the bathroom, her hair wet, eyes gleaming, legs weak after the intense orgasm she had while I held her pinned to the wall under the stream of hot water, driving into her from behind.
I do my utmost to make her writhe, squirm and beg for release. Knowing that she needs it so much, that she needs me so much is empowering.
“It’s the last day before Christmas break. Newson can handle me being late for a change,” she says, struggling with the zipper on her back.
It starts too low for her to reach, but she’d rather dislocate her shoulder than give up. I drape her hair over her shoulder, zip her up, and kiss the nape of her neck. “Can he? Good, because I’m fucking starving.” I throw her on the bed, yanking the dress up and panties down. “Open.”
“We just had sex!” she chuckles.
“Don’t deny me my pussy. Open, Layla. Nice and wide.”
She lets her legs fall apart, her smile morphing into parted lips and hooded eyes when I latch onto her clit like a starving man, slipping two fingers inside.
She had an orgasm ten minutes ago, but she’s fucking soaking wet, already on the brink of another violent release within minutes.
“There it is… good girl, don’t hold back,” I say against her when she writhes, pressing her sweet pussy to my lips as she comes, flooding the house with her moans. I love that she’s so fucking vocal, letting me hear how good it feels when I make her come. There’s nothing more arousing than seeing her ripped to shreds by an intense orgasm.
My plan for the day consists of dropping her off and picking her up from college and hours of catching up with paperwork in-between, but it all goes to shit five minutes later when I ascend the stairs to find Spades on the sofa with a take-out cup in hand, two more on the table.
“Morning,” he says. “It might be a wise idea to change the alarm code, Dante, so no one can barge in here unannounced now that Layla lives here, and…” he trails off, cocking an eyebrow to non-verbally finish the sentence.
“Are you blushing?” I smirk, plopping down on the sofa. “My house, my girl. If you don’t want to hear her come, don’t arrive unannounced.”
He swallows hard, rubbing his hands on his trousers. “I’ll remember that.”
“Get on with the show, Spades. You found the snitch?”
“Not yet. There are more pressing matters to attend to right now. Caro rang earlier. The V brothers are flying in this afternoon. They want to meet up at the club.”
The V brothers are my closest business partners. We’ve worked together for five years, and they’re a pleasure to deal with. Always well prepared, organized, and informed. They’re eloquent and well-put-together, but only while we talk business. Once we start drinking, their facade brakes—they’re out of control, hitting on everything that moves.
Spades glances over my head when soft footsteps reach my ears. Layla joins us with a bag full of books on her shoulder, a printed and bound copy of her dissertation in hand.
“I guess I’m driving myself today?” She takes the cup, sending Spades a grateful smile.
“I can call Rookie—”
“I’m already late. I can manage on my own.” She pecks my lips, waves at Spades, and leaves the house within thirty seconds of arriving downstairs, her steps still a little off as she saunters away on weak legs.
“What do they want?” I ask Sapdes once the door closes behind Layla.
“Caro says they know about Nikolaj. I guess they want to talk plans for the future.”
“I want everyone at the club by half seven. Order the girls from Tony. Eight should do it. You got anything on Luca?”
“Nope. He’s as clean as they get, Dante. Nothing out of the ordinary. He’s been keeping his head low like you ordered. I really don’t think he’s the snitch.”
Neither do I, but his conflicting behavior toward Layla has me thinking. “Then I should call him.”
“You want him there tonight?”
“No. I want him here.”
He barks out a short laugh. “Luca’s supposed to look after your star? I assume it’s because of the talks that Frank’s looking for a hitman?”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“I get that. It’s not like I doubt Luca’s competence. He won’t let anything happen to her. Just tell me one thing.” He stretches his hands over the back of the couch. “How will you keep her safe from him?”
I finish my coffee, placing the cup back on the table. “He’s the one who’ll need protection. Layla mops the floors with him. Luca knows if he lets a hair fall off her head, a chalk outline of his body will be all that’s left of him.”
Thirty minutes later, Luca takes Spades’ place on the sofa. We’ve worked together for almost six years now. He was never the most obedient person, but he never cowered until now.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“I have a job for you. The V brothers are flying in tonight. I need to leave, but I’m not leaving Layla alone. You’ll be watching over her until further notice.”
I accommodated his wishes for years. I turned a blind eye to his short temper because of his past, but the special treatment has expired. It’s time to teach him a lesson. He has to take responsibility for his actions just like the rest of my men; otherwise, he’ll never learn.
“Aren’t you overacting? No one will touch her down South because she’s with you and up North because she’s Frankie’s daughter. Why does she need security?”
“Frankie’s looking for a hit man.” I light a cigarette, and Luca follows my lead. “I’m not risking some nutcase hurting her to get to me. I won’t need you often for now. Layla will be with me most of the time, but I expect you here tonight at seven. If I’m not with her, you need to be. Understood?”
“Why me? Spades, Rookie, Nate. They like her. They won’t strangle her by accident when she starts bitching.”
Watching over Layla is a far worse punishment than if I’d tell him to cover the cost of plan B. This time we closed the bill at one million. He’d be paying it back for a year, but he’d take the deal with open arms over babysitting my star.
“Don’t get on her nerves, and you’ll be fine. You killed a man for her, Luca. I trust you with her.”
Putting my most skilled fighter on the sidelines to become a nanny is a low blow, but I have two reasons for doing so. It’s not just about trusting his viciousness. There’s also the laying-low business. He needs to stay out of the spotlight until the press forgets about the mayhem in Delta.
“Where is she now?” he asks. “I guess she’s not pleased with this either.”
“She’s in college. Don’t get in her way, and I’ll make sure she won’t give you a reason to strangle her.”
He leaves a few minutes later, performing a burnout on the white gravel to let off some steam.
