Chapter 100

Aldo

The call came late at night, shattering the fragile quiet that had settled over the Marcello estate. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, jarring me from a restless sleep. Instantly awake, I reached for the warbling device. Pressed it to my ear. “Marcello.”

“There’s been an attack,” came the low voice from the other end. My heart leapt into my throat, and I was instantly out of bed. Not that I’d been expecting anything less; late-night calls were never good news.

“What happened?” I pulled my pants on with my phone wedged between my head and shoulder. One-handed—I’d gotten good at this maneuver in the past weeks.

“Not sure yet,” Luca said, his voice slightly muffled and breathless, like he was hurrying somewhere. “We’re pretty sure it was Rossetti. He took out a target downtown. One of ours, but we’re not sure who.”

“Send me the address. I’ll be right there.” I hung up, shoved my phone into my pocket.

“Aldo?” Layla sat up in the vacated bed behind me. “What’s going on?”

“Layla.” I held in a sigh of dismay. “Go back to sleep. It’s Rossetti again. I need to go check it out.”

In an instant, she was out of bed. Beside me. “I’m coming with you.”

“Layla—”

“I’m coming with you.”

I hesitated, but there was something in her eyes, something hard and cold and Mafia that told me she wasn’t about to relent. So I nodded, and she followed me.

Out of the room, down the hall, into the car. I slid behind the wheel, and she climbed into the passenger seat beside me. Somehow, it felt both wrong and right, having her there.

She was my wife. My partner. My other half.

She was a doctor, a good woman. And I was nothing short of the worst kind of man.

Such twisted dichotomies I’d never reconcile.

“Give me your phone,” Layla said, her voice soft but strong. Unwavering and unrelenting, just like her. “I’ll navigate.”

So it was her voice, and not the robotic monotone of my GPS, that I followed through town, and into a crowded neighborhood a few short blocks from downtown.

I parked, and together, we climbed out.

The scent of blood hit my nose as we stepped out into the darkened alley. In the dim street lighting, I discerned two figures—one crouched down before the second, who slumped bonelessly against the brick behind him.

The crouched one stood as we approached, and the faded light highlighted Luca’s grim features. “I think you know him.”

I leaned to see around him—but Layla was already rushing past me. “Ethan!”

The name was like a shot to the chest. I nudged past Luca as Layla threw herself to the ground at the slumped man’s feet. Closer up, I could see that it was, in fact, Ethan.

Matteo.

Blood seeped across his side, staining his shirt, plastering it down to him. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes fluttered open as I approached.

“Aldo,” Ethan rasped weakly. His gaze shifted towards Layla. “You … shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you.” Layla was already at work removing his shirt to get a better look at the wound. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

“Help me carry him to the car,” I instructed Luca. “We’ll take him to the clinic.”

“Hospital—” Layla started.

“And if Rossetti decides to finish what he started?” I asked, trying to keep my voice gentle despite the sudden panic welling inside me. “Haven’t you been building a secret gang-violence clinic for weeks now?”

Layla’s jaw ticked in frustration. But she nodded. “Yes. Let’s go. I can treat him there.”

Together, Luca and I wrangled Ethan into the car. His breathing hitched, and his eyes rolled in pain, but he remained awake, didn’t seem to be losing blood too rapidly.

Luca hopped behind the wheel, and Layla slid into the backseat to care for Ethan, leaving me to the passenger seat.

I watched my wife work in the rearview mirror as Luca tore across the dark, quiet streets towards my condo building. My mind whirred as fast as the wheels beneath us.

Rossetti had come after a cop.

But not just any cop.

Ethan.

The one I’d met in a cafe to discuss various deals. Twice now. The one who’d befriended my wife. The one who’d once been my brother.

So, I wondered, which of those secrets had made him Rossetti’s target?

And how has Rossetti learned them?

I turned in my seat to regard Ethan. He met my gaze like he knew I was about to ask something of dire importance and seriousness. “How did he know?”

Ethan’s dark eyes blinked against the pain.

“You’re distracting me.” Layla turned to shoo me back into my seat. “And you’re aggravating him. He needs to be calm.”

“Can you tell what happened?” I asked, and I wasn’t sure if I was asking Layla or Luca. Both, maybe.

“Stabbed,” Layla grunted. “And I need my tools to fix it. How far are we?”

“We’re here.” Luca turned the car into the parking garage, and time and place blurred momentarily as we wrestled Ethan back out of the car and through the basement door.

A wide white hallway greeted me, lined in elegant paintings and comfortable-looking couches. Layla led us through the first door and into a softly lit room that looked more like a living room than a hospital room—couch, table, TV, soft blue walls.

Aside from the medical cot and supplies in the middle of the room, it might have been another residential space in a residential home: soft and comfortable and welcoming.

“You did this?” I asked as Luca and laid Ethan on the cot, but Layla didn’t hear me. She was already bent over her patient, working away.

So I took Luca by the elbow and led him out.

“Isn’t he a cop?” Luca murmured as we drifted into the hallway. But I merely shook my head.

Layla

Ethan’s wound wasn’t life threatening. Took no more than thirty minutes for me to get him stitched up and stabilized. Good—and fit right into Rossetti’s M.O., according to Aldo.

Right into my own vigilante model, too. This wasn’t an attack—it was a warning. But whether the intended recipient of the message was Ethan or Aldo, I wasn’t sure.

Either way, I stayed in Ethan’s room, at his side, until his eyes fluttered open. “Layla.”

“You really shouldn’t have gotten involved,” I sighed. “Aldo wasn’t smart enough to say no, but you should have been.”

“I couldn’t just walk away,” Ethan replied, his voice strained. “I thought … I could help you. And Eli.”

The words tightened like fingers around my throat. “I’ve chosen my path, Ethan. I’m not leaving Aldo. Or this life.”

“I know,” Ethan sighed. “That’s why I’ve been digging into Rossetti instead. I want to know what game he’s playing.”

“Me too.” I curled my fingers around his. “But not at the expense of your life. Or health.”

I left him to rest and headed into the hallway. Expecting to find Aldo, but instead—

“Layla!” Vanessa greeted me at the door, eyes too wide, hair a little wild. She looked frazzled in a way I hadn’t seen since the night I’d saved her.

“Vanessa?” I gave her a quick, reassuring hug. “I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

“I heard what happened.” She tugged a hand through her hair, smoothing out some of the frizz. “This is dangerous on a whole other level.”

My brows pulled into a tight furrow of confusion. “What do you mean?”

She paced an anxious lap down the hall. Back up. “Whoever did this knows too much.”

“I can’t just leave him.” I shook my head. “Whatever’s happened between us, I owe him that much.”

Vanessa’s gaze softened slightly. “I get that. But the Rossettis targeted him for a reason. This isn’t just about Aldo anymore.”

“You think they targeted Ethan because of me?” My stomach twisted as I turned back towards the door. What if she was right—what if the warning wasn’t for Ethan or Aldo … but for me?

What did it mean?

And if I didn’t heed this warning … who would be next?

“More importantly,” Vanessa said, “how do you think they found out? Who knew about this … beside you and Aldo and Ethan?”

“You think Ethan betrayed me?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Why would he do that?”

“I think he wants to get you away from Aldo, whatever it takes.”