Chapter 30

Layla

I didn’t have much to pack.

In the short few weeks I’d spent at Aldo’s manor, I’d accumulated only a small collection of things—a few items of clothing one of Aldo’s men had retrieved for me from my townhouse, a handful of things I’d purchased for myself because I couldn’t stand the thought of some Mafia man digging through my underwear drawer.

I refused to pack anything Aldo had purchased for me. Let those rot in his closet, along with his overpriced suits.

When it was all said and done, the last few weeks of my life fit neatly into a small carry-on bag. Well at least I knew I could flee in a plane if I had to … but the joke didn’t make me feel any better.

I kept hearing the fierce little woman’s words, That woman needs to be moved out of this estate.

She was his mother, I was sure of it. Despite the height difference, the similarities between them were clear: the cut of cheekbones, the curve of lips, the dark eyes and heavy fringe of lashes.

And it was clear she wanted nothing to do with me.

Good. I re-folded a blouse that had come slightly untucked. I wanted nothing to do with her, with any of them, anyway. I was more than ready to put all of this behind me and return to my old life. The one I’d chosen—built for myself from the ground up.

It was clear I didn’t belong here.

A faint knock at the door startled me from my thoughts. “Come in.”

Aldo appeared in the doorway. Stray streaks of afternoon sunshine bathed him in wavering shades of shadow and golden light, making his beauty almost ethereal.

The breath faded from my lungs.

“Layla.” He strode into the room, the movement reminding my body I still needed to breathe. His gaze fell to the suitcase atop the bed. “You don’t have to go.”

I snapped the case shut. “I think it’s pretty clear I’m not wanted.”

“My mother has no right to make decisions for me.” A thread of anger wove through his voice, the only sign of the slight crack in his mask. “Or for you.”

“She’s not.” I folded my arms across my chest. “This is my decision. We both know I can’t stay here, Vas.”

His sharp little inhale was the only sign he’d noticed my use of his old name. “But it’s not safe—”

“This is for the best.” I hardened my voice, so that when I delivered the lie, I almost believed it. “I have no desire to be in your life, and even less desire to have anything to do with the Mafia.”

“I know.” His mask didn’t crack this time. Not so much as a muscle twitched out of turn.

“It’s been nothing but fear and danger since I got here.” I let myself soften, just a touch. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t live every minute afraid for my son’s life.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“It’s time for us to go home.”

The flicker of tension in his jaw was the only sign there was something human beneath that unflinching Mafia mask of his. “You can’t go home.”

“Did you not hear anything I just said—”

“No. I mean,” he dragged a hand through his hair, “you can’t go back to that house.”

“Why not?” My brows tightened in confusion. “Everything I own is there. It’s my home. My life.”

He shook his head, that cold mask softening along with his voice. “Not anymore. Moretti’s men got to it first.”

“What?” Blood pounded in my ears, and my hands felt suddenly cold. “What does that mean?”

“I’m so sorry, Layla.” He reached out like he might set a comforting hand on my shoulder, paused, let his hand drop back down. “I didn’t know how to tell you. There’s nothing left.”

I pulled a shuddering breath in through my lungs, determined not to let those words undo me. Determined to hold my composure. He hadn’t touched me, but my skin still felt cold in the absence of that contact.

“It’s fine.” My voice sounded hollow and distant, like I was hearing someone else speak. Still, I leveled a steady gaze to meet his eyes. “I’ll find something else.”

“At least let me help with that. I have a safehouse near the hospital you can use.”

The pleading and apology in his voice shouldn’t have undone me, but maybe I’d been battered and beaten down too many times to keep standing on my own. “All right.”

“I can post guards around the house—hidden. You’ll never even know they’re there.”

The fight had faded from me. I just wanted him to leave, and I’d say whatever it took to make that happen. “All right.”

“It’s going to be okay.” His hand twitched again, like he was once again resisting the urge to touch me, offer me comfort. I wish he would. I was glad he didn’t.

After a moment’s hesitation, he turned and headed for the door.

It was only once the door had clicked closed behind me, only after I tacked his footfalls down the hall, that I let the devastation claim me.

I tumbled onto the bed as great heaving sobs tore at my throat, wracked my chest, made my shoulders tremble. My house, my home … gone.

I’d saved for that house for years. Though medical school, interning, working long hours at the hospital. And I’d chosen it so carefully—something that could be a home for my son, that I could fill with cheerful memories and fun times.

It had been so empty at first, when I’d first strode through that front door with the new keys in my hand. But over the years, we’d filled it—with furniture and clothes and toys and pictures and knick knacks. Made it our own. Our life. Our family.

We’d filled it to bursting.

And now … it was gone.

My hand curled around the handle of my suitcase. Now, everything I owned literally fit into a small carry-on bag. I’d lost so much in the past few weeks. Lost nearly everything I’d loved.

To say Aldo Marcello had walked back into my life and utterly uprooted it was a gross understatement. He’d devastated it. Ripped it to irreparable small shreds.

And somehow, somehow, I still couldn’t help but remembering the man who’d stood in the rain, drops trailing down his angel’s face, and asked for my number so he could return my umbrella.

I couldn’t help but think that man was still here, still buried deep within this newer, colder version.

I couldn’t help but love him.

My phone buzzed on my bedside table, drawing me away from my dark, spiraling thoughts. I swiped a hand across my eyes and sat up to check the warbling device.

It was a text from Marco.

Marco: I’d love to have you over for dinner at my place tonight!

My chest ached. My eyes burned from crying. I’d lost everything today, at the hands of the man I couldn’t stop loving.

I needed a distraction.

I returned his text almost immediately. We’ll be there.

So with the tears in my eyes dry, with the sobs dead in my chest, I picked myself up off the bed, suitcase in hand. And I went to find my son. To take us to our new life at Aldo Marcello’s making.