Chapter 63

Layla

“Let us go,” I said, my voice cold, steady, “Or I pull the trigger.”

The rustle of cloth informed me that Marco’s bodyguards had reached for their weapons, but I didn’t budge.

I was done being their fucking pawn. “Don’t even think about it. I’m not afraid to shoot.”

Marco raised a hand, signaling them to stop. His dark eyes bore into mine, his jaw tight. And still, he found the words to taunt me. “You don’t have the guts.”

“Try me,” I purred, and I shifted the gun up a little higher. “You’re a doctor. You know that if I shoot you here, you will die a slow, painful death.”

“Layla.” The low male voice behind me froze the words in my mouth, my hand on the gun. I shifted slowly to view the speaker, keeping my gun against Marco’s taut abdomen.

The man behind me, clad in the stiff suit of Marco’s bodyguards, was familiar. Too familiar. Because he’d stood outside my house every day for months.

Guarding it.

Guarding it in the name of Aldo Marcello. That was how Marco had gotten Eli.

“You,” I murmured, my chest feeling too tight. “You did this. You betrayed me—betrayed Aldo. Betrayed Eli.”

“Layla, don’t do this,” the guard said, holding up both his hands. The guard who’d promised to keep Eli safe. And had betrayed him.

“Right,” Marco said, his voice stronger, more confident now. “Put the gun down, and let’s everybody take a deep breath and talk about all of this.”

“Talk,” I snarled, whipping back around to Marco. “I’m tired of hearing your talking. And I’m tired of lies. Of betrayal. Of men thinking they can fucking control me.”

My hand trembled, but my grip on the handgun stayed firm. The cold steel pressed against Marco’s waist, my finger brushing the trigger as my heart pounded in my chest. Eli stood frozen several feet away, his wide eyes darting between me and the man standing too close to him—my former bodyguard.

A man I’d trusted with my son’s life.

He deserved this bullet even more than Marco did.

“Think about this, Layla,” Marco murmured, his dark eyes serious—almost earnest. “Don’t do anything rash. You shoot me, you think there will be anything stopping my guards from going after you—and Eli?”

My mouth tightened into a line, fighting the urge to respond, to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. My mind raced, begging for a solution, for something, anything, that might end this stalemate.

But I couldn’t see a way out. Not yet.

In the corner of my eye, the bodyguard smirked. “You always were too soft, Doc. Should’ve stayed in your lane.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, my voice so cold, so steady, despite the whirlwind inside me. I couldn’t afford a misstep. One wrong move, and Eli would get hurt—or worse.

“You’ve got fight in you, Layla,” Marco admitted, and I almost thought a begrudging sort of admiration threaded his words. “More than I gave you credit for. But you’re out of your depth here. Hand over the gun, and we can end this peacefully.”

“I think we’re way past the point of peace,” I said. Cold. So very fucking cold. A true Mafia donna, a calculating bitch waiting for the opportune moment.

I’d never felt so alive.

Anger flowed through me like a cold white river. “You kidnapped my son. Threatened his life. Threatened my life. Don’t talk to me about peace.”

“Layla—”

A sudden crash from behind slashed Marco’s lies before he could utter them. We all three turned towards the door as it opened with such vigor it slammed against the wall, almost rebounding into the man who burst through.

The tall, dark, and stern god of blood and war.

“Aldo!” my breath caught as Aldo Marcello stormed in, half a dozen guards behind him. Somehow, despite the blaze of his eyes and the blood splattering his face, his black suit was still immaculate.

“It’s over, Marco,” Aldo growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Layla won’t hesitate to shoot now.”

“Look who’s right on time,” Marco said, and the smirk that unfolded slowly over his face was nothing short of villainous. “The prodigal husband, come to save the damsel in distress.”

Like he somehow knew how those words would grate in all the wrong ways.

“I don’t need saving,” I said, my gun still flush against Marco’s waist. “Or did you forget who’s holding the gun?”

“See?” Aldo asked, and his gaze flicked to me. “I’d say I’ve got you, but I think maybe you’ve got it all on your own.”

“Damn straight.” I didn’t take my eyes off Marco. “Get Eli out of here. I’ll deal with this bastard.”

Marco chuckled. “You’re going to let your woman give you orders, Aldo? Boss you around like a whipped man?”

“Let the boy go,” Aldo said, ignoring Marco’s jibe, as he turned to our traitor of a guard. “Let me get him out of here before things get messy, okay?”

My heart thundered at those words, at the implication behind them. I knew what he meant, even before Marco spoke. “This is my house. You really think you can storm in here and get what you want?”

“Let go of the boy,” Aldo said without turning. “Now.”

“You’re outnumbered.” Marco shifted sideways, and I jabbed the cold barrel against his side. He froze solid.

“Am I?” Aldo asked, tilting his head slightly. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway behind him, but I didn’t turn to see who they belonged to—his men or Marco’s.

The tension in the room thickened to an almost tangible level as the guard holding Eli looked from Marco to Aldo. Uncertain and undecided. Holding all the cards, in a room of Mafia dons and donnas.

“Oh, Aldo,” Marco whispered, his tone sharp, mocking. “You’ve made such a mess of things. Again.”

“Me?” Aldo’s mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “I believe it was you who kidnapped a little boy out of his home.”

“Bring him here,” Marco told his guard.

I jabbed the barrel into his gut again. “You forget who’s holding the literal fucking gun.”

“You hold the gun,” Marco’s lips pulling into a snarl, “but you’ve yet to pull the trigger.”

Without warning, Aldo lunged for the guard. Their bodies collided with the ground in a blur of motion and color. In my instant of distraction, Marco dove sideways, ducking behind his armchair as my gun cracked.

The bullet exploded into the downy pillow atop the seat, sending feathers flying. I shot again. More feathers.

“Get Eli!” Aldo shouted, yanking my attention from my ill-fated shots. Eli cowered in a corner of the room, and in that instant, I forgot everything else.

I raced for him. Enveloped him in my arms. Pulled him tight as a gun cracked. A bullet exploded in the wall beside me, not a foot away, but I was already running.

“Stay down!” Aldo ordered, his gun blazing as he took out two of Marco’s men in rapid succession.

I crouched low, keeping Eli pressed tightly against me. My heart pounded as I crept along the perimeter of the room, Eli pinned to my side. Aldo whipped through the room like a hurricane, but I couldn’t spare the attention to watch him work.

We needed to get out. Alive. Now.