Chapter 65
Aldo
The Marcello estate was a flurry of activity in the aftermath of the attack. The halls echoed with urgent voices and heavy footfalls as my men regrouped and reinforced our defenses. Though the Moretti family had withdrawn for now, the air buzzed with the certainty of retaliation.
In a quiet corner of the estate, I stood at the window of my study, staring out over the sprawling grounds. My reflection in the glass was grim, my mind replaying the events of the night over and over. Marco had kidnapped Eli—again— and escaped. Also again.
My own bodyguard had betrayed me.
And still hanging over it all, tainting the very air, was Aurora’s betrayal.
The tenuous peace I’d worked so hard to maintain was now shattered. I groaned and sank into my chair to dig my hands through my hair. What the hell was I supposed to do with any of this?
The door creaked open behind me, and I knew without turning that it was Layla who’d entered. I tracked her soft footfalls across the room, scented the floral shampoo she always wore. I could practically feel her presence.
Why was she such a comfort?
I turned to offer her a grim smile as she slid into the seat across my desk. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replied. Those dark circles still lingered beneath her eyes, like she hadn’t managed any rest at all, let alone any good sleep.
“How’s Eli?” I asked, my voice still a bit rough from the smoke inhalation.
“He’s asleep.” Layla sank back into the chair, closed her eyes. She looked even more exhausted than I felt. “I gave him something to help so he wouldn’t have nightmares.”
I nodded. “He deserves some peace.”
“So do you.” Her blue eyes traced my face, searching for something I doubted she’d find. Not beneath my carefully honed mask. “You’re the reason we’re alive.”
My jaw tightened. “Maybe. But I still let Marco get away when I could have ended it. Should have.”
“You did what you had to,” Layla said, leaning over the desk to plant her chin on her hand. “Eli is safe, and that’s what matters.”
“For now. But it’s not enough.” My eyes skated sideways, towards my own grim reflection in the window once again. “He won’t stop until he’s taken everything.”
Layla took a deep breath, and she straightened. Looked me dead in the eye. “Then we fight. Together.”
“Layla …” My chest clenched painfully. “You don't realize what you’re saying—”
“Yes, Aldo. I do.” Her voice brooked no argument. Nor should it; she was right. She wasn’t the same innocent woman I’d left in Alaska, re-met at the hospital, that Marco had taken prisoner the first time around.
“I’m done standing on the sidelines, letting everyone else dictate my life,” she said. Firmly. “If you’re going to face Marco and Aurora, then I’m standing with you. I’m your girlfriend, Aldo. And the mother of your child. It’s time people know that.”
My heart raced at those words. That one in particular—girlfriend. My jaw slackened, lips parting. Had I heard her correctly? “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” Layla said. “I’ve spent enough time hiding, pretending I could stay separate from all of this. But it’s not just your world anymore—it’s mine, too. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Eli.”
Pride and fear warred with admiration and concern inside my chest. “It won’t be easy, Layla. Aligning yourself with me publicly… it makes you a target.”
“I’ve already been a target,” she countered. “The difference now is that I’m not running from it. We’re stronger together, Aldo. You taught me that.”
I reached for her hand, twined my fingers through hers in a way I’d longed to do for eight brutal years. “Then we’ll face this together.”
“Come hell or high water,” Layla said, and those were the exact words I used, an hour later, when I declared Layla mine before the entire family.
The next night, Aurora Falcone appeared at the gates of the Marcello estate, her arrival unannounced, but admittedly not entirely unexpected. I met her out on the long driveway, flanked by two of my men.
I didn’t bother to convince any of us she might be here for negotiations. Still, I met her with my head held high and my mask in place. “You’re bold, coming here.”
“Boldness is a virtue in our line of work,” Aurora replied smoothly.
I held back the sigh. “What do you want, Aurora?”
Aurora tilted her head, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “To talk. One last time.”
I gestured for my men to stand back. “Say what you came to say.”
Aurora stepped closer, her gaze never leaving mine. “You’ve made the wrong choice, Aldo. You thought letting me live was the right move? I’m going to make you regret that.”
“You don’t think I already do?” I asked coldly. “You’ve aligned yourself with Marco, haven’t you?”
“My whole family has,” she said, words little more than a whisper that still sent shockwaves of electricity through my body. “Now tell me what you regret, Aldo Marcello?”
“Regrets are irrelevant.” I lifted a shoulder in half a shrug, trying to belay the sudden sense of fear billowing inside me. “As long as my family is safe, that’s all I care about.”
“And what happens when the world you’re trying to protect them from swallows you whole?” Aurora countered. “You can’t have it both ways, Aldo. Sooner or later, you’ll have to choose.”
I stepped closer, my voice a low growl. “I’ve already made my choice. And I’ll see it through, no matter what it costs me.”
Aurora studied me for a moment, then nodded as if satisfied. “So be it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the echoing silence.
The next few weeks were a blur of chaos and conflict. Skirmishes erupted across the city as the Marcello, Moretti, and Falcone families clashed in an increasingly brutal power struggle. Streets once bustling with life were now lined with burned-out cars and shattered windows, the scars of battle visible everywhere.
Our conflict wasn’t just laying waste to our families; it was destroying the very city we’d worked so long to build, to bolster. To beautify.
Our war would be the ruin of New York.
But what else could we do? I wouldn’t let a man like Marco destroy my family—either my blood family or my adopted family of loyal friends and followers. If Marco wanted to fight, I’d fight.
And my men would follow. They worked tirelessly, shoring up alliances and cutting off the Moretti family’s resources wherever they could.
Layla stepped into her new role without hesitation; when she wasn’t at the hospital working in the ER, she was working on my men, stitching them tirelessly back together, one brutal battle after another.
Dottore Bennett, it seemed, would never tire of playing doctor.
“You’re a natural at this,” Carlo remarked one evening as he and Layla pored over a map of the city. I watched from the desk of my study, trying not to linger too long on the lean lines of her body.
Trying not to let my love distract me from my work.
“Don’t remind me,” Layla replied, her tone dry. The smallest smile played out at the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t exactly plan on becoming a Mafia strategist.”
Carlo chuckled, but his expression turned serious. “We’re lucky to have you. Aldo is, too.”
His eyes darted back towards me, and I replied with a grim smile. “Lucky is an understatement.”
“Do you really think we can win this?” Layla’s gaze found me, too, her face fallen into sobriety. “After everything?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice a low murmur. “But we have to try. What other choice do we have?”
“We can win it.” Carlo’s voice was measured but firm. “If anyone can outmaneuver Marco and Aurora, it’s Aldo. But it’s gonna take everything we’ve got.”
“Amen to that,” I agreed, my teeth clenching. “Every last fucking thing.”
