Chapter 104
Layla
Aldo had missed another dinner.
Or, rather, he was in the process of missing it. I sat at the head of the long dining table, where he’d normally sit; for some reason it felt wrong to leave it vacant. Beside me, Eli pushed food around his plate with his fork, and on his other side, Vanessa leaned in to encourage him to eat.
As she sat up, she offered me a small half-smile, like she was trying to keep the mood light. But the unspoken truth sat between us, heavy as an invisible elephant. Aldo wouldn’t be home.
Again.
And again, I tried to console myself with the knowledge that he was simply caught up in work. God knew I’d missed enough dinners in the throes of hospital drama.
But somehow, this still felt … different.
Maybe because he’d always made such an effort to be here—because he knew how important it was to me. To our family.
Once, Aldo had been a constant presence, his hand resting on the small of my back, his deep voice filling the house with warmth and authority. Now, I barely saw him except in passing—coming home late, leaving early, always busy with meetings, negotiations, and the constant demands of leading the Marcello family.
Now, I filled the seat at the head of the Marcello table.
“Eat your food, Eli,” I murmured, forcing a smile as I brushed a hand over his blond curls.
He didn’t respond—didn’t ask me when his father would be home. No, my son merely bowed his head over his food and did as he was told. Just like always.
My throat felt suddenly too tight.
Suddenly, the window beside me rattled. The floor rumbled, walls shook.
“What the hell—” Vanessa’s neck craned towards the wide window. “Was that an earthquake?”
A shiver crawled its way down my spine. “I don’t think so.”
“Then, what was it?”
My chest constricted with cold foreboding. Something was wrong—
The ring of my phone only confirmed my suspicions. When I wrestled the device from my pocket to find Carlo’s name flashing across the screen, I knew.
I answered in an instant. “What happened?”
“It’s Aldo,” Carlo’s voice was sharp, urgent. “There was an attack. The Rossettis hit the old trattoria on 5th. Aldo was inside.”
An explosion. My heart ceased its beat. “Is he—”
“He’s alive,” Carlo assured me in a grim voice. “But he’s hurt bad. We’re en route to the hospital now.”
“Shit.” I was already halfway across the kitchen; I didn’t remember climbing to my feet. “I’m on my way.”
I paused at the door, turned back. “I’ve got to go—hospital—”
My eyes fell to Eli. His own were blue orbs, rounded with concern. With what might, on any other child, have been fear. But my Eli merely looked back at me with calm concern.
We’d done this dance too many times before.
“I’ve got him,” Vanessa assured me. “Go.”
“I’ll be right back, baby.” I offered him a smile no one would believe. “Stay with Aunt Vanessa, okay?”
He didn’t answer, and I swept through the door. It was only as I dashed down the hall that his fading words reached me. “Tell Daddy to come home.”
I swallowed down the painful lump in my throat as I raced out the door.
I spent too much time in the hospital, I decided as I raced down the hallway. Even for a doctor. I was tired of the fluorescent lights. The blended scents of antiseptic and sadness. The way my rubber heels mashed against the tile flooring.
And the way I was always, always on my way to the emergency wing. Pulse roaring in my ears. Hands on the brink of shaking. Anxiety eating away at my insides.
Carlo met me at the entrance, his wrinkled suit streaked with blood. His face—creased with concern and lined in blood—bore an expression I’d never seen before.
Fear.
Shit.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
Carlo jerked his head toward a nearby room. “The doctors are with him now. It was bad, Layla. The explosion took out half the building. We were lucky to get him out alive.”
I nudged past him and into the room.
Aldo lay on the hospital bed, his face pale, a deep gash running along his forehead. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, an IV pumping fluids into his arm. Machines beeped steadily, too loud in the sterile quiet of the room. At least he was breathing on his own, it seemed.
I exhaled sharply as I stepped to his bedside. “Aldo.”
His eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. His gaze found mine, unfocused at first but then sharpening just enough to give me the ghost of a smirk. “Hey, bella.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “You can ‘hey bella’ me when we’re out of this fucking hospital for good.”
“Fair.” He winced, and his fingers twitched against the bedspread, looking for mine. I reached out and grasped his hand, and the familiar feel of his strong, callused fingers against mine nearly had me crying all over again.
But I blinked back those tears and turned to the doctor beside me. “How bad is it?”
“He’s stable for now,” the doctor said. “But he’ll be here for a while. He sustained a concussion, several broken bones, internal bleeding and bruising. It’s a miracle nothing vital was ruptured.”
I nodded, forcing myself to breathe. “Thank you.”
The doctor turned his back to give me a moment, and I again found Aldo’s gaze. He was watching me, his expression unfocused. “Layla...”
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t you dare tell me you’ll be fine. Don’t you dare tell me to go home and wait.”
Aldo sighed, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. “Then what do you want me to say?”
It was a good question. A vital one, in fact. On I wasn’t sure I had an answer to. So when the words slipped out, they surprised even me. “Say that you trust me.”
“Of course I do.” Aldo frowned slightly. “What are you saying?”
I realized what I was saying only in the moment before the next words tumbled from my lips. “I’m saying that while you’re in this bed, someone has to run this family.”
“That’s why I have a second in command.” Aldo’s brows furrowed. “Carlo is more than prepared to—”
“The Rossettis did this,” I said, my voice steady. Cold. “They want Carlo to step in, to make everyone question the strength of the family.”
I barely recognized my own voice. Or the absence of emotion in my chest. My steady hands on the bed. Who was this calm woman beside my husband?
“Layla—”
“I’m not asking for permission.” I straightened, releasing his hand. “They think we’re weak? I’ll show them just how weak we are.”
Aldo exhaled slowly. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” I whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Rest, Aldo. Let me handle it.”
His fingers brushed against mine before he finally let his eyes close.
When I stepped out into the hallway, Carlo was waiting. So were several other Marcello men, all watching me carefully.
“Well?” Luca asked. “What’s the call?”
I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin.
“We’re going to find out who gave the Rossettis the information to pull this off,” I said. “And then we’re going to remind them why they should be afraid of us.”
Carlo smirked. “Spoken like a true Marcello.”
