Chapter 49

Layla

The hospital’s signature fluorescent lights hummed in my ears as I completed my final round before my dinner break. It was late—far too late for dinner for anyone but a healthcare worker—and most of the staff had gone home.

The quiet hours gave me time to think.

I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I had a lot to think about. Aldo’s offer hung in my mind like a cloud—not dark, not light, but still partially blocking the sun, and I wasn’t sure why.

It was a chance at the one thing I had wanted so desperately these past months—since Aldo Marcello had crashed back into my world. A chance to leave the chaos of the Mafia, to give Eli the peaceful life he deserved, to escape this tangled web of past and present.

Sure, we’d be starting over. In another country, with new names, new lives. But we’d be safe. Anonymous. Free.

So, why hadn’t I taken the offer?

Was it because I knew it would crush Eli, to finally have found his father—only to leave him again? Was it because I did believe that Aldo was a positive father figure for my son?

Or was it something else?

I sighed, leaned against the break room counter. The offer should have brought me peace. Hope. But instead, I was thinking about the dance.

The kiss.

I was thinking about the warmth of Aldo’s arms, the way he’d looked at me: as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Why couldn’t I stop thinking about it?

Maybe I should get out of here, use my break to go for a walk. Some time in the crisp night air might clear my head.

So, I left the hospital behind.

The midnight air was cool, calming. The city was never quiet, the faded hum of traffic in the distance an ever-present backdrop to my life. The familiarity calmed me, too.

I strode down the sidewalk towards the 24-hour cafe a few blocks away. I’d grab some coffee, maybe a bite to eat, come back refreshed. At least walking and planning kept my mind from spiraling back through the same thoughts.

Halfway between the hospital and the cafe, mid city-block, a cold prickle ran down my spine.

Like … like someone was watching me.

Without changing my pace, I tossed a casual glance over my shoulder. A figure—large, probably male, dressed all in black—strode behind me, not half a block way.

My heart jumped into my throat.

It’s fine, my brain reassured me. He’s just walking. It doesn’t mean anything.

I picked up my pace anyway, the soles of my non-slip shoes tapping the pavement. The diner was around the corner and two blocks down, so I turned, slipped down a side-street between a closed laundromat and an apartment building.

A quick flick of my head told me the figure had followed.

Shit.

My breath hitched as panic clawed my throat. I clutched my purse against my side and crossed the street at an almost-jog.

The hooded figure followed.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself, barely able to hear my own words over the thud of my pulse in my ears. “Think, Layla.”

My self-defense training with Aldo replayed itself in my mind: Don’t rush, stay aware, get near light and people.

My eyes scanned the abandoned street ahead as I walked, looking for signs of an open shop. The cafe was still three blocks—could I make it?

My eyes darted to an alley on my left, a potential shortcut.

There were no other open businesses on the street.

I couldn’t see the cafe from here. I couldn’t see anyone from here. I was alone—and I did not like that.

I diverted down the alley, then broke into a jog. The sudden quickening of footsteps behind me told me my attacker was doing the same.

I glanced back—shit! He was closer now, hood still obscuring his face. Adrenaline surged through me, and I whipped back around—

Only to come face-to-face with a brick wall.

Dammit! It wasn’t a shortcut; it was a dead end. My heart plummeted. “No.”

The footsteps grew louder, slowing as my follower approached. I turned around, that brick wall to my back, to face the hooded stalker.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. Weeks of self-defense training wouldn’t go to waste. I wasn’t going down without a fight.

Not this time.

“Stop right there.” My voice sounded steady, strong, despite the fear clawing at my chest, leaving my insides in ribbons. “Turn around, and leave.”

The figure stopped. But he didn’t turn. And he did not leave.

“I said leave,” I snarled, lifting my fists. My legs bent into a soft fighting stance. “You’d probably beat me in a fight, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“You think you’d hurt me, little girl?” The dark figure stepped forward, posture loose, unconcerned.

He wasn’t afraid of me.

Good.

“Want to find out?” I lifted my fists higher. “C’mon.”

The man got half a step forward before a deep, sharp voice cut through the night. “It’s time for you to leave.”

The hooded man half-spun as my own gaze snapped towards the alley’s entrance.

Relief flooded my body.

A man in a police uniform strode forward, one hand on the gun holstered on his hip. “Last warning, then I shoot.”

My would-be attacker froze. Clearly rethinking his position as would-be attacker.

“I ain’t done nothing wrong.” The not-attacker lifted his hands slowly, inched down the alley. “You gotta let me go, man.”

The police officer stepped into the alley, leaving space for the hooded man to pass by. The man paused, like he was calculating his odds at starting a fight—then barrelled past, half-shoving the cop out of the way.

“Asshole,” the cop muttered in his wake before he spun around to face me. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I said, even though I’d started to shake as relief replaced the adrenaline. “I think so.”

“You sure?” The officer stepped closer, so the dim light of an overhead window bathed his face in a pale yellow glow.

I froze.

I knew that face: the sharp, square jawline, the angled cheeks, the bowed lips. That dark hair and those piercing brown eyes were all too familiar—but they didn’t belong to him.

It was like looking at a ghost—the ghost of someone living, that is. Because this nameless police officer could have been the twin of Aldo Marcello.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, brow furrowing in concern. “You’re very pale.”

I blinked, trying to shake off my shock. “Wh—sorry. Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

He might have looked exactly like Aldo, but he was different. Softer. Gentler. The same but very much not, all at once. How confusing.

“Can I walk you to wherever you’re going?” he asked in that same soft, steady voice. “It’s not safe out here at this time.”

I shook my head, dislodging the last of the cobwebs that slowed my thoughts. “No, it’s fine. I work at the hospital. I’ll just head back.”

He hesitated, but finally nodded and stepped back out into the street. “Be careful, ma’am.”

The walk back was a blur. As if I hadn’t had enough to think about before that little altercation—I was in so much shock, I’d almost forgotten there’d been an altercation at all!

I’d been followed, cornered in an alley, almost attacked, and yet, it was the face of the man who’d saved me I couldn’t stop thinking about.

Who was he?

Was it merely a coincidence? Was it possible for two unrelated people to look so much alike? Aldo had never mentioned a brother or a twin—but there were a lot of secrets Aldo still kept, I’d wager.

By the time I reached the hospital doors, my pulse had finally settled. I stepped inside, letting the sterile smells and too-bright lights ground me in reality.

But the questions lingered, played on repeat.