Chapter 6

Layla

I turned the car down my street, smiled a little as the brownstone rowhouse came into view. I could practically smell the wonderful dinner I was about to cook for my family. The bag of groceries in my passenger seat would go entirely to that meal—but it was worth it if it was the one I shared with Nonna and Eli.

It was only as I pulled the car into the driveway that I noticed the man crouched at my front door.

A man in a black suit. A dark-haired man with bronzed skin and wide shoulders and a face that looked beautiful drenched in rain.

Talking to my son.

I cut the ignition and leapt from the car without bothering to grab the groceries. My shoes crunched against stone as I ran. I recognized that man.

Vasco—no.

My teeth clenched and my footsteps slowed. The man in the suit stood. Not Vasco. Not the man I’d married.

“Aldo Marcello.” The name I’d gleaned in rumors and gossip felt foreign, clumsy on my tongue. But it suited the man who stood before me—stern, emotionless, hard. “Or should I say, Don Marcello?”

“How do you know that name?” His words were so cold, they were barely a question.

“Which?” My voice came out cold and cutting, too. Somehow, this man and I, we were cut from the same cloth. “Your new name, or your title?”

He sighed, and for a moment, I thought I glimpsed the man he used to be, behind the cold Mafia mask. “Both, I suppose.”

How often I’d heard both in the past handful of days. The name, the title, the rumors attached to them. And now, he was here. Talking to my son …

He has no heir—but I forced those words out of my head.

“Eli, go back inside for a minute, okay?” I crouched to turn my son from the doorway. “Mommy needs to talk to this man for a minute.”

“Who is—”

“Inside, Eli.”

This time, Eli turned without protest. Leaving me on my front stoop with the legendary Mafia king. Because that’s who he was, wasn’t it? This man I’d once called lover, husband, friend.

He has no heir.

“Eli is Marco’s son.” I closed the door with a sharp snap. This man wasn’t welcome in my home. With my family. “Marco is the doctor who drove me home the day of the attack. You saw him.”

I met his gaze, unblinking. Vasco—Aldo—stared back, his face unreadable. Always, I’d valued truth, but this was one lie I’d tell until my dying breath. Please, believe it.

“Who told you my name?” His brow wrinkled into a confused furrow, and it was so familiar, so like the man I’d once known, my heart seized in a cold clench.

“The men you left at the hospital called you that.” I crossed my arms like my heart might burst, shatter, like it had on the day he left me. Like I hadn’t spent eight years hardening it against such loss. “Don Marcello.”

He has no heir—

His jaw clenched, a tendon feathering in his cheek. “You know who I am.”

“I know you’re the head of the notorious Marcello family.” The words stumbled off my tongue. They felt wrong. That the man I’d once considered my soul mate—

“Yes.” No inflection in his words.

My heart clenched again. And yet … I could only be grateful that he’d chosen to tell the truth. After so many years of lies …

“They say you’re cold. Cunning.” The words tumbled off my tongue. Over the past handful of days, the hospital had been rife with rumors.

“I am.” Still no inflection, like the man had become the mask. No explanation, no excuses.

So, I pressed on. “That you unified the Mafia for profit.”

“I did.”

I should be grateful that he wouldn’t deny what I knew to be true—that Aldo Marcello was one of the most feared Mafia kings to ever rule the streets of New York.

Iron-fisted, my co-workers whispered to each other, words hushed by fear and awe. Ruthless. Domineering. Nobody can oppose his rule.

“Seems not everybody agrees with your … reign.” My fingers clenched on my arms as I stared up at that man with the mask of a face. “Or am I misreading the attack at the hospital?”

“No.” His jaw clenched again, that muscle feathering. I’d never seen that look before. “There have been some power struggles lately.”

And now, he was here. Talking to my son. His son. But he didn’t know that.

If he did, it would change everything. If he knew the truth—the one truth I’d never told him—what would he do? “Why are you here, Aldo?”

“Because you’re not safe.”

Of all the things I’d expected him to say, those words were not among them. “What?”

“I need you to come with me.”

“Absolutely not—”

He leaned in suddenly, stealing the protest off my tongue. For half a heartbeat, I thought he might kiss me. Instead, his words whispered over my cheek. “Don’t turn, but look left.”

I let my eyes stray sideways, pretending like the sudden heat of his body hadn’t rewired my heart, turned my breath shallow and stuttered.

“Do you see the man under that streetlight?”

“I see him.” A man in a jean jacket, reading a newspaper. A stranger.

“He’s a Mafia foot soldier.”

Panic turned my gut cold. “What?”

“Down the street, the man by the red car? Another.”

My skin went cold, too. “What are you saying?”

“They’re watching you.” Aldo straightened, and the warm press of his body left icy cold in its absence. I pretended not to notice. “You’re not safe.”

I swallowed against a sudden dry patch in my throat. Where was the strong badass woman I’d crafted from nothing? “Why are they here?”

Because I’d saved Aldo’s man? Because I’d treated him at the hospital, against my better judgment?

Because they knew who Eli was?

Nausea crawled up the back of my throat. “Why are they here, Aldo? What do they want with me?”

“You need to come with me.” Aldo, it seemed, was done offering me truths. “Bring your family. I can keep everyone safe.”

Bring your family. Like I wanted my son closer to the man who’d ruined everything, who’d put us in danger! But what choice did I have?

Those men on the street—the men who’d been lingering much too long—they were very real.

“You can promise their safety?”

“I swear it.”

I nodded. “All right then. Where are we going?”

“I don’t want them to know you know you’re being watched.” His gaze slanted past me, towards the men on the street. “We’ll go to a restaurant.”

“Fine.” So much for my dinner plans. At least, I supposed, we’d all be together. Even if I had to share the evening with— “I’ll get them.”

I left him on the front stoop, closed the door in his face. Eli waited in the living room beside the couch, his eyes so round with curiosity, I knew he’d been standing at the door, eavesdropping.

“Who’s that man?” he asked, little fingers clawing at the leather. “Why do you look like that—”

“Nonna!” I called into the house, cutting off his question. “We’re going out to dinner tonight. I don’t feel like cooking.”

Nonna appeared in the kitchen doorway. The way her brow furrowed deep over her blue eyes, I knew she was reading past the facade of my sudden disinterest in cooking.

But she didn’t ask questions. “I’ll get my purse.”

I hustled Eli into his shoes, then led us back through the front door. Nonna must have recognized the man who waited for us beside the car. Must have. She alone had met the man I’d called husband.

But she didn’t speak.

Another man appeared beside the car, face hidden behind dark glasses.

“Carlo will drive us,” Aldo explained, opening the passenger door of the Bentley. It wasn’t the same one, not the one he’d had when we were married. This looked brand new.

I made to climb in on the passenger side, but Aldo shook his head and instead motioned for Nonna and Eli to share the seat. Carlo slid in behind the wheel.

Which left Aldo and I together in the back. But I was beyond protesting, beyond fighting. Whatever happened … happened.

The engine rumbled to life. The car pulled out onto the street. From behind the driver’s seat, I watched Nonna’s jaw flicker with tension, maybe fear. She’d pieced together enough to understand we were in danger.

“Where are we going?” Eli turned halfway in her lap to catch my eye. “Mommy?”

“To dinner,” I reassured him, hoping the tremor in my hands didn’t show in my voice. I blew out a quiet breath—stuck halfway out of my throat as Aldo leaned in.

Warmth pressed against my side.

“There’s a car following us,” he warned in the faintest murmur. Soft breath tickled my ear. Not that I noticed.

Though he couldn't possibly have heard Aldo’s words, the driver sped up. The car flew down the street, bumping, swaying, careening around turns. Far faster than we should’ve been moving on these narrow residential side-roads.

My heart lodged in my throat.

A particularly vicious bump sent me hurtling forward—and a warm hand caught me. Pulled me back before my head could strike anything that might leave a mark.

I turned towards Aldo, and for a moment, with that warm hand on my skin, the soft brown eyes staring back, he was my Vasco again. The beautiful, loving man.

My soulmate.

How I’d missed him.

I shoved him away. The bastard! How dare he—

“Get down!” Without warning, Aldo’s hand slammed my shoulder blade, folding me down so my chest crashed to my knees.

A bullet cracked.