

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



Layla

Silence fell in the wake of the shot. The car careened around another turn. The warm hand on my back lifted, allowing me to straighten. 

My pulse slammed against my eardrums as I raised my head.

“Eli!” I lurched forward, but Nonna and Eli both sat, unharmed, in the front passenger seat. Both of them unharmed, upright. Calm, all things considered.

Aside from the faint, coppery tang of what might have been blood, it seemed nothing had happened. But I couldn’t find any blood. Maybe it was a lingering smell.

“Carlo.” Aldo towered up beside me, but his voice was that same stoic calm as he spoke to the driver. “Take us to the estate instead.”

Had I imagined that shot? Maybe the scent of blood was imaginary, too. I reached into the front seat to take Eli’s hand. Somehow, he was calm, eyes dry. 

“Are you scared, baby?” I asked, giving his fingers a squeeze. I was sure as hell scar



Aldo

Why was she here?

As silence fell in the wake of the shots, the woman in my arms wrenched away. I let her go, and instantly felt the loss—of her warmth, her softness, the slightly sweet smell of her shampoo. It was the same, the same as she’d always worn. 

Her smell.

My Layla.

She wasn’t supposed to be in this city, let alone in this goddamned hospital. I’d changed my name, the day I divorced her, left her. Changed everything about myself to ensure I left her behind.

I should never have seen her again.

But when she lifted clear blue eyes to meet my gaze, I couldn’t find my regret. The years had only made her more beautiful. More fierce and strong and, I’d wager, staunchly independent. 

But those eyes, those eyes were the same pure blue—like a cloudless summer sky in the Alaska where we’d forged our life. Except in those long-ago years, her eyes had been filled with love.

Now, she studied me with caution. Fear. Distrust.

I forced down the painfully tight squeeze in my chest. Instead, I assumed the role I’d been born to play. The one I’d been playing for eight long, brutal years. 

The one my family needed.

“The fight’s over,” I said, in the same stern, toneless voice I’d perfected over those years. I knew my men would already be clearing up the aftermath. Removing bodies, locating doctors and nurses to patch up wounds. 

Digging bullets out of walls. 

But Layla still hadn’t moved. 

“You can go home now,” I said, and her jaw clenched tight. Lashes fluttered. Was she, too, thinking about our cabin in the mountains? 

“The enemy is dead.” In demonstration, I slid my gun back into its holster under my suit jacket.

The enemy was dead, bu the persistence of the Moretti family was nothing if not commendable, I supposed. They’d failed to take out Carlo on the street, so they’d deigned to come after him in a damned hospital.

Her lips parted, and for one beautiful, terrible moment, I thought she might speak. Thank me? Ask me what had happened—why I was here. Who I was …

What would my answer have been?

But she pulled her mouth closed again before the question formed. Shook her head. And finally, in a tight, toneless voice I barely recognized, informed me, “I’m leaving.”

She made it halfway to the elevator before I found the words. “Bruno! Davido! Please, escort this good doctor to her home.”

The two men started forward.

“No.” Layla’s word was a command, as forceful as any I’d ever given. When she turned towards me, her blue eyes flashed. “I won’t be walked around on a leash. Like some plaything of the Mafia.”

Behind her, the elevator doors swooped open, and a young man in plain blue scrubs stepped out. “Layla!”

She spun to face him, and this time, her voice was a gush of warmth, of relief. “Marco! Oh, thank God!”

“Are you all right?” Flecks of blood splattered the man’s blue shirt, but I didn’t know if it was from the altercation or his medical affiliations. I stopped noticing when his arm slid around her shoulders to pull her close.

“I’m all right.” She stiffened in his embrace, like she could feel me watching. “But I think it’s time to leave. Now, please.”

“Right.” His gaze lifted from her, and his dark eyes met mine to give me a full look at his face.

He was younger than me, younger than her, even, but undeniably attractive. Not that I noticed. Or cared. The woman in his arms, the Layla I’d once known, she was nothing to me. Not anymore.

The distance between us—leaving us strangers—it was what I wanted. Needed. So why couldn’t I take my eyes from them as they slid into the elevator together?

Why did my mouth feel dry, throat too tight? Why did my chest ache?

“Follow them down,” I said to the man standing beside me. It was only after he moved I identified him as Bruno. “Make sure she gets home.”

Bruno didn’t question me, but his gaze lingered just a moment too long. A silent question in his eyes. But he didn’t voice it.

No. He obeyed.

I was godfather of the Marcello family. I wasn’t questioned; I was obeyed. Even if I was acting irrationally.

“Aldo,” another voice spoke at my left shoulder, and I turned to face the new arrival. “We killed five. Several escaped. But we took one alive.”

I withheld the sigh building in my chest. Bruno would follow Layla, ensure she reached home safely. I knew that. She wasn’t my concern—wasn’t my business. Not anymore.

My business now was information—finding out what I could from our new prisoner. Protecting my family, always, was my prerogative.

“We’re leaving,” I said, because it was time. I had to move on, forget her. Like I’d been doing every day for eight years. “Make sure someone’s watching Carlo. I won’t have another attack on my second.”

The man at my shoulder bowed, then hurried off to obey.

Always, my men obeyed.

 

***

 

The next few days blurred behind the knowledge that she was here. In this city. So close—and yet so far—from the Manhattan penthouse I occupied. 

How could I not have known … but of course I hadn’t. I’d shut her out so completely, I’d erased her existence from my life. How would I have known she’d returned?

I could barely concentrate on family matters.

Did my men notice my distraction? 

Carlo was released from the hospital four days after the attack, and already, he was back at my side. Cataloging reports of Moretti unrest—drug deals that had gone less than smoothly, a weapons exchange that’d gone bust, a few street tussles here and there. Break-ins. Car thefts. Muggings …

Together we leaned over the map of the city sprawled across my massive mahogany desk. The breathtaking Fifth Avenue view through the floor-to-ceiling windows lay behind us, forgotten, as we studied the marks on the map.

Red flags, everywhere. Attacks, everywhere. 

Unrest hung heavy over the family, and yet—

“Want to tell me why we had three men watching a house in the suburbs?” Carlo looked up from the corner of the map to meet my gaze, his dark brows pulled low over soft brown eyes. “For four days?”

Car had been my second since long before I’d ever taken over as head of the family—since long before I’d ever planned to. We’d been best friends longer than I could remember, and there was no one I trusted more than him.

And yet, I’d never told him about Layla. Couldn’t tell him why I’d had three of my best soldiers stationed in her neighborhood, watching her house to ensure there wasn’t any fallout from what had happened at the hospital.

So when I answered, my response was cold, collected. “It’s the home of the doctor who saved my second in command.”

Car’s brows lifted from their deep scowl as he understood my meaning—my men were guarding the doctor who’d saved his life. And for a moment, I thought he might leave it at that.

But his next words made me realize my mistake. “Do you treat every doctor who saves your men this way?”

My body stretched taut as a bowstring as the words struck like barbs.

“Or does the fact that she’s a beautiful woman have something to do with your sudden obsession?”

“Shit.” I dragged a hand down my face, allowing Car to see my distress—because he wasn’t just my second. He was my best friend, my lifelong companion. The only person, aside from my mother, that I trusted.

But he wasn’t the only person who’d know I’d pulled the guard from Layla’s house just this morning. Left her unprotected, now that the fight was over.

“Vas?” Car alone was allowed to call me that—since I’d changed my name. Even my mother adhered to the new title. 

“I’ve got to go.” I couldn't bring myself to explain as I hurried from the office. 

Car’s feet patted the wood floor behind me. “I’ll drive.”

My fingers clenched and unclenched at my sides as we rode down to the garage. Carlo knew me better than most—might even know what I was thinking now. 

Had my protection of Layla done the opposite of what I’d intended? Had the constant presence of three Marcello men put her neighborhood in the spotlight of my enemies?

I had to find out. Now.

The Bentley roared to life with Carlo behind the wheel, and we surged out of the garage and into the crush of downtown Manhattan traffic. My fingers drummed my thighs, anxiety churning my stomach into a froth, as we sat in the gridlock of cars.

Nothing to render us all equals like the unmoving crush of downtown rush hour. No matter how much your car cost, how much you paid your driver … we were all slower than the subway riders beneath us.

Everything would be fine. Nothing had happened in the few short hours since I’d pulled my guard. I repeated the words over and over and over. Everything is fine.

Slowly, we inched through the traffic. The crush of cars. Out of the city and into the tree-lined suburbs. The calm was like a breath of fresh air. 

As was the quaint brownstone rowhouse at the end of the street. She had flowers in her garden. Lilies—her favorite. The same I’d picked for her wedding bouquet.

She’d worn them in her hair that day, too.

My chest pulled tight in pain. 

Carlo cut the ignition on the curb beside her driveway. I climb from the car, strode up the gravel to the front door. Did I breathe as I rang that bell? I couldn’t be sure. “Layla?”

The door cracked open, and I waited for pale white hair and blue eyes, a soft smile. 

I got only emptiness.

“Are you here to see Mommy?” The slight voice dragged my gaze down from the emptiness in front of my face to the tiny figure position in the opened doorway. White hair. Blue eyes. A pointed chin and angled cheekbones.

Layla, but small. Male. 

A child.

A child with Layla’s face and Layla’s eyes.

He repeated the question. “Are you here to see Mommy?”


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, emotionle

#Chapter 6 - Come with Me