#Chapter 15 - Aldo’s Anger

Aldo Layla’s laugh still echoed in my mind. A day later, in the shadowy glow of a high-end restaurant’s private back room, I could still hear that derisive chuckle. A restless night, a morning of phone calls and paperwork, and now this ill-advised meeting, and I was still back in my office, her glaring white smile filling my vision. I reclined onto the soft leather of the back room’s main sofa. The glass of whiskey in my hand glowed orange in the mood lighting. My mind wandered, but my mask was in place; the mirror on the wall in the corner of the room told me I looked the picture-perfect image of the cold, hard Mafia king. My men stood behind me, clad in neatly ironed tuxes, their arms folded behind their backs like they weren’t ready to draw and shoot in an instant. More accessories to my act. In the couch across from me sat the head of the Moretti family. All the pieces were in place. And I could still the woman I loved laughing at me. “You know why I’m here, Marc