Broken Promises

by I. A. Dice

  The tone of his voice alone – cheerful and superior – was enough of a hint that this conversation was pointless. He wasn’t going to retract the hit. I knew it before I dialed, but I had to try.

  “Ten million,” I said, squeezing the bridge of my nose. “Ten million wired to your account within an hour if you end this farce.”

  He laughed softly. “Tempting. Ten million is a lot of money for one woman. She’s not your wife, not your mother... You only met her because Frank wanted your head. What’s so extraordinary about her, Dante?” he paused for a moment, though he probably didn’t expect an answer. “You know you can’t bribe me, my friend. You know that an order is sacred, and only the principal can retract it. But a drowning man will clutch a straw, right?”

  “Frank is gone. Layla shouldn’t pay for his obsession.”

  “Wrong. It is not her who has to pay, it’s you. She’ll just die, and you’ll have to live knowing she died because of you.”

  He spoke as if quoting some clichéd rule. His voice lacked emotion and humanity. He lived in his own world, ruled by a twisted hierarchy of values.

  “By the way, how could you be so stupid? You’re weak and vulnerable because of Layla, Dante. You can be threatened, blackmailed because you’re in love. I thought I taught you better than this.”

  My jaw clenched. Years ago, right after the love of his life, Sandra Bones left him without a word, Morte and I talked that sentiments, scruples, and love didn’t belong in our world.

  A woman always complicates business, brings confusion and chaos into a well-organized world. I never realized how true it was until Layla became my priority. Until she diminished the importance of everything that was once key – power, respect, money. It all became less relevant when Layla, without my consent, stole my heart.

  “You made yourself an easy target for Frank because you fell for his daughter. You did exactly what he wanted. Learn from your mistakes because it’s clear as the sky that you didn’t learn from mine.”

  “Frank ordered the kill to get back at me. Why did you agree? What happened to ‘never threaten a man’s family’? She’s your goddaughter! You were there when she was born.”

  “And now I’ll watch her die,” he hissed with a manic satisfaction.

  He no longer sounded like a robot. I could even risk and say he felt sorry for me. Back in the day, he treated me a bit like a younger brother, but I knew that in the face of the hit, it didn’t matter.

  He wouldn’t help me even if I really were his brother. Even if I gave him everything, I had. There was no turning back. There was only a race.

  Who’ll die first? Morte or Layla?

  “I’ll see you very soon, Morte,” I said, shedding as much venom as I could muster.

  “My death won’t change the facts.”

  True, but I was going to kill him anyway. Just to feel the satisfaction associated with making him pay for the one mistake he made in his life – threatening my girl.

  I cut the call, and lit a cigarette, ignoring that I was at a hospital, needing a minute to gather my thoughts. It didn’t take long before Nate joined me, peeking his head through the door, checking what was taking me so long.

  “Jean, Taylor and Rick,” he said, pushing the door open all the way. “She’s a bitch, Rick’s ex-marines, and Taylor’s afraid of his own shadow.”

  “Lead the way.”

  We reached the cafeteria, and I had no trouble spotting Jean. Red hair made her noticeable, and the annoyed expression hinted identity. She sat out of the way with two guys, and three disposable cups in front of them.

  I’ve always had that aura surrounding me that made people’s back straighten. It worked on Jean, and Taylor, but not on Rick. Nate didn’t need to tell me which one was which. I could spot a soldier in any room. They carried themselves with respect and a sense of higher purpose, a superiority of sorts.

  “Well, well, well. Dante, right?” Jean waited for me to confirm, before unleashing the anger. “How nice of you to finally join us,” she spat out, and Taylor’s eyes widened. “I want to see Layla. And don’t bullshit me about safety measures. We had her back last night, and you can’t forbid me from seeing her!”

  “Wasn’t my plan. You can say goodbye in a minute, but first I want to know what happened.”

  “Goodbye?” Rick asked, eyeing me like a hawk, waiting for one false move the way he was taught in the army. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means she’s going back home,” I explained, keeping my tone casual. Enraging any one of them meant getting no information, so playing nice was in my best interest. “So? Fill me in.”

  ELEVEN

  LAYLA

  “You sure you want to go?” Jean asked in an attempted hushed voice, sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed.

  Howard signed me out, checked all of my bruises, and left Dante with instructions on how to take care of the dressings. Not that he needed to know. He made it clear that Carlton would be paying us a home visit every forty-eight hours to check on me.

  Dante was overreacting, but I wasn’t about to disagree with him two hours after I got him back. It seemed surreal that he had it in him to forgive me, to come all the way to Texas, and still act as if there wasn’t anyone he wanted and needed more.

  The unease that settled over me when Morte left the hospital disappeared when Dante arrived. And all negative emotions along with it.

  “You can stay with us as long as you want, you know,” Jean continued sounding almost pleading. She took my hand and squeezed it, staring into my eyes, as if waiting for a sign.

  Dante agreed to let them in so I could say goodbye, but not before interrogating them himself. And not without supervision. His supervision. He stood by the window, arms crossed, but a relaxed look on his handsome face.

  I kept glancing his way every few seconds, unconsciously checking if he was still there. I’d feel better if I could calm the panicking little girl inside my head and assure her that Dante wasn’t going anywhere. But I couldn’t because she and I were one. I just managed to hide my anxiety better than she did.

  “I know,” I said, offering Jean a smile, “but I don’t belong here.”

  She nodded and turned to Dante, her face stern; a no-bullshit attitude on display. But it was just a ploy. She was teasing him, and it would’ve worked a treat if not for the smile that followed.

  Whatever Dante told them must’ve made an impression, because Jean seemed in awe of him. And so did Taylor. He watched Dante with a mixture of fear and respect. Only Rick’s eyes remained glued to me at all times, making me slightly uncomfortable. He was the one to get out of the car crash unscratched, and, from what Dante said after speaking to them, he was the one to kill Archer before he had a chance to finish what he started outside of the bar.

  Jean had a broken collarbone and a nasty bruise from the seatbelt, and Taylor broke both – his nose and the left cheekbone and sported two swollen, black eyes.

  Jean pointed a finger at Dante. “I’m not going to wait another seven years to see her.”

  “Once I get the situation under control, you’re welcome to visit anytime you want.” He glanced at me, and I knew it was time to leave.

  His eyes darkened a notch, and a hot flush hit me hard, the anticipation blooming like a blood-red rose. We were supposed to stay at a hotel until late evening before setting off to Chicago, and I couldn’t help but visualize those few hours alone with Dante spent in bed, making up for the lost time.

  I said goodbye to Jean and the boys, and we left the hospital with Rookie in the driver’s seat. He seemed happy to see me, just like the rest of Dante’s men. They acted as if the night I killed Frank never happened.

  “What time are we setting off?” Rookie asked, reversing into a parking space outside of the hotel.

  Dante looked into the rearview mirror. “Ten o’clock.”

  Rookie glanced at his wristwatch and nodded. It was only past one o’clock in the afternoon, so the guys had plen
ty of time to charge their batteries before hitting the road again.

  We entered the hotel lobby to find Spades waiting by the counter with a handful of room keycards. He held one out for Dante.

  “You’re on the top floor, far away from all of us,” he said, failing to hide a smirk.

  Dante left it without comment. I could feel him growing impatient when he dragged me toward the elevator. The door slid shut, and lust erupted below my skin, elevating desire to an almost unbearable level.

  I wanted Dante like I never wanted him before. We spent the half an hour at the back seat of the Charger fidgeting, willing the journey to end so we could be alone.

  Now the elevator ride felt like a never-ending story. My breaths were shallow, pulse accelerated, and all my muscles ached in anticipation. Neither of us dared to speak, to belittle the tension.

  Dante squeezed my hand tighter, then pulled me behind him down the corridor toward the room at the far end. He inserted the card into the slot and pushed the door open. The bag in his hand landed on the floor two steps in, the door closed shut, and desire took over.

  He spun around, taking my face in his hands, pressing my body to the wall, bruising my lips with forceful kisses. We were rushing, taking handfuls of the moment, battling over who had more to say; more to apologize for with gestures, because words weren’t enough.

  Dante took off my cardigan, then ripped the white vest, planting his lips on my neck. It was chaotic, demanding, and rough, but in all the desperation, the urgency to be inside of me, he remembered how bruised my body was, and took care when taking my jeans off, kissing around the dressing, before ripping my panties. He pushed me onto the bed, taking off his t-shirt, and collapsed on top of me seconds later.

  I bit his lip when he slid inside me quickly, introducing a hasty, frantic rhythm, thrusting deep and hard, holding me close and kissing my neck while I bit his shoulder and scratched his back ignoring the growing pain in my thigh.

  “No one will get to you,” he growled into my ear. “No one will hurt you. No one will touch you.”

  It sounded like a prayer, like a vow, like an unbreakable promise he was making to the both of us. I pushed him onto his back, and sat astride, lacing my finger on his neck. The endorphins and pleasure numbed the pain, but it grew every time I rose and fell on top of Dante.

  I gritted my teeth, and picked up the pace, knowing full well how much he loved seeing me dominate.

  The one thing I overlooked was that he could read me like an open book. I managed to hide my grimace and hissing only for a few minutes, before he gripped my waist, halting my moves, and keeping me in place.

  “Your leg hurts.” A note of annoyance and accusation played in his hoarse voice.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got painkillers.”

  He lifted me up a little and slid out of me.

  “It’s not okay. Turn around,” he ordered, grabbing my hands to place them on the headrest.

  I did as told, consequently kneeling in front of the wall. Dante position himself behind me, moving my hair out of the way to expose the nape of my neck.

  One of his hands rested between my breasts to hold me flush against him, and he gripped the headrest with the other for support. He pressed his forehead to the back of my head, then thrust deep.

  I arched back, turning my head to reach his lips. He was no longer rushing, no longer greedy to take as much as he could in the shortest time possible. We slowed down, the moment evolving into passion and love swelling within us.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he whispered, ghosting his fingers over my skin, starting at the neck then traveling down in a straight line. “You’re mine, star.”

  All he had to do was touch me there, and I came undone. I gasped and moaned into his mouth. The pleasure came so suddenly I saw dark spots before my eyes. Dante smiled, satisfied, forcing my lips to work with his while I struggled to hold myself up.

  “I love you,” I uttered, my body on the verge of overload.

  Dante thrust harder only a few times before I felt him come.

  “I’m not done with you,” he said. “And I never will be.”

  TWELVE

  LAYLA

  We were back in Chicago almost twenty-four hours now. Julij had organized a round the clock security before we arrived. Six armed men, two more at the gate, and three Rottweilers were securing the perimeter.

  In a see-through lacey nightdress which covered… Well, not much – I stood under the blaring smoke sensor in the kitchen, waving a cloth.

  The idea was to prepare breakfast for Dante, but it backfired fast.

  He was sound asleep, and I tossed and turned in bed for an hour before deciding to surprise him with scrambled eggs. Unfortunately, my culinary skills were sound asleep too, and with the grace of a proverbial bull in a china shop, I turned the kitchen into Hell’s Kitchen.

  Gordon wouldn’t approve.

  Not only had I made a mess, but I also forgot to whisk the eggs. They burned, and black smoke triggered the fire alarm – the awful, tender, and far too loud thingamajig.

  The front door banged against the wall, stopping me in place. Then the sound of footsteps came from two directions – the corridor and the stair. I pulled on the lacey fabric to cover my butt, but despite the effort, it still revealed more than Dante’s men should see.

  Too bad I hadn’t thought of it before deciding to cook breakfast dressed like a Victoria’s Secrets model.

  Jackson stopped in the doorway, scanning the room. His gaze fell on me, and abashed, took a step back. It must’ve been the very first time I saw a man blush.

  He turned to the front door, raising his hand, halting whoever else was approaching. “It’s fine. She just burnt toast. Turn off the alarm.”

  Using a moment of his inattention, I looked for an apron or a large cutting board, but short of hiding in the cupboard, there wasn’t much I could use to cover myself with. For the lack of better options, I hugged the cloth I held, crossing my arms.

  The alarm died away, leaving an unpleasant ringing in my ears, and Dante joined Jackson in the doorway. He glanced at me, his green eyes darkened, and hands clenched into fists, betraying irritation.

  “Get out,” he hissed to Jackson and stared at his back until the front door closed with a click.

  I still stood with the cloth pressed firmly against my chest and felt both – the warmth of my cheeks, and the pounding of my heart.

  “What are you doing?” Dante asked, his voice full of anger. He gritted his teeth as if trying to stop an outburst.

  I pulled at the corner of the cloth. “I’m sorry, I wanted to make you breakfast, but I burnt the eggs.”

  “And you’ll burn the toast too.” He motioned toward the toaster.

  I ditched the idea of modesty and rushed to save the toast, but there was nothing to save. I turned the toaster off and threw away the black bread.

  Dante came closer, grabbed my waist, and sat me on the kitchen island. “Both mine and Julij’s people are part of the security detail. Any one of them can walk in here at any time. Don’t parade around the house in your underwear.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  He hung his head low for a moment and took a deep breath. When he glanced at me again, there was no sign of nerves. He looked better than yesterday when we came back from Texas. Despite Rookie taking the wheel, Dante didn’t sleep. He spent the ride in the back, cuddling me to his chest like a little girl, kissing my head and encouraging me to sleep.

  The warmth of his body, the familiarity of his scent, and the calm rhythm of his heart helped me doze off, but whenever I drifted into the land of sleep, the car crash played out in my head waking me up.

  Dante leaned closer, ghosting his lips across my neck. Pajama pants hung low on his hips, and he smelled of me thanks to sleeping with my arms and legs wrapped around him as if he were a tree, and I was poison ivy.

  “Don’t do it again,” he whispered, moving his mouth to my ear.
/>   “You mean, don’t cook?”

  He straightened up, amusement dancing on the handsome, rested face. “That too. But also, don’t leave the bed without a word. And don’t show this body to anyone but me. Understood?”

  I nodded and satisfied, he returned to the previous task.

  “Good girl.”

  We spent most of the time in bed since coming back to Chicago, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t get enough of his closeness. I loved feeling his lips on my collarbones, shoulders, and the nape of my neck.

  He paused to check the time.

  “Who are we waiting for?” I asked.

  “Carlton will be here in an hour to check on you, and the maid is due any minute.” He slid my nightdress off of my non-injured shoulder. “C’mon, we’ll take a shower.”

  “Subtle,” I chuckled, wrapping my legs around his middle, and forcing him to carry me upstairs.

  Jumping under the smoke sensor didn’t do the stitches in my thigh any favors.

  “Too subtle for you? Fine,” he muttered, biting on my earlobe. “I want to be inside of you right now. I want to watch the water drip down your naked body. And I want to hear you moan when you come.”

  Check, check, and check. Twice.

  Forty minutes later, I stood in front of the closet, my legs weak. The intense orgasm from ten minutes ago still lingered in the pit of my stomach.

  I didn’t recognize any of the clothes hanging neatly next to Dante’s shirts and jackets. They were new, and none of my old clothes were there. I struggled to find something to wear, too busy admiring the endless knitwear and dresses. The question about the whereabouts of my old clothes lingered at the tip of my tongue, but I decided not to ask it. The answer was obvious, and I wasn’t sure if I could stomach hearing him tell me he threw them away because he wanted nothing to do with me.

  “When did you have time to go shopping?” I asked instead, reaching for a plain, straight-neck white dress so Carlton could have easy access to the dressings, and a long olive-green cardigan to keep warm.