by I. A. Dice
“I thought you ran from Morte to stay away from Mafia, but it looks like you’re still in the know,” I said, holding my hand out to let Spades and Nate know not to reach for their guns yet.
If there were any chance of settling this peacefully, I’d take it any time.
“Once you enter that life, you’re bound to it forever. I keep tabs on Morte because I don’t want him anywhere near my son, but when he ordered the kill on Frankie’s girl, I knew it was time to face the music.”
“She’s my girl. And your wish is granted. You give Morte a reason to follow my orders, and I’ll make sure you and your son can stop worrying about Morte ever showing up on your doorstep.”
She stopped a few feet away from us, staring straight into my eyes, showing no sign of fear. “You know why I left him? I left because I didn’t want to risk my son’s safety by staying. Morte would never put the mafia behind him, and right now you know best how far your kind is willing to go to get what they want. You came here to take Aiden so you could blackmail Morte into cooperating.”
“Desperate times,” I shrugged, her words failing to hit a soft spot. “If you think you can appeal to my humanity, you’re wrong. There’s no humanity left in me, but you knew that, right?”
For a moment, I was sure she was willing to cooperate, and there’d be no need to take the kid. No need to hear a mother cry. But Sandra made one crucial mistake while trying to pull the wool over my eyes. She got in too deep with her lies.
“Yes,” she said, a mocking expression on her face. “And do you know that Morte is very much aware of Aiden’s existence, yet wants nothing to do with him?”
Liar, liar.
If that were true, why would she keep tabs on his whereabouts? Why would she fret seeing him at her doorstep?
“You had a choice,” I said, trading a glance with Spades, who immediately drew his gun, and aimed it at Sandra. “You could’ve helped me out of your own goodwill, or you could’ve lied, hoping I’d change my mind, and leave empty-handed.” Spades flipped the safety, and the sound made Sandra’s face turn chalk-white. “You chose wrong,” I continued. “But I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself. I’m a strong believer that a child should have a mother, so you get to choose again.”
“I’ll do it,” she said, taking a deep breath, and standing straight as if to attention. She glanced at the house behind my back and looked me in the eye. “You want me to tell Morte about Aiden, right?”
“Nate, go find the kid,” I said over my shoulder, and Sandra’s face fell a little bit more. “Tell him we’re going for a ride.”
“Don’t touch him!” she threatened, taking one step forward, but the gun aimed at her head changed her mind. “Please, don’t hurt him.”
The scared, pleading note in her voice was all I aimed for. She had to sound genuinely upset for Morte to take immediate action. I took my phone out, and dialed the number, watching Sandra while her scared eyes kept glancing at the house.
“Dante Carrow,” he answered with the same mocking tone. “To what do I owe the pleasure this time?”
“How could you be so stupid?” I asked, repeating his own words. “You can be threatened and blackmailed because you were once in love.”
A ringing silence lasted a couple of seconds. He needed time to process my words, but I doubted they made much sense yet.
“If you think I’ll call off the hit to keep her safe, you’re wrong,” he said, but a note of uncertainty rang in his voice as if he knew I wasn’t that stupid. “You can kill her, I don’t care.”
I chuckled, enjoying the power associated with being the one in control. Morte was at my mercy, and I waited for that moment since the second Julij told me there was a bounty on Layla’s head. I didn’t even know who was overseeing the hit, but I wanted him to hear him beg.
“Did you ever wonder why Sandra left?” I asked, looking at the woman in question, standing in front of me.
The few times I saw Morte with her, it was clear as day that he’d throw the world at her feet. He loved her the way I never thought I’d be able to love anyone until Layla appeared.
“I know why she left. She didn’t want to be with a mafia man. She was a heartless bitch, Dante, and I don’t give a flying fuck what happens to her. Put one bullet through her heart for me while you’re at it.”
“You really should’ve dug deeper,” I turned to face the house, watching Nate emerge outside with a kid by his side, and a small suitcase in hand. “He looks just like you,” I said, then passed the phone to Sandra, who was straining her neck to see over Spades’s shoulder.
“Hello,” she squealed into the phone, watching Nate lead Aiden to our car, and lock his suitcase in the trunk.
Spades stood rooted to the ground, with a gun aimed in between Sandra’s eyes. He looked like a statue, refusing to make a move, to look away, to glance behind him. This was one of the two times since we worked together, that he was fulfilling my orders against his will. I could see that he struggled not to voice his thoughts.
Normally, he would. He had no problem telling me when he considered my actions to be crossing a line. But this time Layla was concerned, and he knew I’d stop at nothing to keep her safe.
“You’ve got a son,” Sandra said, her eyes glassy. “His name is Aiden, and he’s six. And Dante…” her voice broke, the dam burst and a high-pitched cry filled the air. “Whatever he wants, just do it,” she begged, looking at me.
Nate started the engine, and Sandra must’ve realized she wasn’t going to go for a ride with us. I took a small syringe from my jacket pocket, stuck the needle to her neck, and emptied the contents into her blood system. It was supposed to knock her out for an hour to let us drive away in peace.
Her body turned limp within a few seconds. I held her flush against me, to stop her from falling to the ground, and pressed the cell to my ear.
“Sandra!” I heard Morte shout, the sheer panic in his voice like music to my ears.
“She’s unconscious. And will be for an hour or so.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?!”
I tapped on the screen and sent him the picture Jackson showed me earlier on. I took a snapshot of it, expecting Morte to need proof.
“You know what to do,” I said. “And when you’re done, you’ll find me in Moscow.”
“I’ll cancel the order, Dante, but if anything happens to him…”
“You’re in no position to threaten me. Get to work.”
I cut the call and passed Sandra over to Spades so he could carry her inside the house.
Beautiful. To the long list of my sins, I could boldly add kidnapping.
TWENTY-FIVE
LAYLA
A thick sweater and a long coat kept me relatively warm as I strolled around the garden at the back of the castle, the snow crunching under my feet. It stopped snowing last night, but the freezing temperature kept the white fluff from melting.
I brushed the snow from the bench, which stood between to huge Oak trees, then took a seat, huffing, and puffing into my hands. I should’ve put on a pair of gloves. Maybe I would’ve if I owned one.
Two days passed since I found Jess’s portrait hanging in Anatolij’s office. My mind was poisoned with questions. I had at least a dozen, but Anatolij was nowhere around.
I hadn’t seen him since the ball. He skipped all the meals yesterday and didn’t appear for breakfast this morning. I wasn’t even sure whether he was in the castle. He was avoiding me, and that had me obsessing over the possible answers all the more. He had to face me sometime.
Unfortunately, patience wasn’t one of my virtues. Tired of waiting, and frustrated beyond reason, I decided to get some fresh air and clear my head. Instead, while sitting on the bench under the Oak trees, more and more absurd ideas were springing to mind. Were they lovers all those years? Were they sneaking around behind Frank’s back?
Jess had no problem sleeping around with the Cuban workers, and so I could easily imagine her cheating
on Frank. But there were three holes in that otherwise plausible explanation.
Anatolij was powerful, handsome, rich, and sophisticated. Jess would have no reasons to stick by Frank’s side.
Frank was perceptive and intelligent, so he would’ve known about their affair. And he wasn’t the kind to turn a blind eye.
Jess was pretty, and… Well, she was pretty, period. I couldn’t imagine someone like Anatolij taking an interest in my mother.
I considered calling her, hoping she’d be able to give me some answers, but Dante had me promise not to tell her where I was, and mentioning Anatolij would give her a pretty good idea.
Still, my finger hovered over her name in my contacts list every so often, and every time Dante’s handsome face was flashing before my eyes, and stopping me from dialing. I couldn’t risk my safety to satisfy curiosity.
On the other hand, I no longer felt safe in Moscow.
I rubbed my face with my hands, wishing for the secrets and lies to stop so Dante and I could enjoy a normal life. Or at least as normal as the life of a mafia boss and his wife-to-be could be.
Dante was the only person who put me above all else. The one who loved me unconditionally. The only one who never lied to me. He never once did anything to make me doubt him.
I needed him now. His peace, presence, and determination. I needed him because I couldn’t cope and because I knew he’d chase away all my problems with one touch of his lips on my forehead.
A bitter laugh escaped me, and I hid my face in my hands.
I did nothing to deserve him; nothing to make him fall in love with me. I did everything to make him hate me, but nothing to get him back, and now I sat in a fancy Russian garden doing nothing to save my own skin, or even force the truth out of Anatolij.
No, I simply sat on a bench, shivering with cold, wallowing in self-pity, close to tears. I was like one of those fairytale princesses – locked in a tower, sleeping, missing a shoe, and holding a poisoned apple.
There was a time when I had to fend for myself; when I fought for respect and love. A time when I didn’t let anyone walk all over me. A time not that long ago.
Then Dante came along, offering attention, protection, and love. Surrounding me with care and affection. He locked me up in that tower. He stole my shoe too.
And I let him. He broke me. Took away my ability to fight my own battles, and I morphed into a clumsy little girl dependent on Dante.
Was I that girl?
The needy, gullible princess waiting for Prince Charming to make everything okay?
I hated that girl. I couldn’t be her. No way in heaven. I jumped to my feet, refusing to act helpless any longer. Dante wasn’t even here to help me force the truth out of Anatolij.
Besides, up until he showed up, I did pretty well on my own. I survived years with Frank and his people, and never once needed a chaperone. Confrontation used to be my bread and butter.
I marched through the park and entered the castle a moment later. Pleasant heat fanned my face, warming me up. Lew stood by the stairs with another man, their conversation coming to an abrupt halt. They nodded and then frowned as they watched me storm past them and then take two steps at a time when I climbed the stairs.
Determination pumped in my veins silencing the quiet voice in my head that ordered me to stop and reconsider. It sounded a lot like Dante.
I shook my head, pushing away the what-ifs. The door to my bedroom slammed shut behind me, and I pulled out two suitcases from under the bed, throwing all my belongings inside, not bothering to fold the clothes.
If this wasn’t going to get Anatolij to come out of hiding, then nothing would. Dante trusted him to keep me safe, and I wasn’t about to jeopardize my safety by leaving Moscow, but I had to get Anatolij’s attention somehow, and this, however childish, seemed like the best shot.
No more than ten minutes later, the sound of a suitcase falling down the stairs echoed throughout the empty corridors. It was too heavy for me to carry.
Lew glanced around the corner, confused, and then stepped back, seeing the second suitcase flying straight at him. He reemerged when the luggage hit the floor with a thud.
“What doing?” he asked, pulling his eyebrows together.
The answer must’ve hit him, because a second later, his expression changed to panic, and he fished a phone out of his pocket, backing out toward the main door. Two more seconds and the rule Anatolij imposed on his men when I arrived went to hell. Lew was shouting into the little microphone on his cell in Russian.
I ascended the stairs, picked up my suitcases and started in the direction of the patio door to get out of the building through the back, but two of Anatolij’s employees appeared behind me, stealth like ninjas.
One took the bags, resting them against the wall, and the other bent his knees and outstretched his hands to the sides, ready to catch me if I wanted to run away. It wasn’t my intention. I was a guest here, not a prisoner, and I had the right to leave whenever. The decision was mine to make, and I couldn’t picture Anatolij disagreeing.
“Waiting,” Lew said, glaring at me.
Two minutes later, Anatolij appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked around his people, glanced at the suitcases waiting by the wall, and then, reluctantly, looked at me.
“Good afternoon,” he said, joining our small gathering.
“Good indeed,” I said, the hint of mockery unmistakable. “I’m going back home. Do you mind?”
He took a deep breath and waved to Lew. They left us alone, and Anatolij gestured toward the living room. I didn’t move.
“My plane leaves in two hours, and you know how long the passport control took when we arrived. I’d rather not be late.”
He winced hearing irritation and reproach in my voice.
“Dante won’t be pleased if you leave.”
I crossed my arms. “How do you know he doesn’t know I’m leaving?”
“We spoke last night.”
Something squeezed my chest. He couldn’t talk to me, but had time for Anatolij? I clenched my teeth, not wanting to show how much it hurt.
“He’ll have to deal with it. I’ll take his anger over your lies any day of the week.”
“If you leave, you’ll be risking your life. You’re safe here, Layla. And that should be your top priority right now.”
“The trouble is that I don’t feel safe. You had two days to explain why my mother’s portrait hangs in your office. You chose not to, and so I chose to leave.”
He came closer, slowly as if approaching a wild animal. There were too many conflicting emotions in his gray eyes, and I had trouble making out one that dominated.
“I’m not going to lie. I wanted to tell you everything when you arrived here, but I thought it’d be better if I waited for Dante.”
A subtle suggestion in his words turned my stomach. “What does Dante have to do with this?”
“I thought it’d be easier for you to process the news with him around. And he thought so too.”
“He knows?”
Instead of it annoying me, I felt reassured. There was no reason to worry if Dante knew whatever there was to know, and still didn’t change his mind about sending me here.
Anatolij glanced at his watch, then back at me. “Come on, let’s have a drink.” He extended his hand, waiting for me to take it. “If you still want to go back to Chicago when we’re done talking, I’ll personally delivery you back to Dante.”
Mission accomplished.
Instead of taking his hand, I walked over to the living room, hung my coat on the back of a large, red wing chair that stood in front of an old fireplace, and sat down, leaning toward the fire.
Anatolij joined me with two glasses of wine. He enjoyed his Port. I wasn’t a fan of red wine, but Port tasted like everything good in the world.
The atmosphere changed to heavy, and my hands grew damp. I focused on the red and orange flames, giving Anatolij time to pluck up his courage. He seemed tense.
&
nbsp; Nonchalance and a bit of arrogance were the pillars of his personality. Fear was the last thing anyone could accuse him of, yet sitting three feet away from me, he looked anxious.
“Nikolaj took me with him to the States twenty years ago,” he began.
The tone of his voice was filled with reserve, and I had the impression he never talked to anyone about it before.
“He opened a small restaurant in Chicago and hired your mother as a waitress. She was fifteen, but amazing. Intelligent, beautiful, joyful.”
I raised an eyebrow, calling him on the obvious lie. “Intelligent? Are you sure you’re talking about Jess? She is infantile, shallow, and self-righteous. Nothing matters more to her than looks.”
Anatolij snorted softly and nodded. “Now she is, but back then, she wasn’t. She was ambitious and determined, and I loved that about her.”
A cold sweat washed over me, and I swallowed hard.
I loved that about her was all my mind could focus on. My assumptions were correct – they had an affair. The one question left was – how long did it last? Or better yet – was it still happening?
“She was full of passion and enthusiasm. She worked two jobs, was at the top of her class, and had her future planned in the smallest detail. She wanted to go to college, to travel, to be someone.”
As far as I could remember, Jess was always lazy, and gossiping was her favorite entertainment.
“It’s hard to believe my mother ever thought about something other than what color lipstick suits her outfit.”
Another chuckle. “She’s vain now, but she wasn’t always. Twenty years ago, she was a decent, well-behaved girl. Her only weakness was Frank.” His expression turned severe. “I can honestly say I have no idea what it was she saw in him. I met Frank the day Jess started working at the restaurant. He was uncouth, big-headed, and obnoxious. He only cared about money and respect.”
That I had no problem believing. Frank hadn’t changed one bit over the years. Right until the day he died, my father had close to zero qualities. He was a walking flaw. A living and breathing example that evil had a face.
Anatolij finished his wine and filled the glass again as if there was no way he could tell me the whole story without the help of alcohol.