“What is it?” I got up and sauntered over to the barrier.
Antonio pointed to the entrance, where I saw Matteo—the new Mancuso underboss since Lorik put a bullet in his brother’s chest. He looked every ounce the asshole we all knew he was. Not even a thousand-dollar suit could make him look like more than an ugly motherfucker. What annoyed me the most about him and his entire fucking family was how they walked around town like they owned it. They lived as if they had the world at their feet. Meanwhile, they didn’t have shit. If it wasn’t for the poison they were passing around on the streets like fucking candy, they wouldn’t even have a pot to piss in.
I took a sip of my drink, the tension slowly creeping back up my shoulders. “It’s Mancuso. We knew he might turn up here. What’s the deal?”
Antonio kept staring down at the crowd who walked in with Matteo, worry lines forming grooves on his forehead.
“Antonio, what the fuck, man?”
Without saying a word, he lifted his arm and pointed down toward Matteo. My gaze followed—searching, watching, and then…her.
The moment I saw her face, it felt like every drop of blood drained out of my body. Ice spread down my spine, and the glass slipped out of my hand and shattered on the ground by my feet.
“Layla,” I whispered. “Jesus Christ.”
It was her.
Layla Moore.
The woman who left after she stole the best of me.
I was frozen on the spot, staring down at her. My mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing.
Layla-fucking-Moore, in the flesh. And, dear God, she looked exactly as I remembered. The longer I stared at her, the more my heart pounded against my ribs as if it was trying to break through my chest. It felt like my heart knew…it fucking knew the woman who stood there in the ruby red dress, golden blonde hair tied up to expose her neck, was its rightful owner. It was exhilarating, yet painful at the same time, to see her again.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even fucking move. Memories. Words. Moments. Everything I shared with Layla came rushing back like a motherfucking tropical storm, and it would have knocked me off my feet if I weren’t gripping the rail in front of me so damn tight.
In the distance, I heard Lorik’s voice saying something about tequila and tits. I heard Antonio mention Layla’s name, and then Lorik stepped in next to me just as Matteo placed his hand on Layla’s shoulder, fingers brushing against her bare neck.
“Well, fuck,” Lorik muttered right when everything around me turned to shades of red.
The longer Matteo’s fingers lingered on her skin, the darker my vision became. I had no idea what the fuck was happening. It felt like I was in an alternate universe, as if everything around me went on mute, people moving in slow motion. Even Matteo’s goddamn fingers on Layla’s neck moved in long, slow, torturing strokes. My heart no longer tried to break through my chest. Instead it was the beast in me who tried to claw its way out. It wanted to kill. It wanted to slaughter. It wanted to butcher every motherfucker who stood in a ten foot radius of her.
“Dante,” Antonio said beside me, but I ignored him. “Dante. I think we should leave.”
I couldn’t tear my gaze from her, from the way Matteo touched her.
Five years. Five fucking years, and it felt like no time had passed. As if the woman who stood right there still belonged to me. As if she never broke my heart. Never left.
“Dante?” Antonio placed his hand on my shoulder, but I jerked away. “Brother, you need to calm down, and we need to leave.”
Lorik held the shot of tequila out to me. “I suggest some tequila to tame the urge to go on a murderous rampage right about now.”
I took the tequila and tossed it back before throwing the glass to the ground. “I am calm.”
Lorik stared down at the broken glass. “Yeah…yeah, I see that.”
I remained still, my gaze glued to the one and only woman I had ever loved. And no matter how she hurt me, how those words on that goddamn letter ripped my heart out, the way Matteo touched her made me want to tear him the fuck apart.
Questions that should have been running through my mind…didn’t. Questions like why was she back? Why did she leave? Why was she here with Matteo? Those were questions with answers that fucking mattered, but I couldn’t give a flying fuck. All I cared about…was her.
“This is not good, man,” Lorik said beside me.
Antonio touched my shoulder again, and that was the exact moment Layla looked up, her gaze meeting mine. That was also the moment my entire world came crashing down around me. Every bone in my body ached, my lungs unable to expand because I forgot to fucking breathe. Moments, seconds, minutes, hours. A week could have gone by, and I wouldn’t have noticed because all I concerned myself with was staring at her, to not take my eyes off her in case all of this wasn’t real.
But then Matteo’s hand dropped from her neck, his knuckles dragging down her arm. The movement caught my attention, forcing me to take my eyes off her.
Rage. Fury. Anger. Jealousy.