“Damn right you weren’t,” Spades clips.
“Sixtywitnesses!” I boom, and Luca, who’s not easily scared, flinches in his seat. “CCTV, a crowd of people, and youjumpedon his head!” I rest my hands on the side table by the sofa, looking him in the eyes, searching for any emotions; anything that’d prove Luca’s still there, that he’s not a psychopath. “You know it’s a life for this, right?”
He draws his gun, toying with it and looking into the barrel. “I won’t rot in jail. I’d rather pull the trigger.”
“Put it away. We’re waiting for Barry to call.”
“Plan B?” Luca meets my eyes.
“Yes, but before I sentence another innocent person, explain why.Two weeks ago, you claimed she was Frankie’s spy, but today you risked your freedom for a girl you fucking hate. Two plus two equals five here. Explain because I don’t get it!” I say as I stand up.
He hides his face in his hands, motionless for a moment as if he’s trying to make sense of it himself. “I don’t know why. I can’t explain it.” He jumps to his feet, pacing the room. “I don’t trust her, but it didn’t mean shit when I saw that guy hit her. You know my past, Dante.”
I move the weight of my body from one foot to the other, lighting a cigarette. I found Luca on the street when he was fourteen. His father beat his mother to death a few days earlier and was sent away, leaving Luca alone. He had nothing; no one to turn to, no house, no money, no hope.
“I used to be passive,” Luca says, filling the glass Jeremy used with bourbon. “I couldn’t protect my mom, but things are different now. Watching the footage, I remembered all of my mother’s bruises.”
“That doesn’t explain why you took it upon yourself to protect the girl you hate.”
He downs the drink, looking at his shoes. It takes a minute before he works up the courage to look at me again. It’s unusual for him to cower, but tonight his hesitation is natural. “I didn’t stop to think. I saw a woman being hurt, and I snapped. I don’t hate her, Boss. I just don’t trust her.”
A phone halts our conversation.
Barry has found a guy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Layla
I’m tossing in bed as if I have an epileptic fit. Anger dissipated long ago, but sleep doesn’t want to take me.
I don’t care what happened at Delta and didn’t expect details. Not even a summary. A simpleLayla, it’ll be better if you don’t hear thiswould’ve been enough, but no. They treated me like an idiot, so I snapped.
Dante was right when he said nothing can justify his reaction, but truth be told, I had his outburst coming. When he called me back to the car, I knew something terrible had happened. The tone of his voice and the worry in his emerald-green eyes spoke volumes. My temper didn’t help.
Getting me to boil over is easy. Calming me down takes much more effort. With each sentence pouring out of my mouth, I saw Dante’s patience wearing thin, but I couldn’t stop.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes. My guilty conscience won’t let me sleep, so I get out of bed, determined to write my dissertation. Pulling my hair into a bun, I press double espresso on the touch screen of the coffee maker, my phone in hand in case Dante calls. Unlikely considering it’s five in the morning, but I hope.
The fault is on both sides, but his sins are bigger.
He scared me enough to warrant a breakup, but the regret dancing in his eyes when he thought I’d leave him crushed me inside out. I’m starting to think clearly once caffeine filters through the noise of my thoughts. Instead of diving into the world of the insane, I grab my keys and leave.
Dante’s charger is parked in the open garage when I pull up outside his house twenty minutes later. As I make my way upstairs, an ashtray sits on the countertop next to an empty glass. Clothes litter the bedroom floor, and Dante’s asleep, lying on his back. I rest against the wall, watching his chest rise and fall steadily.
A few weeks is all it took for him to take my heart hostage. The one thing I promised myself not to do the day I entered Delta happened faster than I anticipated.
Careful not to wake him, I shimmy out of my clothes, leaving on my red lingerie. Dante wakes up as soon as the mattress dips under my weight.
He sits up, and his hand flies toward the gun on the bedside, but his features soften once he sees it’s just me. “God, I’m so fucking glad you’re here.” He grabs my arm, falling back, cuddling me into his chest, lips on the crown of my head. “I’m sorry, baby. It won’t happen again.”
“I know. I’m sorry too. I overreacted.”
He flips me, so I lay under him, letting out a shaky breath a second before he sinks into my lips, the kiss soft, slow, but full of something more profound than lust. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.” He stamps a kiss on my forehead. “What time is it?”
“Almost six.”
“Six? Why are you up already?”