“It’s scary how much power Frank held over me all this time. He snapped at me when I hesitated, and it finally hit home that I was never more than a tool in his hands. He didn’t love me and would never love me regardless of how many orders I’d fulfill or how much I’d try. He didn’t deserve me, my love, or my loyalty.”
Jean inhales sharply, eyes wide. “Youkilled him?”
“If I didn’t, he would’ve killed Dante.”
One of them had to die that night. I don’t regret my decision, regardless of how rushed and emotional it was.
CHAPTER SIX
Dante
Amansion.
There’s no simpler way to describe the house of the New York King. Two armed men stand guard on both sides of a tall, brass gate that opens onto a dark-gray, paved driveway. Instead of a water fountain in the middle, like in most gangster movies, a palm tree thrives despite the freezing cold. A three-door garage stands to the right, and the house stretches before us, bathed in an orange hue of LED lights embedded into the driveway. Another bodyguard is guarding the entrance, stiff as a mannequin, eyes focused on something in the distance.
Spades parks out of the way, cuts the engine and spins his head left and right, taking in the over-the-top large mansion. “Nikolaj sure knew how to make an impression.”
“He sure did.” I agree, stepping out into the cool morning air, though the goosebumps dotting my skin aren’t because of the cold. I’m still reeling after that girl in the subway turned out not to be my star.
A thin layer of snow covers the roof, but it long melted on the ground. As we approach, one of Julij’s pawns opens the front door, muttering in Russian into a microphone affixed to his jacket. A spacious foyer with marble floors and a high ceiling brings to mind an expensive hotel lobby. A crystal chandelier hangs low on a silver chain, directly over a large bouquet of lilies and roses on a round table. Their aroma hangs in the air, reminding me of Layla’s perfume. The memory of hiding my face in her neck at night, inhaling her intoxicating scent plays on the backs of my eyelids. I push Layla out my head when Julij appears at the top of the grand staircase that snakes on both sides of the room.
A tall, dark-haired man stands right behind him, and although I never met him, his posture, facial expression, and something I can’t quite put my finger on seem oddly familiar.
Julij pins me with a hateful stare, his fists clenched. White-hot rage radiates off him as he rushes down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” He grips me by the collar only to shove me against the nearest wall. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! Call it off!”
Spades reaches for the gun tucked in the holster by his belt, but Dimitri materializes behind him out of nowhere, pressing the barrel of his gun to Spades’ temple. Without much choice, he lets go of his gun and raises his hands to his chest in defeat, but I know that one word from me will have him raining hell on everyone around with his bare knuckles. I’m too stunned by Julij’s outburst and the fucking nerve of him getting in my face to say a single word. A few seconds pass before I process what the fuck just happened. Once it sinks in, a switch responsible for my temper flips in my head.
I catch Julij’s arm, twist it back, and watch him bend and arch away, his cheek not far off the floor as he tries to save his bones before they snap. “What is wrong with you?” I ask, my eyebrows furrowed. For now, confusion towers over anger.
“Me?!” Julij scoffs, fighting, albeit weakly, to wriggle out of my grip. He’s tall and muscular but doesn’t stand a chance against me. Not today. Not after the thirteen days of pure fury and slashing agony I’ve endured. Not after I thought I had Layla at my fingertips half an hour ago.
“Let go of him, Dante.” A stoic, low voice with a sharp, Russian accent sounds in the room, the commanding note unmistakable and un-fucking impressive.
I turn my head when the man descends the stairs. “Make me,” I hiss, turning back to Julij, “and you,” I twist his arm harder, forcing him to his knees, “explain that stunt.”
“You wantme toexplain?!” Sweat breaks out on his forehead, but he grinds his teeth, trying and failing to hide just how much his arm hurts right now. “You’re the one with explaining to do, but first, call off the hit. Right. Fucking.Now.”
I let him go at that. His words, like a freight train, crash into my chest. “A hit? What fucking hit?”
“How many have you commissioned lately?” Julij straightens up, smooths his shirt, and adjusts the jacket before he motions at Dimitri to stand down, cradling his sore arm in the other. “Call it off, or you won’t get out of here alive.”
I grab him by his throat and pin him to the wall in the same spot he had me moments ago. “Threaten me again, and I’ll snap your spine so fast Dimitri won’t have time to pull the fucking trigger. Nowexplainwhat the fuck you’re talking about, and you better change your attitude. It’s been over two years since I ordered a hit, Julij.” I let him go, stepping back. “Who’s the target?”
His face falls, eyes widen, and hands tremble as he grabs fistfuls of his hair. “It wasn’t you... Blyad’!” he bellows in Russian. “Kak ne ty...” Blood drains from his face, turning his usually pale complexion ashen.
Dimitri steps forward while Spades glares at Julij with one eyebrow raised and one hand back on the holster. Julij tears his gaze away from the wall, pure torment in his eyes. The atmosphere changes from raging to heavy in the blink of an eye. The fine hairs on my neck stand on end. My mind fills in the blanks based on the little information I have.
“Who is the target?” I ask again, my voice almost unrecognizable, muscles tense while I silently beg him not to say what I already know will come out of his mouth.
“It’s Layla,” he clips, his chest heaving. “She’s the target.”
An answer I expected and one I’m entirely unprepared for. The words bounce around my head like tiny balls inside a rattle toy. One sentence. One fucking piece of information, and I’m damn near losing my wits. The meaning of Julij’s words strips me of my sanity bit by fucking bit. For the second time in my life, I’m powerless. Crushed by the intense protectiveness. Byfear.
I open my mouth, but words pile up on the tip of my tongue. I grip the nape of my neck, dig my fingers in my skin and squeeze hard to ease the tension. Instead of forcing the chaotic thoughts out of my mind by asking all the supporting questions popping up, I breathe in and out, delivering enough air into my lungs to remain focused, somewhat composed, and in a relatively sane mindset.
Layla in danger is the only thing that can get me from calm to all-out petrifiedina matter of seconds. The most excruciating dread sweeps over my entire system, powerful enough to bring me to my knees and leave me weak and defenseless. It robs my mind of its basic functionality: the ability to think straight. It pushes me to act without gathering all the information. I could easily crumble under the weight of my protectiveness that engulfs every nerve in my body. It’s crushing. Primal. Uncontainable. My body springs into combat mode. Real, physical pain jabs at my heart because she’s out of my reach.
I can’t see her.