“It’s notthat. She’s alive, but... she’s at a hospital.”
“What happened?” Julij asks, his face contorted with worry.
Spades pays him no attention, eyes on me. His tense stance and pained look on his face as if someone kicked him in the stomach make it obvious that he’s ready for my outburst. He’s leaning closer slightly, prepared to jump in and, I don’t know, hold me, maybe? “Jackson accessed her records, but she was only admitted half an hour ago, so the information is limited. Two major wounds to her shoulder and leg, a gunshot wound just below her collarbone, and a mild concussion. She’s stable.”
My insides tangle into knots at the thought of Layla alone in a hospital bed, scared, defenseless. Unprotected. Vulnerable. “Do we know what happened?”
“It’s unclear. The police report places five people at the scene. Out of the five, one’s dead. A tire burst. The car flipped over, rolling for thirty yards before it stopped. There’s no explanation for the gunshot wound on Layla or the dead guy.”
“Who was he?”
“Ex-marine, Archer Hayes. Someone blew his fucking brains out. No witness statements yet, so it’s hard to judge what went down there.”
Jess slumps into the chair, lips parted in an inaudible shock. She gawks at me with big, scared, tearful eyes.
“No onewill touch her,” I say, catching her hand in mine. “No onewill hurt her, Jess. They’d have to go through me first, and you know damn well that’s not happening.” I squeeze her fingers once and rise to my feet, shaking the weakness off my limbs. “I’ll have Layla back in Chicago in thirty-six hours.”
Spades steps from one foot to another. There’s more to be said, but he refrains from speaking until we’re out of the house, away from Jess’s ears. “She’s no longer invisible, Dante.” He lights a cigarette while Julij paces on the gravel. “Hospital records aren’t protected well. Anyone who’s keeping tabs will know where she is.”
“It’s a twelve-hour drive,” Julij adds. He sure doesn’t know Rookie as I do. “A lot can happen in twelve hours. She needs protection.”
I nod, a plan of action already fully formed in my head. “Call the guys. I want to be on the road in fifteen minutes,” I tell Spades, then turn to Julij. “You’re not coming. You’re organizing the security detail for when we get back.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dante
Blake Davis is one of the few people who remained loyal to Frankie throughout the years. They had been partners since the early days, since before Dino died. He stood by Frankie’s side regardless of his sins. The Holy Trinity: Blake, Frank, Nikolaj. Unlikely but powerful affiliates at one point; good friends once Frank’s fixation with me and taking over South soared out of control.
And now I need his help.
He’s the biggest fish in Texas, a goddamn shark. The boss in Dallas. An old Mafioso who adheres to old rules and frowns upon breaking them. Under different circumstances, securing his help would prove impossible, but the odds are in my favor tonight. Makes for a nice fucking change, all things considered. He’s one of the old guys, one of those who lived through the eighties when La Cosa Nostra was sacred; when being a mafia man, being amademan was a way of life, not just a way to make a bucketload of cash fast. They had different values back then. Theyhadvalues back then.
“Dante Carrow,” he drawls, answering his phone. A note of curiosity rings in his voice. “You’re the last person I expect a call from.” He speaks slowly as if reciting an old poem as if every word is worth its weight in gold. “I imagine this will be interesting. How can I assist the new kingpin of Chicago?”
“You’ll have to forgive me, Blake. I have no time for pleasantries tonight. I’m in urgent need of protection.” Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I wait, expecting a blatantnoright off the bat, but Blake keeps silent, waiting for more words on my part. “As you must be well aware by now, there’s an open hit on Frankie’s daughter, Layla.”
“Yes, so I heard,” he sighs, pushing a long burst of air down the receiver. “If the whispers are true, I’m not surprised you ordered the hit. Although I must admit, you never struck me as a guy who’d—”
“I didnotorder the hit.” Why am I everyone’s first guess? Granted, not many people know or could hope to understand how much Layla means to me, but why does every single person consider me the prime suspect? “This isn’t the time to divulge the details. You must know two things for now. One: Frankie ordered the hit. And two—”
“Hold your horses right there.” The pace of his voice changes to animosity. Words come out sharp enough to cut if administered correctly. “You’re telling me Frankie Harston ordered a hit on his daughter? Don’t be ridiculous, Dante. I’ve known him since day one in this life. He’s my kind of guy. He had respect for La Cosa Nostra. He had respect for his family.”
“Right up until he didn’t,” I snap, heat pooling in the base of my stomach. “He used Layla against me and...” I huff the air through my nose. “This really isn’t the time for explanations. She’s been hiding in Texas, but someone found her. An amateur, a newbie judging by the way he handled the job. She’s alive at a hospital in Dallas. News travels fast, Blake. If I know she’s there, everyone knows. It’s a matter of hours before the place is crowded with hitmen. I need you to take her under your wing until I get there.”
Like most old bosses, Blake doesn’t make rash decisions. He’s scrupulous in his moves. Plans his actions in great detail if his work partnership with Nikolaj and Frank is any proof. They were unlikely allies, but they made it work.
Agreeing to protect Layla is not a decision he can take lightly. It comes with the possibility of stepping on the toes of many bosses and hitmen he might not be willing to cross. With both Nikolaj and Frank dead, Blake isn’t well protected. Alone on the battlefield. Which, come to think of it, could prove to be another ace upmysleeve... choose your friends wisely. I might be the best thing that has happened to him in a long time.
“Name your price,” I urge, staring out the window at a blur of Chicago’s streets.
The bastard sure knows how to build on the anticipation. Adrenaline burns through my veins like acid, bringing my focus to a very sharp point. Seconds tick away, nothing but heavy breathing in my ear as he weighs his options.
“I’m too old for this,” he says after what feels like a goddamn century. Tension in my neck gives way to the defeated undertone detectable in his clipped tone. “My son will soon take my place. I want you to hook him up with the right people. I want him safe up there, at the top of the game alongside you, Dante. That’s my price.”
My eyes narrow in confusion. “You want him to be my protégé? Where is this coming from?”
Blake laughs softly. “Nikolaj is dead, Mr. Carrow. You have gained a powerful ally in Julij, although you probably don’t see it yet. His father’s affiliates are now yours, whether they like it. And believe me, the word on the street is, they very much like the prospect of receiving your product. With the business venture you’ve set up with Detroit and all the other bosses who already bow to you, you’re very fucking close to the top of this ladder. I want my son on that ladder too.”