“She’s pretty. I’ll give her that. High cheekbones, full lips, big eyes. You’ll have beautiful kids.”
An invisible hand grips my heart at the thought of Layla round with my baby. A throaty laugh that morphs into a groan follows. I’m borderline psycho whenever I think Layla’s in danger. Maybe it would be safer not to imagine her pregnant.
I pinch another cigarette between my teeth. Too lazy at this point to hold it in my hand, I settle for keeping it in my mouth and inhaling and exhaling on cue. With every next drag, I lose more and more reality, slipping deeper into the state of mind-numbing drunkenness. Almost two bottles of cognac work a treat. My mind finally waves a white flag, cutting me off from my girl.
Reset.
No thoughts. No feelings. I’m suspended in the moment, half-conscious of what’s happening around me. My eyelids became too heavy, head slumps to my shoulder, raising and falling in sync with my short, shallow breaths.
Bliss. Pure, uninterrupted bliss.
A warm body presses into me, climbing onto my lap. My hands move, but I don’t think I’m the one moving them. I feel the smooth texture of skin under my fingertips while my lips, grasped by different lips, cooperate, struggling to kiss. Small hands knot at my neck. A warm mouth deepens the kiss. Sweet sighs bounce in my overworked mind as the petite body clings to my chest. For a moment, I give into her efforts. For a moment, confused, blinded, I think this is okay.
It’s only when my brain, among a plethora of information, fires up the fourth sense that I realize the perfume lingering in the air doesn’t match Layla.
My eyes fly open, focusing on the picture before me. Three girls are there, so I blink and squint until they become one. With the little strength left in me, I push away the girl who definitely isn’t my star.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dante
Grace lost her job the next morning. The minute I woke up from a dreamless sleep, her stunt replayed in my head. I jumped out of bed with a skull-piercing headache that threatened to bring me to my knees. As expected, I found Grace in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Thirty seconds later, silent tears streamed down her young face.
I gave her all she could ask for: work with great pay, a rent-free, all-expenses-paid apartment, and kindergarten for Dalton. Today, I took it away.
She should’ve thought twice before trying to fuck with me. Pun intended. Had she not heard that you don’t bite the hand that feeds you?
By the time I finish with Grace, locate a stash of painkillers, and freshen up, it’s already past noon. With a cup of black coffee, I sit in the living room, ready for whatever this day brings. I grab my phone to call Jackson but stop short of dialing his number. Thirty-six missed calls, a dozen voicemails, and a few text messages wait on the screen. All from Anatolij.
Bile rises in my throat first before muscles turn to fucking steel. My hands no longer shake from the lack of electrolytes in my system as I dial his number.
“Finally,” he answers, his tone relieved. Not a hint of unease. That’s half the battle won. “Is everything okay? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I mean, something, but Layla’s okay.”
“What. Happened?” I repeat, throwing myself against the couch. “Your definition ofokaymaybe much different to mine, Anatolij.”
“She’s not hurt. Safe and sound as promised, but... I think you should come over” He exhales down the phone, an incensed puff of air. “She found her mother’s portrait in my office last night. I think it’s a good time for explanations. It’d be better if you were here for this conversation. I’m sure it won’t be an easy conversation.”
No, it won’t. It may be the most challenging conversation he’ll ever hold. There’s also a fifty percent chance his truth will be the most devastating news Layla ever hears. I’m still unsure what goes inside her head where her parents are concerned. She hardly ever talks about them.
“Are you going to tell her the truth?” I ask.
“Of course. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity for a long time. I just hoped to wait until after you closed the hit. You should be here for her, Dante. This is a delicate matter. From what I gathered so far, Layla’s quite temperamental.”
“Quite?” I chuckle. Not the best idea considering it worsens my headache. “That’s a polite understatement. Layla’s a stick of small dynamite, short fuse, loud bang, but that’s about it. She’s stronger than you give her credit for, cut from a different cloth than all of us.”
“Strong only on the outside. She’ll need you here.”
“You want me to come over and hold her hand while she screams your castle down, or are you hoping I’ll take your side and calm her down? Layla has the right to know. She also has the right to hate you for keeping this a secret so long.”
Hate is too big of a word. Layla’s not capable of hatred. She couldn’t even hate Frank, and he deserved it like no other.
“I know it’s too late for such declarations, but if I knew what her life would—”
“You’re right. It’s too late forif only I knew.” I rub my face, glancing at the suitcase I failed to unpack after arriving from Vegas. “I have a few things to take care of before I can come over. Can you hold off the conversation for another day?”