“Nate, find the kid,” I say over my shoulder. Sandra’s face falls a little bit more. “Tell him we’re going for a ride.”
“Don’t touch him!” She steps forward, but the gun aimed at her head changes her mind. “Please, don’t hurt him.”
The scared, pleading note in her voice is all I wanted to hear. She needs to sound genuinely distressed, or Morte won’t take this seriously. I pull my phone out, watching Sandra’s wide eyes dart between me and the house behind my back.
“Dante Carrow,” he answers with the same mocking tone he did last time. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“How could you be so stupid?” I fire the words he spoke to me right back at him. “You can be threatened and blackmailed because you were once inlove.”
A ringing silence lasts a couple of seconds. He needs time to process my words, but I doubt he finds much sense in them yet. “If you think I’ll call off the hit to keep her safe, you’re delusional.” Uncertainty rings in his voice as if he knows I’m not that stupid. “You can kill her. I don’t fucking care, Dante.”
I chuckle, drunk on the power associated with being the one in control. Morte is at my mercy. Unknowingly to him, but he is. He will do as I say. I’ve dreamt of this moment since Julij told me there’s a bounty on Layla’s head. I didn’t know who played the role of the promoter at that point, but I wanted to hear him beg.
“Did you ever wonder whySandra left?”
Back when they were together, Morte was as smitten as I am now. He was ready to throw the world at her feet.
“I know why she left. She didn’t want to be with a mafia man. She’s a heartless bitch, Dante. I don’t give a flying fuck what happens to her now. Put one bullet through her heart for me while you’re at it.”
“You really should’ve dug a little deeper.” I turn to face the house. Nate emerges outside with Aiden by his side and a small suitcase in hand. “He looks just like you.”
I pass the phone to Sandra, who strains her neck, looking over Spades’ shoulder. There really isn’t much humanity left in my black heart, and whatever’s there is reserved for Layla.
Sandra’s tearful gaze follows Nate’s every move as she presses the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
Spades is rooted to the ground, a gun aimed between Sandra’s eyes. He’s perfectly still like a wax figure, refusing to make a move or glance behind him. Today marks the second time since we started working together when he’s fulfilling my orders against his will. I can see he’s struggling to keep his opinions unvoiced. Normally, he wouldn’t hold back. He has no problem speaking his mind or calling me out when he thinks I’m going too far, but this time Layla’s at the heart of this charade, and he knows there’s no force on earth able to stop me from keeping her safe.
“You’ve got a son,” Sandra squeals into the phone as silent tears escape her glossy eyes to trail down her pale cheeks. “His name is Aiden. He’s six. Dante...” her voice breaks, the dam bursts, and a high-pitched wail cuts the air. “Whatever he wants, just do it, okay? Please, he—”
Nate starts the engine, and I think Sandra understands she’s not going for a ride with us. I pull out a small syringe from my jacket pocket, stab her in the neck and fill her bloodstream with a powerful sedative courtesy of Dr. Carlton Carrow. It’s supposed to knock her out for an hour to let us drive away in peace. Her body turns limp within a few seconds. I snake an arm around her back, holding her flush to my side, and retrieve the phone from her weakening grasp
“Sandra!” Morte yells in my ear. The sheer panic in his voice is music to my ears.
“She can’t hear you. She’s unconscious and will be for an hour or so. Before you start wondering if I’m lying...” I send him one of the snapshots Jackson showed me earlier. “Here’s your proof. You know what to do. Once you’re done, you’ll find me in Moscow.”
“Fuck!” He screams down the line. “He’s, myson! You don’t touch a man’s family, Dante! This is way out of line!”
“I seem to remember you recently disregarded that rule. Did you honestly expect me to play fair? No holds barred, Morte. Be glad I’m letting his mother live. You wouldn’t want such trauma for your son, would you?”
“Fine! Alright, I’m calling off the hit, but if anything happens to my son, I swear to—”
“You’re in no position to make threats. Get.To. Work.”
It’s official.
To the long list of sins, I can boldly addkidnapping.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Layla
Athick cardigan and a long coat keep me relatively warm as I wander the garden at the back of the castle. Snow crunches under my feet, and frost bites at my skin. The snow stopped last night, but the freezing temperature keeps the white fluff from melting. I brush it off from a bench tucked between two huge, old oak trees and sit, breathing heavily into my hands.
I should’ve put on a pair of gloves.
Two days have passed since I found Jess’s portrait in Anatolij’s office. Questions shift swiftly through my brain, poisoning every thought. I’m getting no answers, though. Anatolij’s nowhere around. In fact, I haven’t seen him since the ball. He skipped all the meals yesterday and didn’t come downstairs for breakfast this morning. I’m not even sure if he’s in the castle. He’s avoiding me; that much is clear, but he can’t stay away forever. At some point, he will have no choice but to come out of hiding and answer my questions.
Unfortunately, patience isn’t one of my virtues. Tired of waiting and frustrated, I decided to get some fresh air to clear my head. Instead, more absurd ideas bloom in my mind while I sit on the bench under the oak trees.