She and Layton both give me a perplexed look.
“We just explained this to you,” Layton says, stepping toward me.
I disregard him, my eyes fixed on her tattoo. “Do you know Nyjah?”
She rolls her eyes. “Your boss at the whorehouse? Yeah, I saw him when I was scoping the place out.”
“You have his family crest tattooed on your neck,” I say then realize that it might not be a family crest. It could mean something else. “He has that exact tattoo on his neck.”
“Well, it’s not his family crest.” Her fingers wander to the tattoo. “But it explains some things.”
“What things?” I huff out a frustrated breath when no one answers. “Tell me what the fuck it means.”
Still, neither of them speak. Both just look at each other as if waiting for the other one to explain.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to be around for whatever they’re waiting for.
One …
Two …
Three …
I fucking run because I’m better at that. I don’t go for the obvious choice—the front door—since both of them are blocking my path. I sprint for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and locking it right as someone rams against the other side.
“Lola, open the door!” Layton yells. “It’s not what you think!”
I back away from the door until I bump into the sink. “You don’t even know what I’m thinking, so how can you possibly know that?” I glance around at the bathtub/shower, the sink, and then at the window, which is way too small for me to fit through. There’s nowhere to go.
As Layton continues to bang on the door and yell at me, I sink to the floor and rest my head back. I’m not even sure if I’m tripping on the tattoo so much as the pile of lies and secrets the two of them have dumped on me.
All these years, my entire life has been nothing but a lie. I’ve known this for a while, yet I didn’t realize the vastness of the secrets hidden in the Anelli family. It makes me wonder just how many more there are.
I think the real thing that gets to me the thing that’s clawing at my skin, is that I’m here right now, in this place. The crappy person I am, the person who kills and fucks men for a living because I had to settle a debt my father got into with Frankie, because he what? Wanted to hide Solana? Because my mother cheated on him with his brother who he doesn’t like? That’s why all this shit happened? Because of that? It’s bullshit.
As I’m stewing in my anger, the door bursts open and Layton stumbles inside, shaking his head.
“How long have you known about all of this?” I ask. “About Solana and my father—her father. How long?”
His mouth sinks into a frown. “I … For a few years … Pretty much since I started working for Frankie. Well, at least about Solana. I didn’t know the whole story. Not until … until the day I technically died.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I rise to my feet, loathing how hurt I am that he kept so much from me. It reminds me of why I shut down so much. “We were best friends; why didn’t you just say something? I wouldn’t have told anyone.”
He steps all the way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “It was more complicated than that. Otherwise, I would have.” He takes a step toward me, and then another.
I have nowhere to go since I’m already pressed up against the wall.
“That day I started working for Frankie was because I had to, Lolita. My father made me. They’d made a bargain a long time ago about it … Out of all people, it had to be Frankie Catherlson.” He dares another step toward me, and then another until he’s right in front of me. “The day your mother died, I learned that it would happen eventually, that I’d work for Frankie. That the Everetts and Catherlsons would join each other and unite their bloodlines. It’s part of the reason I decided to fake my own death. The things Frankie was making me do … What he was going to make me do … I couldn’t do it anymore …” He trails off as his hands come down on the wall beside my head.
“That night … The night we killed … Frankie set you up. And I knew about it.” He lets out another exasperated breath, his eyes filling with self-hatred. “God, I fucking knew you were going to walk into a trap. I was told to let them kill you as punishment for your father getting in debt with Frankie. But I couldn’t do it … I couldn’t lose you … Never can.” He grazes his finger across my cheekbone. “I could never let the girl I love get killed.” He swallows hard, his breath faltering. “So, I stepped in and … Well, you know the rest. They put a hit out on me when they found out, but thankfully, I found my way out, thanks to Solana.”
My brows knit. “What does Solana have to do with this?”
“A lot,” he says as he spreads his hand across my cheek. “I think it’s better for her to tell you. It’s her story … The things she went through … What your father did to her to keep her hidden … Lola, she’s had a rough life. And that tattoo … It has something to do with it, so just let it go for now. Please.” He gives an elongated pause, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me you forgive me. I need you to forgive me.”
I’m not sure if I should be angry with him or not. He knew that night I was walking into a trap and didn’t warn me, but he also saved me, just like he did tonight.
“I feel like my head’s going to explode. This is so much to take in. And you know me well enough to know I don’t do well with the whole emotional stuff.”
“I know.” His gaze never wavers from mine. “I have to be honest; there’s more to it than what I’m telling you. More that I’m not even sure of. But right now, we have to get you out of here and someplace safe before Frankie’s men find you. Solana says there’s a safe house nearby we can go to until we figure out where to go next.”
Safe houses were created by a group of ex-mafia men who needed to hide out from being hunted. That’s the thing with the world we live in: once you’re on the bad list, you stay on it until you’re dead. Unfortunately, the odds of us walking out of this alive look grim, unless we keep running.
“Solana says, huh?” I question with a hint a jealousy.
His brow cocks. “Are you jealous? Because that doesn’t sound like the Lolita I know.”
“It must be the trauma,” I mutter. “Or maybe the bump on my head from the other night is making me crazy.”
“I already told you, Solana helped me out.” He moves his hand away from my face and rubs at his chest. “She helped me fake my own death, and I think she’s here to help you, if the deal between us still stands, which it seems like it does since she hasn’t killed you yet.”
My brows dip as I reach for Layton’s shirt and lift it up until I can see his chest. He lowers his hand and lets me examine his skin. There’s a small, circular scar on his lean chest, right near the tattoo of his family crest—a circle enclosing Greek symbols. In the heat of the moment, I hadn’t even noticed the scar.
“You were shot?” I gape at him. “When you said ‘faked your death,’ I thought … Well, I’m not sure what I thought, but I didn’t think it meant you were actually shot.”
He shrugs. “It was the only way we could pull it off. It’s okay. I’m okay. It missed all major organs and arteries. Solana has good aim, and now all I have is a scar.”
“She’s the one who shot you? Good God.”
He sighs, placing his hand over mine. I can feel his heart beating under my palm, steady and calm.
“I know you want to hear all the answers, but we really need to get to the safe house. You have two very powerful mafia families after you. You’re not safe here so close to a town and the public.”
“Wow, two hits.” I force a hollow laugh as I absentmindedly trace the scar on his chest. “I guess I should feel honored or something.”
“Lolita …” His voice drifts off as he leans in toward me. “It’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You know that, right?” His eyelids drift shut as he moves to kiss me. I want to let him, too, but I’m afraid I?
??ll start crying again. My mind is still on emotional overload.
I feel just as cold inside as the day I first ran. I wonder when I’ll be warm again. If I’ll ever be warm again.
I turn my head, and he ends up kissing my cheek, his lips brushing against my flesh and warming up the cold in my body for a flickering instant.