I was raised to believe an eye for an eye is for the nine-to-five crowd.
My family is different. If someone betrays the Torian name, the cost is high and lifelong. Not merely an eye, but the breaking of one’s spirit. The shredding of their soul.
I don’t want to see Matthew like that. I can’t picture blood on his hands and hate in his heart.
I wrap my arms around my waist, unable to deny it any longer. “You’ve killed people.”
His jaw ticks again. “I can admit I’m not without sin. Can you?”
“Excuse me?”
“What were you planning on doing with the Costas, Layla? Why were you carrying poison?”
“This isn’t about me. We’re—”
“Why not?” He cocks a brow. “We’re one and the same. You might not want to tell me who you are, but the fact you haven’t run a million times already says we’re from similar worlds. We understand each other. We can make this work.”
“Our similarities are what I’m trying to get away from.”
“Me too.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Me fucking too.”
I hate this side of him. The frustration and suffering. It awakens a weakness in me I never knew existed.
“I wish we were different people.” I drag my dress back over my head. “I wish for so many things, Matthew. A lot of them involving you. But—”
“Then stop right there.” He decimates the space between us to grab my wrists, the red fabric falling to huddle at my hips as he tugs me into his chest. “We’ll start fresh together. You, me, Stella.” He inches forward, and I’m not sure if it’s his words or his proximity that sends me into a tailspin. “I’ve never—”
“No. You stop.” I splay a hand against his sternum in warning. “Don’t—”
“I care too much to let you walk out on me, Layla.”
I shake my head. Over and over and over.
These reactions. This craziness. None of it can go on.
“I didn’t grow up planning to take a path toward a man like Lorenzo,” he continues. “But every decision and every fucking mistake led me to the night we met. Every crime. Every unforgivable action brought me to you.”
My veins hum with fear and anticipation. Panic and power.
I’m torn. Severed in two.
“It doesn’t matter.” I have to get home. To monotony and misery. Solitude and sadness.
Another knock sounds at the door, rattling the wood against the frame. I snap rigid at the intrusion as Matthew growls a curse.
“Who is it?” he barks.
“Me,” Bishop yells from the hall. “Who the fuck else are you expecting?”
Matthew doesn’t move. Doesn’t even loosen his hold. The only change is the flare of his nostrils as he glares at the entry. “I’ll get rid of him.”
26
Layla
I scramble to right my dress as Matthew stalks for the entry, the whoosh of the door soon following.
“I told you I didn’t want to see you until Lorenzo was taken to the doctor,” he growls.
“Relax,” comes the arrogant reply. “He’s on his way there now.”
I hustle across the room, taking in the sight of Matthew at the door and Bishop scowling over his shoulder at me from the hall.
“Why didn’t you go with him?” Matthew asks.
Bishop drags his gaze from me, his focus tight when he says, “Because I’ve got news.”
There’s a beat of silence. Of non-verbal communication.
“What news?” I interrupt. “I want to know what’s going on.”
The quiet continues, their silent communication lasting a muted microsecond before Matthew steps back, allowing his friend access to the suite.
My nemesis strides inside, his chin arrogantly high, his lips thin. He stops before the sofa and turns away from me to take off his suit jacket, exposing the gun buried in the back of his pants before he throws the item of clothing over the armrest.
It’s a show. A deliberately theatrical intimidation.
I’m not buying tickets.
When he pivots to face me, I want to roll my eyes. To roll them so far in the back of my head I gag, but he doesn’t need to know men like him are a dime a dozen where I’m from.
He descends to the sofa, spreading his arms along the headrest, crossing an ankle over his knee. He’s attempting to appear superior and relaxed while I’m expected to cower and hide.
Not going to happen.
I want answers.
Matthew follows after him, his presence both comforting and daunting depending on whether I listen to my heart or my head.
“So…” Bishop drawls. “What’s going on?”
“I told her.” Matthew makes his way to the kitchenette, distancing himself as he scoots his ass onto the counter. He sits there, frustrated and remorseful, entirely focused on me while he leans forward in his immaculate suit, his elbows on his knees.
“Told her what exactly?” Bishop remains imperious as he watches me. Both of them attempting to slither their way under my skin for different reasons.
“That you’re in the mafia.” I cross my arms over my chest.
His eyes narrow. “We were,” he growls. “That shit is ancient history.”
Relief sparks a tiny flickering flame inside me. “You were in the mafia,” I correct. “You earned your way out of that life somehow, but decided to stay together afterward. Why?”
“You didn’t tell her the reason I stick around?” Bishop glances over his shoulder to the kitchen, but my lover’s daunting attention doesn’t leave me for a second.
“No, he didn’t,” I answer. Not really.
Bishop scoffs a laugh. “It’s because Matty boy wants to receive his very own martyrdom status. I need to stay close so he doesn’t obtain his title.”
I frown, glancing from Bishop’s smug expression to Matthew’s cold one. “What does that mean?”
Are we talking about suicide?
“That’s enough dramatics,” Matthew mutters. “He’s here for protection.”
Bishop clears his throat louder than necessary. “If you were concerned about protection, you’d carry a gun.”
“I said, that’s enough.”
The questions in my head multiply. There are so many more now than the millions I had before.
“Quit the look of defeat, darlin’.” Bishop uncrosses his legs to kick his shoes onto the coffee table. “Your bad boy fix isn’t going to end anytime soon. Not unless you finally start listening to my warnings. You should’ve walked when I pushed.”
What? Had his aggression been for my benefit? To scare me away from all this?
“I didn’t plan on dragging you into my life, amore mio.” Matthew pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re the last thing I expected to find in Denver.”
“I can attest to that,” Bishop agrees. “Which brings us to the topic of the Costas and your association with them.”
I cinch my arms tighter around my middle. “I think we have more pressing things to discuss, don’t you? Like being shot at?”