“If you’d prefer to discuss blatant dangers first instead of those that are far more sinister in their subtlety, then that’s fine with me.” He shrugs. “Lorenzo sends his apologies. He understands the complications he must have caused between you and Matthew, and begs forgiveness.”
“So he knew the attack was coming?” Matthew asks.
“No. He underestimated how hungry the local biker gangs are for power. There’s a turf war over distribution, and Lorenzo refused to get involved. He wanted them to sort it out amongst themselves. Now he assumes this morning was a little nudge to let him know they’d prefer his involvement.”
He relays the information as if it’s week-old news. As if we hadn’t just been in a life-threatening situation moments ago due to the drug trade.
I see through the tough-guy act, though. He’d been the first to shove to his feet when the threat arrived. He’d feared for Lorenzo and Matthew’s lives, if not his own.
“He wanted you to know he’s taken care of the police.” He talks over his shoulder. “He spoke to them while I was downstairs and promised he was leaving to go see his doctor.”
“Bullshit,” Matthew mutters. “You know he won’t.”
“You might be right, but I’m not going to cup his balls while he takes a piss. If he goes, he goes. If he doesn’t, that’s not my fault. He’s not our responsibility anymore.”
Matthew takes the remark like a blow, his face momentarily sharpening as our eyes meet.
He’s not out, no matter what he says. Maybe physically, but not emotionally.
“I still care for his well-being, Layla.” He holds my gaze as he answers my unspoken thoughts. “That will never change.”
“My boy has daddy issues.” Bishop winks at me. “But who doesn’t, right?”
My heart thuds a painful beat at how right he is. At how Matthew and I continue to have more things in common.
“Are you done?” Matthew pushes from the counter. “As much as I’m enjoying this provoking mood, if you’ve got no more information, it’s time to fuck off.”
“Touchy much?” Bishop shoves from the sofa to pull on his jacket. “Am I calling in the helicopter?”
“No. We’re staying.”
“Are we?” I scowl, making it obvious I don’t appreciate the dictatorship.
“We’re staying,” he repeats. “You still have questions and we’re not going anywhere until they’re answered. If you want to walk out on me, you’re going to do it with crystal clarity.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t walked already.” Bishop fixes his lapels and smirks at me. “Slow learner.”
“Go to hell,” I snap.
He snickers, breathing in my anger like a fine wine. Consuming it. “You’re far too lippy for a woman who’s just found herself in the middle of a gangland drug war.” He starts for the hall, his gaze turning to Matthew. “Make sure you ask some questions of your own. If she’s learning my secrets, I sure as hell want hers in return.”
I fight against the need to stiffen as he continues for the door, leaving the suite without another word.
I should follow. Escape. Cut ties with the thin threads of hopeful possibility that have me pondering whether I could start over, fresh and renewed.
Matthew won’t want me when he finds out who I really am.
Despite the instinctive connection between us, an enemy is still an enemy.
“Ask, Layla.” Matthew approaches. “Whatever’s on your mind, let it out.”
“Whatever’s on my mind?” I counter his steps, keeping the coffee table between us. “I can barely think straight.”
He stops behind the sofa, clenching the headrest in both hands. “You’ve gotta start somewhere.”
No, I don’t. I shouldn’t start at all.
I should walk. He knows it. I know it.
Lord knows my family would know it if they were privy to my latest phase of stupidity.
But curiosity and yearning tag team inside my chest, demanding answers.
I have to find out how far Matthew has distanced himself from his past. How he could’ve escaped the inescapable. And if he’s truly sincere about a future between us.
If he’s asking me not to judge, then maybe he won’t judge in return.
He might not despise me for who I am and what I’ve done.
Then there’s Lorenzo. If I’m going to return to Cole with my tail between my legs, the best option is to go back with information. Insight on the Italian mafia might soften my latest blow of shitty decisions.
The Cappellettis are a force.
Holy fucking shit.
The Cappellettis.
“What is it?” Matthew frowns. “What’s wrong?”
All the blood drains from my face.
“Layla,” he demands. “Fucking ask. Talk to me.”
“Your mentor is Emmanuel Costa’s brother-in-law.” My voice is barely audible as a tremor takes over my limbs. How could I forget? How could he not have told me? After all this time, he kept his connection to the Costas a secret. “Is this a setup? Have you been playing me since the moment we met?”
“Stop. No.” His upper lip sneers. “My mentor is Emmanuel’s enemy. They despise each other. Lorenzo can’t stand the man his sister married. None of his brothers can.”
I shake my head. This is too much.
Too many secrets.
Too heavy a reliance on trust that I never should’ve given.
Warning bells and calls for calm poison my blood, the warring toxicity increasing. I’d been happy with him. At home. I’d been empowered and invigorated and blissed.
And all this time, we’d both been lying. To ourselves. To each other.
He has no idea who he’s introduced to his infamous mentor.
“I’m leaving.” The words are a pained whisper over the bile at the back of my throat.
“Not like this you’re not.” He stalks toward the entry, preempting my escape. “Once I’ve answered all your questions and you have the information to make an informed—”
“This isn’t merely about making an informed decision. No matter what you tell me, it won’t change the fact I have secrets of my own. Secrets that make this situation worse than the hell it already is.”
His face loses the tense edge. “I know you, Layla.”
“You keep saying that, but you have no clue.”
“You’re wrong.” His voice lowers, the edge of hostility replaced with a tone I can’t describe. Pity? Regret? “I know who you are.”
There’s something different in his conviction this time. Something more pointed in his confidence over my character. Something capable of twisting mercilessly at my stomach.
My pulse increases. My panic, too.
I shake my head, ignoring his faith. Needing to brush it off.
“I know your name,” he continues. “Your family. Your legacy.”
I hold my breath.
He’s bluffing. He has to be.
Only nothing but fortitude stares back at me.
A spike of panicked nausea rolls through me. “No.”
If he knew, he never would’ve brought me here. Never would’ve introduced me to Lorenzo. Never would’ve said all those dreamy, optimistic things.