“Goddamnit.” She stabs the knife toward my face with a glare and bends to pick it up.
Remy’s closer. He rolls onto his stomach and snatches at the flimsy plastic.
“No,” she warns. “Don’t.”
I step between them, ignoring her weapon, willing to endure a stab wound if it means keeping that prick away from her.
“Stop.” She barges into me.
“Layla Hart… Portland, Oregon,” he murmurs to himself. “Why do I feel like I should recognize that name?”
I’d like to know, too.
“Give it back,” she screams. “Now.”
For weeks, Bishop has attempted to discover the connection between them, every turn coming up empty. There was no lead toward a romantic relationship with either of my brothers. No evidence of business ties, either.
“Layla Hart,” Remy repeats, his scrutinizing gaze rising to her as he lumbers to his feet. “Layla from Portland, Oregon.”
She stiffens. Swallows.
“Jesus Christ. You’re a Torian.” He stalks forward, his shoulders straightening in menace. “You fucking bitch.”
“I’m a fucking bitch?” She lunges forward with the knife. “How dare you?”
I turn my back toward her blade, certain she wants to embed it between my ribs, and shove at Remy’s shoulders. “Get the fuck away from her.”
He glowers at me, then her, his fury finally settling on my face. “How could you be with her after what she’s done?”
“What I’ve done?” she screeches. “What I’ve done?”
“Tell me what this is about.” I shove him again. “How do you two know each other?”
“It’s none of your business.” Layla attempts to move around me, the knife slicing the air.
“As if you don’t know.” Remy’s eyes narrow, then he scoffs a laugh. “Or do you really not know?”
“Know what, asshole?”
“Don’t,” Layla snaps.
“You’re fucking her.” Remy laughs with spite. “And you have no clue?”
Pressure bears down on my chest, punishing me.
“Stop it.” This time her request is a plea.
“Looks like she wasn’t the only one being played.” His eyes gleam. “This bitch is using you to get to us.”
“She isn’t using me. I’ve known of her hatred all along. I just haven’t known why.”
“Well, brother, let me provide you with the insight—”
Layla charges around me, slashing the knife toward him. “I’ll kill you.”
Shit.
I grab her around the waist, hauling her off the ground, the robe gaping, the knife slicing.
“Will you kill me like we killed your husband?” Remy smirks.
Fuck. Me.
I hold her tighter, feeling the second his words make an impact. She stops fighting, her inhales vicious as she pants, the slightest whimper accompanying each breath.
“We abducted her daughter, too.” He meets my gaze. “It was two years ago, but as you can see, our family made a lasting impression.”
She screams, reinvigorating her fight, kicking, thrashing.
“Stop it,” I snarl in her ear, ready to kill him myself. “Calm the fuck down.”
She doesn’t listen. Doesn’t settle. She’s all rage and pain and frenzy.
“Nice tits,” he adds, focusing on the space where the robe gapes across her chest.
“Shut your fucking mouth.” I swing her toward the hall, dumping her on her feet at the start of the carpet. “Get back in the bedroom,” I demand of her, seconds away from reverting to the man I promised myself was dead and buried.
The past reignites in my veins.
The dark savagery begs to be freed.
“Go to hell.” She stumbles away, then turns on me, her knife held at the ready.
“Now, Layla,” I warn. “I need to speak to him alone.”
“Listen to him, bitch,” Remy sneers. “Because if I get my hands on you before he does, it’s going to take more than a knife to save your life.”
I fight against the animalistic need to defend her. To lash out and strike him down for daring to even glare in her direction.
“Go,” I grate through clenched teeth. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Fuck you.” She straightens to her full height, her chin regally high, her shoulders broad. “You’ll pay for this.” She backtracks toward the bedroom. “You’ll wish we’d never met.”
I’ve already had many of those moments. Too many times to count where I regretted getting involved—for her sake, not mine.
“Go.” I stare her down.
She sucks in a strangled breath, belying her strength, and it fucking kills me.
If only we’d cleared the air sooner.
She retreats into the bedroom, slamming the door in her wake, the deafening vibration crashing through the entire penthouse as I stand staring into the darkened hall.
“That’s a pretty impressive mess you’ve made for yourself, brother. I guess the grass ain’t greener after all.”
I curl my lip, determined not to be distracted by violence. “Why are you really here? Why contact me after so long?”
“Because of her. Because of them. I came when I heard you were shot at because I thought you deserved to know her fucking family have been shooting at us, too. But evidently, I got it wrong if that bitch was with you yesterday.”
It’s hard to decipher what he says. Hard to hear anything other than him cutting her down.
“You’ve betrayed the family by sleeping with that whore, Dante. Uncle Lorenzo is going to be pissed when he finds out.”
“He already knows.” I stalk toward him, menacing and ready to slaughter, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And if you call her that again, or refer to me by that name, I’ll make you see stars. You hear me?”
He glowers, his lips pressed tight.
“Do you fucking hear me?” I repeat.
“Yeah, I fucking hear you.” He slaps my hand away. “But does he know you kept quiet, not telling us they were going to declare war after two years of radio silence?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” He raises a defiant brow. “I call bullshit.”
“You can call whatever the fuck you want. But up until a few seconds ago, I had no clue about your connection to her. Let alone the depth of how low you could stoop by abducting a fucking child.”
“Wasn’t my decision, asshole. The point is—they shot Dad.”
I don’t respond.
There’s nothing more than a flinch at the memory of a man I despise.
“How can you have no loyalty?” He starts to pace, his face stark apart from the hatred in his eyes. “You’re sleeping with the enemy.”
“She’s no enemy of mine.” I grind my teeth, refusing to take the bait, refusing to care one iota about Emmanuel’s health just because my youngest brother demands it of me. “And I’m surprised you think your actions don’t justify their response.”
For the love of God. Abduction? They involved a child?
And to think Layla would’ve suffered every time I asked about her connection to the Costas. Each and every moment I attempted to find out if she was in a relationship with Remy or Salvatore.