“You said it yourself—if they kill me, you kill them, and so on and so forth. At the very least, some of them would die.”
I lean closer, glaring as our noses almost brush. “And you would’ve been the first.”
“So be it.” Moisture wells in her eyes, the liquid born of rage. “He needs to pay for what he’s done.”
“What about Stella? Do you think she deserves to lose another parent?”
She recoils, her gaze shooting daggers, each blink sending a scathing wave of hatred my way. “Did you hear him? He’s going to go after her. I know he is.”
I remain in her face, her mouth a breath away. “I’ll fucking kill him before I let anything happen to either of you. Do you understand? Love me or hate me, Layla, I’ll still keep you safe.”
She bares her teeth, vicious and pained as footsteps approach from Emmanuel’s room.
“Dante?” Abri murmurs.
I flinch at the name and glare over my shoulder to see her blocked from the hall by Bishop’s large frame.
“It might be best for her to wait in the room across the hall.” She glowers at the man guarding me as she pushes past. “You can keep the doors open. You’ll be able to see her at any time.”
“No.” Layla rasps. “I want to hear every word that motherfucker has to say.”
“And I want to get us all out of here alive,” I murmur under my breath, leaning into her, taking liberties with her personal space. “Get yourself under control, amore mio. Or I’ll do it for you.”
She squares her shoulders, her rage smoldering.
“That’s right. Keep that anger directed at me. Not him.” I press my hips into hers, our cheeks brushing as I guide my mouth to her ear. “Hate me. Loathe me. Curse my fucking name for playing you the way I did, because I will never hurt you, Layla. But he will.”
I’m so fucking tempted to kiss her. To steal a gasp and make her moan, just in case this is the last chance I get.
“Now move your ass into the other room.” I force myself to pull back, my restraint threadbare, my gaze brooking no argument as our eyes meet. “And make sure you stay there.”
She continues to glower, the only sign of fragility coming from her heavy swallow.
“I’d die for you, amore mio.” I retreat and turn for Emmanuel’s room. “But for the love of God, I’d prefer not to do it today.”
35
Layla
I remain propped against the wall, humiliated at being barred from a conversation I deserve to be in.
“Stay with her,” Matthew instructs Bishop, then returns to Emmanuel’s room, leaving me to fight against crumpling to the floor.
I should’ve tried harder.
Should’ve stolen a gun and pulled the trigger without a second thought.
Maybe I would’ve died. Who’s to say I won’t anyway?
Emmanuel has it out for me. I could see it in his eyes.
He’ll go after Stella. He’ll destroy my family.
“Come on.” Abri gives me a sad smile and opens the door to the adjacent room, allowing more light to spill into the hall. “Let them talk. It’s clear you’re a weakness where my brother is concerned, and that’s the last thing he needs when facing off with our father.”
I don’t understand her sympathy.
I don’t appreciate it either.
She saunters inside, walking out of view.
“That was a dick move.” Bishop closes in, intimidating me into following her with his evil glare. “Now he doesn’t have me in there to watch his back.”
I reject the twinge of guilt sparking in my chest.
“Get moving.” The aggression in his voice is next level. “I swear to God, if he does something he’ll regret, I’ll hold you responsible.”
I clench my teeth, refusing to let Bishop daunt me and walk into the unfamiliar room to stop a few feet inside. I keep my lips fused as I take in the cherry-stained wooden bed in the middle of the expansive area, a matching dresser along the closest wall, and sheer curtains covering French doors leading to what I assume is the balcony.
I remain still as I search for weapon potential—the lamp on the nightstand, the ceramic female figurine on the dresser, the chair in the corner—while Abri watches my inspection from the open doorway of the adjoining private bathroom.
“Are you okay?” She frowns at me as Bishop comes to lean against the closest bedpost, the conversation reigniting across the hall, the words skirting the edges of my consciousness. “You don’t seem to be here by choice.”
“I’ve never had a choice when it comes to your family. I didn’t when you stole my daughter. And I had just as much when you killed my husband.”
Her eyes soften. “I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t—”
“Save it.” I continue toward the French doors and inch the curtain aside, wishing I was anywhere but here.
Time passes with the rise and fall of voices. Matthew makes threats. Emmanuel chuckles. His bitch of a mother chastises every now and again.
“Can I speak to her for a moment?” Abri asks Bishop. “In private. There’s a few things I have—”
“No way in hell, darlin’. I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
“Beside the fact I’m not interested,” I add, “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Please.” Her brows pull tight. “It’s important.”
The vulnerability is an act. The politeness, too.
But I’m curious to know why.
She’s not armed. Not with a gun at least. Her clothes are too tight to conceal a firearm. There’s potential for a knife, though.
“We can talk on the balcony.” She starts toward me. “We’ll remain in sight at all times.”
Bishop frowns, his gaze trekking her with agitation.
“Please. It will only take a minute.” Her arm brushes mine as she opens the French doors, her long blonde hair dancing in the breeze. “I wouldn’t beg if it wasn’t important.”
“I never knew Costas could beg,” Bishop mutters.
She glares at him, then gives a brittle smile when her attention returns to mine. “He’s right. We don’t usually stoop this low. But like I said, it’s important.”
I have no idea what she’s up to.
Is she going to haul me over the railing? Does a weapon lie in wait outside the door?
“You’ll be fine.” Bishop pushes from the bed to stand tall. “I’ll be watching.”
I nod and follow her past the threshold, stopping two feet outside as she stands out of view of the room.
“Listen to me,” she mouths. “I can help you.”
I frown and glance back at Bishop in confusion.
“Don’t look at him,” she whispers. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”
I balk. “Excuse me?”
“Do you want to leave?” Her voice is barely heard over the breeze, her pretty face pinched in apprehension.
My heart kicks up a gear, my pulse increasing. “What are you trying to do?”
She inches closer, her voice dropping further. “Despite the estrangement, I love Dante. But I don’t think you want to be here…” She pauses, waiting for me to fill the silence.