“What are we doing, Langston?” Bishop turns to me. “What the fuck do we do?”
How could she leave?
Does she hate me that much? Enough to risk running without protection?
“Wake the fuck up, bitch.” Bishop thumps my chest, the blow hard enough to jar bone. “What’s the plan?”
“Is something wrong?” Emmanuel calls from the adjacent room, his derision sparking insanity.
He’ll give an order for her to be chased.
He’ll command my brothers. Their guards.
I’ve got no chance of finding her first.
“Hey.” Bishop grabs my shoulders. “I know that look in your eye, asshole.” He gets in my face, friend to friend, monster to monster. “We didn’t come here for this. No bloodshed, remember? Just a fucking conversation.”
“I can’t do it.” I shake my head. “I can’t let him go after her.”
“He’s bedridden, for fuck’s sake. He’s not going anywhere.”
“And what about Salvo and Remy? One order from him and they’re out the door.”
He leans closer, grabbing me behind the back of the neck. “They’re pussies. They—”
“They won’t hurt her,” Abri whispers from the balcony threshold. “I promise, Dante. They’d never do that.”
“See?” Bishop digs his fingers into my neck. “Pussies. Emmanuel’s the only one heartless enough to kill in cold blood and he’s too decrepit to do it.”
“No.” I shove him away. “They’ll find her and bring her back here.”
“If that happens, we’ll have De Marco and the guys waiting.”
“Abri, what’s going on in there?” Salvo snarls with impatience. “If this guard dog doesn’t move, he’s not going to appreciate my lack of warning shot.”
I claw my fingers into my palm, unsure which path to take as De Marco mutters something in reply.
“We’ll be there in a minute.” Abri cuddles her waist, the picture of sophistication and class now marred by eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“For what? Betraying me or putting her in more danger?”
She cringes and casts a cautious glance toward the hall. “I was helping her.”
“Why?” Bishop grates.
“She didn’t want to be here. You were forcing her—”
I step up to my sister. “I was protecting her.”
“I know what forced proximity with a man looks like.” Her response is barely heard. “I know what it feels like, too.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Bishop warns.
I fucking know we don’t. But Abri’s unchecked show of emotion raises my hackles. “What does that mean? Are you looking to get out of here?”
She straightens, her lips parting a crack, her eyes widening. She surprises me by not shooting down the offer. By hesitating for long seconds.
“Abri?” Emmanuel yells. “What’s going on? Where’s Torian’s sister?”
“We don’t have seconds to spare.” Bishop glares at me.
“Abri?” I warn. “What’s—”
“Go.” She steps back from the threshold. “We’ll talk later.”
I keep looking at her, keep trying to read what she’s withholding while my pulse beats for Layla’s safety. “Let’s get out of here.”
“About fucking time.” Bishop storms for the hall.
I follow, De Marco stepping aside as I continue into Emmanuel’s room, fists clenched, pulse rocketing.
“Problems, son?” Emmanuel wheezes, clasping his oxygen mask as he smirks. “Did your pretty little thing run?”
I can’t bite.
I won’t.
A future with Layla can’t exist if I return to the Cappellettis. I won’t drag her into that. I need to find her before Emmanuel does.
I focus on Adena, glaring my hatred. “You betrayed me when I was a boy. You let him run loose, destroying the only happiness I had. You won’t go unpunished if you allow it to happen again.”
She stands taller, frowning.
“He’s your husband to control,” I sneer. “Your problem to solve. From now on, any action he takes will also be yours to absolve, and I don’t punish in halves.”
Emmanuel chuckles, the humming, wheezing noise growing.
I turn to my brothers, the muscles in my jaw aching from tension, my head pounding as I fight to ignore their father. “My hatred has always been for him. Never either of you. But so help me God, if you do anything to put her in harm’s way I’ll start a war you won’t survive.”
They don’t react.
Neither in spite or understanding.
Their faces remain emotionless. Impassive and detached.
“Let the race begin.” Emmanuel chokes as he laughs. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again as soon as we catch her.”
37
Layla
I force myself not to think of how Matthew will retaliate as I monkey climb down the trellis, my feet getting stuck in the thick vine weaving its way through the wooden slats.
I pretend he doesn’t exist as I run around the house to find the garage. And I focus on how the inside information on the Costas’ home will help my family as I scramble into the Bentley and drive my ass out of there.
I don’t think about how I’ll get home.
How I’ll survive.
I don’t contemplate anything more than the broad strokes of my escape plan until now when the desolate road is stretched before me, and I have nowhere to go.
I should’ve thought about how the hell I was going to get to Portland without a cell, money, and identification.
I should’ve focused on the issues that would arise if I attempted to escape in a car that had less than half a tank of gas.
“Shit.” I press my foot harder against the accelerator, eyeballing the rearview mirror, waiting for the first sign that someone is giving chase.
I need to find a phone. More importantly, I need to figure out how I’m going to tell Cole what I’ve done.
He’ll disown me. They all will.
I take deserted back road after deserted back road, using the car’s GPS to navigate an indirect route around the city.
I circle the outskirts of Denver, not knowing exactly where I am once farm road turns into suburban streets. All I can see are dilapidated homes with junk in the yard and old vehicles that make my current ride look like a carjacker’s dream come true.
I keep off the main thoroughfares, searching for a sign of life, finally slowing when I see three teenage girls walking along the street footpath, one of them scrolling on her cell.
I pull to the curb, slowing as I come up beside them, and lower the passenger window.
“Excuse me.” I raise my voice. “I need your help.”
The girls glance at me in unison, each of the teenagers sporting raised brows and expressions of disdain toward the Bentley.
“How could we possibly help you?” the closest asks, glancing from my face to the car and back again.
“There are men chasing me, and I have no phone or money. Can I borrow your cell to make a call?”