Broken Promises Read online

  But there was more to Anatolij. And for some reason, he seemed to favor me over his nephew. We spent the better part of the flight back to Chicago engrossed in a conversation about the hit on Layla. Having no connection to the matter, he promised to help in any way he could.

  And that had me thinking, connecting the dots.

  “How’s Jackson doing?” Julij asked, disregarding the need for introductions.

  “No news yet.” I motioned behind his back once he shook my hand. “That’s Vinn and Vince, and that’s their right hand, Caro.”

  “I had an idea,” he said, taking a seat on the couch without as much as a nod in the V brothers’ direction.

  Vinn’s jaw tightened, and it looked like we were off to a great start.

  “You’re not gonna like it,” Julij added.

  Vinn scoffed, but I held my hand up, letting Julij talk. Any idea was worth pursuing if it meant finding Layla. There was no way he was referring to anything else. Julij was on his toes, worrying, growing impatient, and desperate to find my girl.

  Under normal circumstances, his feelings would be bothersome, but right now, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about who loved Layla as long as they’d go above and beyond to get her home safe.

  And Julij would happily give his arm and leg to make that happen.

  “Spit it out,” Vince growled.

  “There’s someone who might know where Layla is.”

  I narrowed my eyes, straining to see the big picture instead of obsessing over the safety of my star. When the answer hit me, I wanted to kick my own ass for not thinking about it first.

  “Jess,” I muttered.

  Julij was right. I didn’t like it.

  ☐

  Spades attempted to impersonate Rookie while we sped across the city toward Jess’s house. He did well in the driving department but failed miserably in the laid-back attitude department. I’ve never seen him so tense in my life. And he probably never felt so tense either.

  Julij was close behind us with Dimitri behind the wheel of their rental Camaro. He insisted on accompanying us, claiming Jess would be more compelled to talk if she saw we were both looking for Layla since Julij had no reasons to hurt her.

  Maybe he had a point. After all, with everything that happened, it was safe to assume Jess wasn’t too fond of me.

  The watch on the dashboard showed twenty past ten, but with it being Saturday evening, the streets were still busy. Like every major city in the states, Chicago never slept.

  I held the phone on my knee and lit the screen over and over again, looking at the picture of Layla. It was a frame from the night we first met – a red dress and an abundance of dark-brown locks surrounded her doll-like face.

  “You tell me. I’m not a guy, I don’t know what’s so repulsive about me.”

  “Frankie.” Nothing else was an option. Layla was flawless. Not a single guy would pass the opportunity. “Guys are afraid to touch you because they’re afraid of your father.”

  The fabric of her dress rolled up when she flinched, exposing more skin. A beauty mark halfway up her right thigh was provoking me. I moved in, resting my elbows on my knees, and placed my hands on her legs, stroking the small dark spot with my thumb.

  Gut-deep desire mixed with a cruel, compelling need to taste her lips. The intensity of my lust was quadrupled because I knew no one kissed her yet, and no one had her between the sheets.

  I felt like Neil Armstrong the day he boarded Apollo 11. I had Layla, my moon, right in front of me, and I wanted to be the first guy who’d do everything to her, and with her, that she should’ve done by now.

  “You’re not afraid,” she uttered, her eyes lingering on my hands groping her legs.

  I dug my fingertips to her flesh, my blood turning into hot, red soda water. “I’m not afraid of Frank, star.”

  Spades pulled onto the driveway of what I’d call Frank’s house no more than two weeks ago, but what was now Jess’s house alone. He killed the engine and opened the door.

  A cold chill ran down my spine when we approached the entrance. I had little time to process Frankie’s death. The hatred between us grew throughout the years, but it didn’t erase memories.

  Frankie helped me when I needed it most. At sixteen, ruled by hormones and rage toward my father who up and left Isla for another woman, I was destined for doom. I got into trouble doing idiotic things back then – like trying it on with anyone who dared to look at me wrong.

  After weeks spent walking around Chicago with bruised knuckles; weeks of my uncle threatening to send me to a military school; weeks of the pent up range looking for an out, destiny placed Frank Harston on my path.

  I still remembered the first time he invited me over to his house for dinner after mentioning he had a job for me. I was in awe of him back then. He was in his twenties, yet he had it all – a big house, a full wallet, and a family.

  A family I became a part of for six years until I went rogue. And then, not long ago, one-third of the said family became a part of me.

  I raised my hand to knock on the door. The house was dark, the secrets, lies, and betrayals hung in the air. Despite wishing for Frank to die a slow and painful death since the moment I learned how he treated his daughter, there was no denying that a tiny part of me died when Layla put a bullet through his heart.

  Frank was my mentor, he shaped me into the man I was now, and it pained me that we fell apart along the way. Life would’ve been different if we still worked together. Maybe Layla and I would’ve gotten together sooner. Maybe Frank would’ve given us his blessing. Maybe she’d still be the angel she was all those years ago…

  Now she resembled a devil more than an angel. She no longer had wings. Frank tore them out. He bruised her; tormented her; brainwashed her.

  Hatred grew in me again, pushing regret aside, but it died quickly when a light came on in one of the rooms upstairs, then the hallway. The door stood open, revealing Jess, who held Frank’s gun in her hand, aiming it at my head.

  Definitely not her favorite person.

  She trembled all over, her eyes teary, the slim, pale face surrounded by a mess of short hair.

  “Leave,” she choked, holding the gun in both hands. “Leave now.”

  “Put it down,” I said unfazed. She hadn’t even flipped the safety. “I’m not here to hurt you. I need your help.”

  Her grip tightened. “Get out of here,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Get out!”

  I grabbed her wrist, retrieved the gun, and closed her in my arms. She didn’t resist. Instead, her body relaxed, and she rested her forehead on my torso, fisting my jacket, inhaling in and out.

  “I need to find Layla,” I said as she cried softly. “I know she was here the night Frank died.”

  Jess took a step back, wiping her face with the sleeve of a pink silk robe. Blonde hair stuck to her neck, and eyes looked sad, dead almost.

  She lost her husband two weeks ago, but I had a feeling it wasn’t him she missed. Layla’s disappearance hit her hard. Jess was never a perfect mother. She never had time for Layla, too busy enjoying her youth to appreciate a child, but she was a mother nonetheless. Losing Frank and then Layla must’ve opened her eyes to everything she fucked up in life.

  “I don’t know where she is, and even if I knew…”

  “Jess,” Julij said behind me, and she looked over to him. “We need to know where she is.”

  Jess raised an eyebrow, glancing at me, awaiting explanations, but there was no time for a vague conversation. I walked around her and then inside the house, taking the direction of the kitchen.

  Not much had changed there over the years. The same light color-scheme, the same expressionist paintings of distorted faces on the walls.

  Spades stayed behind with Dimitri while Julij and Jess followed me. Jess placed an ashtray on the glass table, urging me to take a seat. Julij settled for resting in the doorway, watching Jess as if ready to beat the information out of her if playing nice p
roved fruitless.

  The intensity of his feelings for Layla was staggering. He was close on my tail with protectiveness. At least he kept possessiveness in check; otherwise, his face would resemble one of those in the hideous paintings in the hallway.

  “Who killed Frank?” Jess asked, staring at me as if waiting to catch me lying.

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

  She scoffed and helped herself to one of my cigarettes. “I guessed Layla did it. She was terrified that night when she came home and immediately started packing. I guess I didn’t want to believe she was capable of killing him.”

  “It was him or me,” I said, lighting the cigarette for her.

  “That explains a lot,” she admitted, inhaling the smoke, then got up to grab a glass of wine. “Ever since you two met, she started to see Frank for who he was. The longer you were together, the more she surprised me with how she treated him. Until you, she was blind to Frank’s flaws. She looked at him and saw the father she wanted, not the one she had. You were good for her.”

  I couldn’t disagree. We brought the best in each other.

  “I need to find her.”

  Jess bit her lip, and just like that, I was back in the Layla land.

  She bit her lip, playing with her fingers. “I think I probably do believe you’re here for me and that I really am Switzerland.”

  “You think? Probably?” I chuckled. “I want you to know it. And you’re ready and willing, believe me, I won’t let you out of bed for a very long time.”

  I fell backward, placing my hands under my head. Layla turned to face me, her lips swollen from my kisses.

  “You’re not making this easy, you know?” She laid next to me, with her head on my chest. “I shouldn’t want to love you, Dante.”

  Love? She wanted to love me?

  I crashed with reality, staring at Jess. She and Layla looked alike. The same petite figures, doll-like faces, and full, plump lips, but Layla took Frank’s hair and eye color.

  The combination of dark-brown hair and light-gray, almost steel irises was striking. So much so I caught myself staring into her eyes repeatedly when she was busy reading, or studying.

  “Why are you looking for her?” Jess asked, her tone cautious. “Why did she leave?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  She crossed her arms and raised her chin nonchalantly. “I won’t tell you where to find her if I don’t know why you want her.”

  Because I can’t go on without her.

  “She left because she’s scared. She thinks I want to hurt her.”

  “Do you?”

  My hands balled into fists. “Do you really have to ask?”

  She shook her head, a faint shade of pink, working its way from her neck to cheeks.

  “Frank ordered a hit on her before he died. An open hit which means anyone can try to kill her.” I leaned over the table. “I need to know where she is.”

  There was no trace of the blush left on her face. The peachy skin turned ashen, and eyes filled with tears. She looked so much like Layla I immediately had the urge to get up and lock her in my arms.

  “He wanted her dead?” she uttered, glancing from Julij to me and back as if willing either of us to say it was just a sick joke.

  I still had a hard time accepting Frank’s sheer insanity. Treating his daughter like a puppet was insane. Requesting that she’d give herself up to me was even worse, not to mention the rape or mutilation he ordered. It was a testament to his flawed, deranged mind, and I could easily rip him apart for any one of those sins.

  But ordering a hit on his own daughter? That was another level of insanity. It was beyond my comprehension. And he should be fucking thankful Layla had it in her to kill him, or else, regardless of her betrayal, I’d skin the fucker alive, taking my time, basking in his screams, pleas, and apologies.

  He’d pay for every single thing he did to her, for every threat, every disappointed look, every hurtful word.

  “He hated me so much he was capable of sacrificing Layla to make sure I’d stay with nothing,” I said, anger bubbling inside of me like something red, hot and sticky.

  Frankie played on her insecurities and turned the vulnerable little girl into a weapon of mass destruction.

  And then… Ready, aim, and fire. I was hers, whenever and wherever.

  Ready to throw the world at her feet, ready to go to the extremes to keep her from harm. She was a panacea to all the diseases infecting my mind, heart, and soul. There was no living without her.

  And Frankie knew it. He knew the type I was. One to completely lose my wits if the right girl ever came along.

  I waited for Jess to compose herself and decide whether to trust me or not. She knew where my star was, her body language betrayed her, but struggled to surrender the information.

  I didn’t feel the same hatred toward Jess as I felt toward Frank. She wasn’t a perfect mother, she hurt Layla too, but her sins couldn’t compare to Frank’s, and so she deserved a chance to right her wrongs.

  By the look on her face, it was obvious that Layla’s disappearance was her wake-up call.

  “I’ve got hundreds of people looking for her, Jess,” I said, painfully aware of the ticking clock. “I will find her. But it’ll be faster if you tell me where she is. And we’re working against the clock.”

  She looked up and let out a loud sigh, nodding. “She’s at Frank’s sister in Ivanhoe.”

  “Texas?” Julij cut in pushing away from the doorframe, an injection of adrenaline jolting his body. His ears perked up, and he eyed Jess awaiting confirmation.

  “Yes. Amanda has a farm there. I’ll get you the address,” Jess said, then left the kitchen.

  For a moment I couldn’t believe it was really happening.

  If we were to obey the traffic regulations, we could get to Texas in fourteen hours, but since none of us cared about speeding tickets, the distance was doable in ten with a break for refueling and a coffee.

  I wondered if it’d be faster to fly, but a quick search online told me the earliest flight to Dallas wasn’t leaving until seven in the morning. Flying wasn’t an option. I glanced at the watch Layla gave me for Christmas. It was ten past eleven. In ten hours, I was to regain the meaning of my life.

  Jess returned to the room with a small notebook in her hand, and at the same time, Spades entered, with a look on his face that gave me the creeps. There was no mistaking the torment in his eyes; the expression reserved for relaying the worst news.

  He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead.

  “No,” I hissed. “Don’t you dare say it.”

  “It’s not that. She’s alive,” he assured, “but she’s at a hospital.”

  “What happened?” Julij interjected, his face twisting with worry.

  Spades ignored him, still staring at me as if preparing for an outburst. “Jackson accessed her records, but she’s only been admitted half an hour ago, so the information is sparse. Two major wounds to her shoulder and leg, a gunshot wound just below her collarbone, a mild concussion, and a multitude of cuts and bruises. She’s stable.”

  Relief came first. Then my stomach twisted in knots at the thought of Layla alone in a hospital bed, scared, defenseless, out in the open.

  My eyebrows furrowed. “Do we know what happened?”

  “It’s unclear. The police report states five people at the scene, one body. Supposedly a tire burst and the car went airborne. It rolled for thirty yards before it stopped. There’s no explanation for the gunshot wounds on Layla or the dead guy.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Ex-marines Archer Hayes. Someone blew his brains out. No witness statements yet so it’s hard to judge what really went on there.”

  Jess collapsed onto a chair. Her lips fell apart, but she failed to make a sound. She just gawked at me, scared, worried, pleading.

  “No one will touch her,” I said, and caught her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “No one will h
urt her, Jess. They’ll have to go through me first, and you know damn well that’s not happening.” I rose to my feet, shaking the weakness in my limbs. “I’ll have Layla back in Chicago in twenty-four hours.”

  Spades stepped from one foot to another. There was more he wanted to say, but he refrained from talking until we left Jess’s house.

  “She’s no longer invisible, Dante.” He lit up a cigarette while Julij paced on the gravel. “Hospital records aren’t protected well, anyone who’s keeping tabs will know where she is.”

  “It’s a ten-hour drive,” Julij added, stopping by me. “A lot can happen in ten hours. She needs protection.”

  I nodded a plan of action at the ready in my head.

  “Call everyone. I want to be on the road in fifteen minutes,” I told Spades and turned to look at Julij. “You’re not coming. You’re going to organize the security detail for when we get back.”

  EIGHT

  DANTE

  Blake Davis was one of the few people who remained loyal to Frankie. They were partners for years, and he stood by his side regardless of Frank’s sins. Along with Nikolaj, they were the Holy Trinity. Powerful affiliates at one point, good friends once Frankie’s obsession with me spiraled out of control.

  And now I needed his help.

  Blake was the biggest fish in Texas, the boss in Dallas, the old Mafioso who adhered to rules and frowned upon breaking them. Under different circumstances receiving his help would be impossible, but odds were in my favor.

  Blake was one of the old guys, one of those who lived through the eighties and nineties when La Cosa Nostra was sacred; when being a mafia man, being a made man was a way of life.

  They all had different values back then. They had values back then. And as a man who spent forty years in the mafia, Blake was honorable, respectful, family orientated.

  “Dante Carrow. You’re the last person I expected a call from,” he said, a note of curiosity in his voice. He spoke as if reciting an old poem. “I imagine this will be interesting. How can I assist the new kingpin of Chicago?”