Page 43 of Broken Promises
He glares at me from the casual lean against the hood of his car, hands in pockets, two vertical wrinkles in the middle of his forehead. “I’m not a babysitter, Dante.” Annoyance shudders his stance. “I’m supposed to keep Layla safe, but I sure as fuck won’t do it against her will. Do you want someone to blame? Blame him.” he motions behind me at Julij. “How would you have me stop them? Shoot?”
Jackson scratches his head, pulling a sour face as he pushes away from the car to stand beside Spades. “Should I point out I tried to shoot the tires, but you didn’t let me?”
“Youwhat?” A vein pulses on my neck. “You aimed a fuckinggunat the car she was in? What if you’d hit the tank?”
“Or Layla’s head,” Julij mumbles, kicking the gravel.
“You better shut the fuck up, and you,” I point at Spades, “Go back to my house. Get your shit together. Geteveryone’sshit together. No one has access to the house except security, Layla, and me. Is that fucking clear?”
The mild reprimand pisses him off, but he’s not prone to holding a grudge. He should be happy I’m holding onto my self-control. Barely, but points for trying.
He jumps behind the wheel with a tight nod, prompting Jackson to follow suit. Fifteen seconds and I’m alone with Julij. He shuffles his feet, spinning the keys around his finger to the car he stole from my garage, an artificial mask of poise in place. The aura of pomposity, a defense mechanism of some sort, returns, pissing me off big-time. Instead of admitting his mistake and owning up to the fact that he fucked up, he pretends not to give a shit about what I think.
“It was your idea, Julij. It was your fucking idea to meet at the club so we can get a plan of action together. And what did you do instead of heading there? You drove to my house and tookmygirl from the only safe place in this country.”
“Safe?” he scoffs, arms crossed, eyes on me now. I’m having a déjà vu moment. Julij from six months ago appears with a zero-fucks-given attitude. “Twenty-six bodies in five days. Two of your men are dead. Three more guys Carlton barely managed to keep alive. That’ssafe? Don’t be absurd. Quit being stubborn, Dante. Send Layla to Moscow. Stop fooling yourself. I know you want her close, but don’t tell me she’s safe here.”
“She’s safe. No one got anywhere near the house. Security’s good.” At least at keeping people out. Not so good at keeping them in. “Once Morte dies, the bounty will become insolvent, thus closed.” I shove my hand in the pocket to retrieve a pack of smokes and pinch a Marlboro between my teeth.
When I brought Layla back home, both Julij and Anatolij were adamant that she shouldn’t stay, that she’d be better off hidden off the grid, somewhere foreign. Somewhere out of reach. Anatolij offered his house, or rather acastle,in Moscow as the destination. Nobody would dream of making a move in Russia without his consent. The country is enormous, but all mafia bosses report back to Anatolij. They need his approval for business deals, new ventures, allies... the lot. He’s a God over there. Which makes his offer to protect and hide Layla rather suspicious.
Julij keeps quiet, aware I’m not done talking. He waits until I organize the mess of my thoughts and get a hold of myself. However difficult that may be without Layla by my side. A few punches to Julij’s nose wouldn’t calm me as fast as her touch.
“I tolerate it that you love her, Julij.”
He stands taller to showcase his confidence and uphold the Don Corleone persona he has going on. “I don’t love her.”
I inhale the smoke, resisting the urge to all-out laugh in his face. “Who the fuck are you trying to fool? I don’t like that you do, but I can’t do much about it short of killing you.” I’m still contemplating that option. “Keep your feelings in check, and we’ll be good. I trust you.”
As fucked up as the logic might seem, because of his feelings, I trust him where Layla’s safety is concerned. He doesn’t love her as I do; no one can, but his feelings run deep. Deep enough that he’ll go to extreme lengths to protect her.
“She asked me to come.” He stares at his brown leather shoes, a cigarette in hand, searching the jacket pocket for a lighter. “She sounded upset. I didn’t think the crown would slip off your head if I made you wait a bit.”
I scoff, hurling my Zippo at him. Between us, Julij’s the one with an imaginary crown on his Russian, aristocratic, big head. “You should’ve said no.”
A sad smile curls his lips. “I can’t.”
He stares me dead in the eye, non-verbally admitting his feelings. No need for admission. Verbal or not. His feelings are as obvious as a day in the sun. His shitty attitude disappears faster than it appeared, and the Julij I respect resurfaces. We both know his interest in Layla is undesirable, but we also know not much can be done to change the way he feels.
“I wouldn’t let a hair fall off her head, and you know it.”
That’s the problem. I do fucking know it.
A black Mercedes with tinted windows lazily enters the driveway. My gun is out of the holster and raised before the wheels come to a full stop beside my Charger.
“Relax.” Julij taps my shoulder, urging me to lower the gun. “It’s just Anatolij.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Good question.”
The chauffer rounds the car to open the back door. Anatolij steps out onto the gravel, maintaining an exterior of practiced indifference. He zeroes in on me and lifts his chin in greeting, blatantly disregarding the gun aimed at his head. I tuck the Beretta away when he gets closer.
“Given the circumstances, I’m pleased you don’t take any chances. I’d consider you wiser if you’d admit that and allow Layla to go to Moscow for the time being, where she’s safer.”
“What are you doing here?” I change the subject, refusing to get drawn into the same discussion again.
They both have a point. I’m playing with fire, keeping Layla in Chicago; amid the new war. Moving her off the grid could, in theory, reduce the risk, but it’d also induce my paranoia. She should be here where I can check in on her whenever I want, where I can personally protect her and see with my own eyes how she’s doing.
