Broken Promises: (Broken Duet #2)

Twenty-eight years of searching. Learning. Finding out who I am, eliminating flaws, and perfecting my character. It didn’t come easy. Change never comes easy. A few months ago, I was confident that my priorities were in order and my life was on the right trajectory. And then Layla arrived, introducing a new era of significant changes.

Six months ago, nothing mattered more than power. Respect and money took the rest of the podium.

Now, neither make up the top five.

Layla is it.

Nothing matters more. First, her safety, then health, happiness, love, and trust. She brought a different side of my character to life; she peeled my layers to uncover a man capable of feeling more than synonyms of angry or powerful. She changed the way I see and treat women. There’s no taking my star for granted, no bossing her around. Words like please and sorry were long extinct in my vocabulary until she came along.

Consciously, I accepted the changes as they came. I volunteered to grow as a man for her. She hadn’t asked me to change, but I’m consumed by a gnawing desire to better myself, grow as a human being, and make her proud.

Among the multitude of positive, intentional changes, there are also those that happened without my knowledge. Changes I wasn’t aware of until the situation betrayed me, that my brain no longer occupies the throne. The fucking muscle in my chest seized control.

I understand why my world has been reappraised. I can rationally explain why I feel or act the way I do. Nothing surprised me much. Not the newly acquired reflex of reaching for a gun whenever Layla’s in the slightest danger. Not the desire to protect her regardless of the consequences. Not even that I hold her on a pedestal, superior to every other aspect of my life.

I thought nothing could ever blindside me, but I proved myself wrong. My rational thinking was defeated by emotions for years. I’m not a man who calmly assesses a problem. I act first and think later, too late for a change of heart. A turmoil of feelings buzzing in my system thanks to Layla’s escape pushed me to make Julij bleed, just as it would in pre-Layla, but today I took a moment to think.

Not only does Julij deserve a few punches. So do Spades, Jackson, and Cai. Layla’s desertion would come back to bite them all if not for one small detail—she would be the only one affected by my outbursts. My people would brush off the punches. They’d forget my temper a few days down the line.

Not Layla. She’d torture herself if anyone suffered because of her stunt. And since her happiness is one of my top priorities, I couldn’t nail Julij. Well, at least I tried very fucking hard. If he hadn’t told her about the bodies piling up since the moment we arrived back in Chicago, I would’ve succeeded.

“I left her under your protection, Spades.” I aim my finger at him while we stand outside Jess’s house, giving Layla a few minutes alone with her mother. “You were supposed to watch her. How the fuck did she get by security?!”

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?”

“You what?” A vein pulses on my neck. “You aimed a fucking gun at 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. Get everyone’s shit 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 took my girl 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’s safe? 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 a castle, 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.

Anatolij glances at the house, his expression unreadable. “I’m visiting an old friend.”

“Nikolaj never mentioned that you know Jess.” Julij descends the concrete steps to shake his uncle’s hand.

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Julij.”

A train of thoughts pulls away from the station inside my head. I don’t have much information, but Anatolij paying Jess a visit leaves me all kinds of wary.

“Jess and I met when she worked as a waitress at Nikolaj’s restaurant,” he supplies, his pointed stare probably designed to speak volumes. Too bad I don’t know him enough to decipher the hidden meaning.

Questions multiply as abstract answers swirl in the depths of my mind, begging me to connect the dots. I’ve had a bad feeling about this guy from the start… looks like my suspicions were correct. His words don’t strike a chord, but I finally put my finger on where the strange, unwarranted familiarity has its roots—his eyes.

Anatolij offers a tight-lipped smile, reading me like an open book. “I think we should talk.”

“What’s going on?” Julij glances between us, clearly unappeased not to be included in this weird non-verbal conversation we’re somehow sharing.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Anatolij clips, his steel, almost silver gaze trained on me. “Come see me at the hotel at eight.”

***

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” I ask Layla once we’re on our way back home.

Anatolij’s cryptic, between-the-lines, half-assed fucking message and all the newly discovered yet unconfirmed information has me poised on edge. Possible explanations play in my head on repeat, summoning crazier scripts that were undoubtedly written by a drunk. What I’m making of this doesn’t make much sense…

The animalistic roar of the V8 floods the streets every time I accelerate, eager to get home fast. The clock is ticking. Layla’s desertion threw me back almost two hours—time I don’t have tonight.

“You like that about me,” she says, faking a cheeky smile.

She can’t fool me with that. Something bothers her, but I really don’t have the time to inquire.

“I do, but I like knowing you’re safe even more. Considering the situation, I also like to know where you are. And above all, I like when my people don’t call to tell me you ran.”

Jackson was the one tasked with relaying the news. I’m sure he pulled the short straw. He had to repeat one sentence three times before I caught the words among a litany of fucks, assholes, and a whole lot more stuttering.

“So that’s the problem,” Layla huffs a forced laugh. “Were you worried that your future bride ran away? No need. You can’t get rid of me.”

“If we’re mixing feelings into this, then all I worried about was whether Julij confessed that he’s in love with you and decided that kidnapping you is a good idea.”

“In love? That’s silly. We’re friends.”

If I hadn’t already parked and turned toward her, I would’ve missed how she’s nervously tugging on the hem of her sweater.

How the hell did she lead me on while under Frank’s orders? She can’t lie. Even now, she can’t hide her emotions. She knows about Julij’s feelings. One question remains: did he tell her or show her?

Neither is acceptable, but the latter earns him a one-on-one with me, then with Jackson,  and then an abrupt end of our business partnership. I may tolerate—barely— that he loves her, but if he tries to adore her, he’ll end up preparing Happy Meals for the rest of his fucking life. My jealousy is in no way linked to trust. If there’s one thing, I trust Layla one hundred percent with, her feelings for me are it. This is about rules. You don’t touch a man’s girl. Ever. Look all you want, but don’t fucking touch. Lack of respect for the rules is the worst flaw of a good accomplice.

“What did he do?”

“Hmm?” She turns to me. “Oh, um, nothing. He said and did nothing. He didn’t have to.”

She steps out of the car, signaling the end of the conversation. Maybe she needs time to process her newfound admirer, or maybe she knew all along but didn’t realize that so did I.

The passenger side window slides down before she takes three steps. “Can you please stay home now? Spades will be here with Nate, Cai, and five others until I get back. I’ll be late, so don’t wait up. You’ll be safe if you stay at home.”

She spins around, throwing me off my game with a pointed stare of those big, steel-gray eyes of hers, lips in a defiant pout. “How late is late?”

“Don’t expect me before eleven, but—”

“I know, I know. The gun is in the nightstand, the walk-in wardrobe is a bunker, and all the windows are bulletproof.”

She wasn’t pleased when I told her about the new security feature added to the house: armored doors Julij kindly installed in the walk-in wardrobe while we were in Texas.

“Just in case she needs to hide,” he said.

And I approved.

Layla rounds the car, climbs onto my lap, and clasps her fingers on the nape of my neck. She leans in to steal an innocent peck, grazing her nose over mine with an ever-so-soft sigh. Cheeky little bug. She knows damn well how hard those needy whimpers make me. I can’t get enough of her body now that she’s back and mine again.

My head hits the headrest. A low, strained growl rumbles at the base of my throat as my fingers climb under the hem of her skirt to graze the soft skin of her thighs. “Go, Star. I have a lot to do, and it’s getting late.”

She sighs again, moving her small hands to cup my face as she leans in for another kiss. Deeper this time. The rhythm of her lips is slow and gentle, but her breathing turns shallow. “I’m sorry I left. I had to see Jess.”

“I know, baby.” I pat her hip. “Get going.”

Hot, plump lips draw a line across my jaw to stop at my ear. I dig my fingers into her hips as a rush of desire floods my system when she nips at my earlobe. “Don’t keep me waiting too long. I’m so, so wet…” With one last soft sigh, she steps out of the car to climb the stairs.

Now she’s fucking done it. I’m sporting a bad case of wood, aching to find release in her wet pussy. I rake my hand through my hair, mesmerized by the seductive sway of her hips. She stops at the top step, looks over her shoulder, and winks with a cute smile. God, she’s fucking perfect.

With an exasperated huff, I exit the car. This evening is far from over, but I know I’ll be distracted for the rest of the night if I don’t get my fill of her now. Layla’s in the living room, kicking her shoes off when I catch up with her.

“I thought you needed to leave.” She bites her lip when I grip her by her waist and sit her on the bar. “Don’t you have so many things to do tonight?”

“Yeah. One of them is you.” I take her sweater off and fling it over my shoulder, only now spotting Grace on all fours, polishing the skirting boards. “You better leave.”

She scrambles to her feet, red in the face as she whirls out of the room into the kitchen. Not the best choice. The only way out of there is through the living room, but I honestly couldn’t care less now that my fingers are under Layla’s skirt, touching the wet fabric of her panties. I rip them off, destroying the tenth pair since she came back to Chicago.

I yank her closer to the edge of the counter, ready for a feast. “Legs on my shoulders.” I bunch her skirt around her waist. “Knees apart. Show me how wet you are.” I dip my head, high on her smell, the silky-smooth texture of her skin, and the perfect pink paleness of her pussy. I lick her bottom to top, groaning in pure delight. “So sweet.”

A soft moan slips out of her mouth. She inhales, her ribs showing, and when she exhales, I push two fingers inside her, earning a strained gasp. No way I’ll ever get enough of hearing and seeing her come. We had sex this morning, but I’m starved for her already.

“That’s it,” she breathes, grasping my hair when I curl my fingers to stroke her G spot. “Don’t stop, please, I…”

Words fail her—the most arousing thing of all when she can’t articulate her thoughts. I work faster the more her legs shake on my shoulders, and she grinds her hips over my face searching for her high.

“Not so fast.” I stop when she’s close and rob her of my fingers and lips, taking her by her arm. “On your toes, baby, legs apart, hands and cheek on the wall.” She’s such a good girl when she obeys without hesitation. “You think you’ll get rewarded for leaving the house without permission?” I slide my zipper, free my cock, and yank Layla’s skirt up again. “Naughty girls don’t get rewarded. They get punished.”

“This is supposed to be punishment?” she half says, half moans when I drive into her, burying myself as deep as I can in one smooth thrust. “Feels like a reward.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

I clasp my hand around her throat, forcing the back of her head to rest on my shoulder. She’s on her tippy-toes, spine arched to expose the brain-melting curve of her hip. I thrust harder, making her more audible each time I hit a sensitive spot. I know she loves it when I fuck her against the wall, and I sure love the easy access to her clit this position offers. She’s soaking wet. The slickness coats my cock; her erotic gasps and moans spur me on, filling the house and my head. I’m pretty sure the whole fucking neighborhood can hear her right now. She’s not one to keep quiet.

“Oh God!” she cries out when I circle the swollen bud with two fingers. Ten seconds and I stop when she’s right there, on edge. “No… don’t, please, I—”

“I told you this is not a reward. You want to come, baby?” I graze my fingers down her thighs.

“Yes! Yes, please.” She wriggles her sweet butt, pressing herself to me as she tries to cheat the system, looking for a bit of friction that’ll set her off.

I grip her hips, holding her still. “Promise to behave.”

“What?!” Her knees buckle when I circle her clit again just a few times, enough to drive her mad, enough to tear another loaded moan out of her lips.

“Promise not to be so fucking reckless, Layla. Promise to do as I say until the hit is closed.” I tease her again. She’s always sensitive, but right now, she’s a few shallow thrusts away from coming undone in my arms.

“I promise!” she cries when I stop again. “Don’t stop. I promise I’ll behave.”

I pull back to drive into her again, resuming the hastened pace. “I’ll fucking die if anything happens to you.” I close my teeth on her shoulder, pumping harder when her walls tighten around my cock. Five thrusts, and she’s coming. My name on her lips among a melody of erotic moans. Snaking my arm around her middle to keep her upright while her legs shake, I hold her flush to me as her body vibrates. “That’s it. That’s my good girl. I love seeing you like this.” I follow her into the pleasant, inviting abyss, holding my petite star in my arms for dear life until the blurriness clears from my eyes.

She pants, whimpering when I slide out of her wet warmth, readjusting her skirt in the process. “I should get on your nerves more often if this is how you want to punish me.” She spins around, resting her back on the wall, eyes glossy, cheeks flushed.

Maybe she should. Make-up sex, even though we didn’t fight, is something else. Then again… “You get on my nerves enough as it is.” I clasp my hand on her throat, closing her lips with mine. “Go and take a long bath. Read a book or watch a movie. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be good.”

“That’d be a first.”

She chuckles, whacking me over the head playfully. “Go, you’re late.” She grabs her good-for-nothing panties off the floor, stuffing the lacy, ripped scrap in the back pocket of my trousers. “Something to remind you of what’s waiting for you, right here.”

With a peck on my cheek and a wink, she walks away. Once she disappears upstairs, I enter the kitchen where Grace sits at the breakfast bar, cheeks scarlet, eyes wide.

“Next time I tell you to leave, you leave. Understood?”

She bobs her head vigorously. “I’m sorry, I-I… it’s just that I didn’t think you’d—”

“That I’ll have sex with my fiancée while you’re in the next room? Lesson learned; I trust. Next time, don’t assume. This is my house. If I want her, I’ll have her wherever I feel like it.”

“Yes, lesson learned. I’m sorry.”