Broken Rules: (Broken Duet #1)

“Explain why you left last night without a word and why you chose the last place you should find yourself in,” my father says the second I show my face downstairs in the morning.

No birthday wishes.

Not even hello.

He sits at the kitchen table in a three-piece gray suit, eyes narrowed, nostrils flared. Fetching a cup from the cupboard, I start the coffee maker choosing cappuccino on the touch screen. Ever since I was a child, a peculiar dread—an itching fear of sorts, has been my companion whenever I’m alone with Frank. He never physically hurt me, but his commanding personality hits the most vulnerable parts of me with a sniper’s precision.

When I was a little girl, he sent me to the naughty corner whenever I crossed him. The curt tone and disappointment gleaming in his eyes hurt more than a belt could. Now that he can turn my life into a living hell, I miss the naughty corner.

I glance over my shoulder at the open patio door, checking whether we’re alone or if I should watch every word coming out of my mouth.

October is almost over, no more than fifty-five degrees outside, yet my mother, Jessica, sunbathes outside, sprawled across the sun lounger by the pool, a vintage sun tan reflector in hand. Her ears perk up like those of a dog that heard another dog bark. Eavesdropping is her second favorite pastime. Doing nothing productive is number one.

“I had an awful evening. I wanted to clear my head,” I say with a theatrical sigh. “We both know I can’t do that with your pawns breathing down my neck.”

Frank peers at me from the morning paper. We have similar eye and hair colors, but I inherited my looks from my mother. People mistake us for sisters, and Jess never bothers to correct them. No wonder, she was two months shy of turning sixteen when I was born, so it’s not surprising that people don’t see me as her daughter. Especially that Jess looks twenty-eight tops, not her almost thirty-five.

“Then why did you make such a secret out of it?” Frank asks, sounding like a judge pounding a gavel.

“I didn’t. I told Adam where I was. I didn’t tell you where I was going because you wouldn’t let me leave.”

“Of course not!”

Of course not. That’s not how my father operates. He’s a control freak, and when I left home without asking for his opinion or permission, I took control out of his hands.

He throws the paper aside, stroking his goatee. “However, you could’ve taken Adam, Allie, and whomever else to any other club in Chicago. I wouldn’t oppose.”

“Adam bows low enough to kiss your shoes, and Allie would’ve invited me out with her plastic-fantastic friends. I wanted to be alone. Chase dumped me.”

As you already know, Dad.

Frank regards Allie, Adam’s girlfriend, as my best friend because he introduced us two years ago. We get along well, I guess, but I wouldn’t call it friendship. She’s the embodiment of a mafia woman. Always immaculate, always smiling, always lacking twenty IQ points. She overuses like, and oh my God to the point it drives me crazy.

“Why?”

“He’s gay.”

That’s not news to him, but I play along, aware of the eavesdropper drinking in our every word. There’s a reason why Frank controls my life; why he chooses who I date, who I’m friends with, and what I look like.

“Another one?” He chuckles, playing his part too. “You only need a transvestite then you’ll have them all.”

What the hell are they? Pokémon?

“You should’ve thought twice before choosing Delta last night,” he snaps, morphing back into a heartless bastard. “From now on, you’ll have a full-time bodyguard.”

“Frank!” Jess opposes from the garden, her high-pitched shrill like needles prickling my eardrums. “You’re overreacting. Layla’s an adult. You can’t watch over her like she’s still your sweet little girl.”

Sweet little girl? Try nuisance, Mom.

Frank raises his hand, breathing the air through his nose like an enraged bull ready to charge. “Dante’s not stupid, Layla. I’m sure by now, he knows you were there. I won’t risk that he’ll use you against me.”

I could try until I’d turn blue, but I know there’s no changing Frank’s mind about the bodyguard idea. He doesn’t do negotiations. If he says the sky is pink, then the sky is pink, end of story. He’s spiteful, stubborn, irrational… like father, like daughter.

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t know I was there,” I say, ready to make him bleed. Metaphorically, but still. He deserves a bit of pain after all the shit he put me through and still puts me through. I want him wounded. I want chaos in his head. His own blood, his only daughter, fraternizing with the enemy. “He joined me for a drink. We talked all night. As you can see, he didn’t torture me. He’s quite nice.”

His lips form a thin line. He grips his cup tighter, turning red in the face, then snatches his phone off the table, probably to call Adam or some other goon to babysit me. I don’t need to hear it. I take my coffee, joining my mother in the garden. The chilly fall wind whips at my clothes, swatting my hair as it forms tiny waves on the pool’s surface.

So not the weather for sunbathing.

“Don’t worry.” Jess peers at me from above her designer shades. “He’ll get over it. Oh, I almost forgot. Happy Birthday.”

That’s my mom and her motherly affection at its highest point. I cringe, unsure whether the lump lodged in my throat is the start of bubbling laughter or a sob.

“Thanks, Jess. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“You were awfully bitchy last year when I forgot, so I set a reminder on my phone.” She beams, pleased with her doubtful cleverness.

My parents have treated me with reserve my whole life, but there’s no denying their indifference hurts. I can only dream about a hug, even if it is my birthday. They were never loving or caring… never proud of me. I can count how often I heard them say, “I love you.” It made me self-sufficient. I don’t need them or anyone else. I’m resilient and deal with problems on my own, but I’m not made of stone.

I crave their closeness. I wish they’d take care of me at least a little bit. I wish they’d worry about my safety, not how much trouble I can bring upon my father or how my actions can threaten his business.

I sit on an oversized daybed under a natural canopy of grapevines. They’re dry now, leaves falling to the ground, but this place looks like a postcard from an exotic location during summer. Too bad grapes attract colonies of wasps.

“What do you want for your birthday?” Jess sets the sun reflector aside. Short, blonde hair frames her petite face, the disproportionately large eyes surrounded by too much eyeliner. “A shopping trip? A week in Bali? Spa weekend?”

Frank joins us, dropping a car key with a pink ribbon attached to the loop on the table. “Happy Birthday. You’ll find your gift parked outside.”

“You  bought me a car?”

“If I knew what you  planned on doing last night, I would’ve thought twice about it.”

He’d fall ill if he’d just answer with a yes.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t get too excited.” He checks the time on his watch. “Burly will be here in ten minutes. He’ll be your shadow which means he’ll be driving you around everywhere.”

“Burly?” He’s probably thinner than a rake. Most of Frank’s men have unfitting nicknames like in the movies where Shaggy is bald and Speedy is slow. “Is he new?”

“Yes, he’s Adam’s cousin.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” I hiss, pinning him down with a pointed stare that he hopefully understands because I can’t speak my mind when Jess is around. “If Dante wanted to use me, he wouldn’t have let me go home last night, don’t you think?”

Frank ignores my words in his usual style, heading inside, and slides the patio door shut behind him. Blood boils in my veins whenever he dismisses me, but I learned that arguing is pointless. Besides, I understand his reasoning. I should act according to his instructions…

A babysitter isn’t necessary, though.

At nine o’clock sharp, I enter a small restaurant in the city center. Allie gave me the silent treatment all day, busy hating my guts for keeping Adam outside Delta until dawn. She surrendered before seven p.m. and invited me out for a birthday drink. Burly follows me inside like a thin, starved shadow. The moment he started the job as my nanny, he made it a point to fulfill my father’s orders in great detail. He even followed me to the restroom and waited outside the door.

“So… I heard you spent last night with Dante Carrow,” Allie says, toying with a strand of platinum-blonde hair. She’s naturally a redhead but claims it doesn’t suit her. She bleaches the beautiful auburn locks every couple of weeks, so it’s a miracle she still has hair.

“Did your small birdy tell you all about it?” I emphasize small, glancing at Adam. Burly almost chokes on his soda, swallowing his laughter. “He joined me at the bar, but I’m still alive.”

“Layla, do you know why Dante and Frank hate each other?” Adam ignores my remark, running his hand through his short, dark hair.

He’s used to me by now and deals with my snappishness by meticulously ignoring it. He crosses his arms, ready to deliver another lecture. It’s our ritual. I annoy him, and he gives me vital life lessons. Not that he can teach me much, being four years older, but it doesn’t stop him from trying.

I never gave much thought to Frank’s and Dante’s hatred. They fight over territory. That much is obvious. I’m as interested in Frankie’s business activities as I am in a leech’s respiratory system. I grew up among criminals. Frank’s occupation isn’t odd. Quite the opposite. Being a mafia boss’s daughter is probably as natural to me as being a lawyer’s daughter is to Allie.

A few years back, in a spur of hormonal rebellion, I tried to draw a line between my parents and myself. I was ready to run, but the idea lost its appeal quickly. I doubt there’s a place in America I could hide from my father. Besides, deep down, I don’t mind Frank earning his money the way he does. I only hate when people stare or stop their conversations mid-sentence when I enter the corner shop.

Frank’s skating on thin ice. He could get busted any day, but nothing comes out of the many accusations despite having FBI, CIA, DEA, and a few other abbreviations hot on his tail.

“Six years ago, your father became the boss.” Adam starts in a news presenter’s voice.

“Call a spade a spade,” I snap. “Six years ago, Frank drowned Dino in Lake Michigan.”

Everyone knows the story. The whole city… God, the entire state was buzzing when the police fished out Dino. He was the boss before Frank took over. Italians ruled Chicago back then, and everyone, be it a lawyer, a cop, or a criminal, worked with them. After Dino’s death, Frank’s pawns guarded our house for months. My mother and I became prisoners because Frank was sure the Italians would retaliate.

It never happened.

“Dante was your father’s right-hand man,” Adam clips, glaring at me. “Frankie introduced him to our way of life twelve years ago. He taught him the craft. When Dino died, Frank and Carrow took over together.”

“Wait a minute, how come Dante never showed up at our house all these years?”

Adam scoffs, narrowing his baby-blue eyes. “He did. You just don’t remember. Frank barricaded himself away until the Dino backlash stopped being a problem, waiting for the Italians to take revenge. I’m sure you remember that.” He takes a swig of his drink, tapping his signet ring on the glass. “Dante stayed put too. When everyone forgot about Dino, he recruited his own people.”

I’m not the only one drinking Adam’s words as if he’s unraveling ancient secrets. Burly listens with flushed cheeks, mouth hanging open. I usually let Adam’s lectures in one ear and out the other, but this is different.

This is interesting.

“If it was Dante who left Frank, why do you all think he wants to take Frank’s place?”

“They both want to see each other dead.” Allie clicks her tongue while rolling her eyes, the same baby-blue color as Adam’s. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they are related. “Can we like change the subject? Why do you even care? You always avoid  Frank’s  business like the plague!”

Good question. I’m not sure why. Maybe because Dante doesn’t fit Frank’s description.

“Can you get us more drinks, babes?” Allie asks Adam, resting her hands on the table once he’s out of earshot. “Better tell me why Chase dumped you!”

“He’s gay.”

“Oh my God! Another one? What’s wrong with you?! Did your gay radar not develop in the womb?”

“Does your radar work?”

“Well, yeah… of course, it does!”

“Then a heads-up would’ve been nice.”

She giggles, accepting a colorful drink from Adam. “Did you hear that, sweetie? Chase is gay.”

“I know.” Adam’s eyes widen as if he slipped up. That’s new. I didn’t realize Frankie trusted him this much. “I mean, I heard.”

My phone informs me of a new text message, interrupting our gravely exciting conversation.

Thank God for small favors.

Unknown number: Have you told Daddy who you spent the night with, Star?

Aware of everyone’s eyes on me, I smile.

Me: Of course. I got a car for being such a good girl. Who gave you my number?

Dante: You are a good girl. A good girl that’ll join me for a drink.

A certain zestful excitement grows swiftly in my stomach at the thought of seeing him.

Me: Orders might work on your men but not on me. Say please.

Dante: You’re asking for trouble.

Dante: Please.

Me: Tempting, but I’m celebrating with a friend. With the car came a 24/7 nanny.

I stare at the screen, waiting for the three dots to start dancing, but after a few seconds, I tuck the phone back into my bag. Adam watches me for a while longer with creases marking his forehead. I’m sure he’s curious who texted me since everyone who usually does is here. He chooses not to ask, though. Good, I wouldn’t tell him anyhow.

It’s half-past eleven when Allie decides to hit the club. Her friends will probably join us there, and I’m not in the mood to refrain from saying something their tiny brains wouldn’t grasp. They’re living proof that evolution can go backward.

“I’ll get going,” I say, flinging my bag over my head.

Adam looks past me toward the entrance, his face twisted into an ominous scowl. Muscles in his jaw tense and a vein on his neck starts pulsing when he shoves his right hand under the suit jacket, reaching for a gun. “Get Layla out of here.” He pins Burly with a pointed stare.

Burly glances over his shoulder, then leaps to his feet as if his butt caught fire. He grips my arm, tearing me out of the chair, delicate and careful as a brute. I glance behind me, catching a glimpse of two men entering the restaurant. I don’t recognize either, and within three seconds, I no longer see them when Burly drags me down a “Personnel Only” corridor, aiming for the emergency exit.

He shoves the metal door open, pulling me behind him like a dog on a leash. He stops abruptly three steps outside. I slam into his bony back, mentally tearing Frank’s head off. Couldn’t he hire Skinny to babysit me?

As he shoves me back against the wall, he draws his gun, his stance wide. My head bounces off the stonework with such force my vision blurs for a few seconds before I can refocus on the unfolding scene.

Burly shields me with his frail frame, aiming his gun at the man resting against a black Dodge Charger.

My stomach somersaults back, the sensation intense enough to balance between pleasure and pain when my eyes lock with Dante’s. His jaw works in tight, furious circles as he looks me over before taking a moment to acknowledge my bodyguard.

He pushes away from the car, closing the distance between him and the gun, each step measured. He knocks the pistol out of Burly’s weak grasp, aiming it at his head.

“Next time, don’t hesitate. Now, turn around,” he says, his tone controlled but dripping with malice. His eyes hint at none of that as they shift to me briefly while Burly spins on his elegant shoes. “It says handle with care all over her. Apologize.”

The emergency exit door flies open again, hitting the concrete wall and missing me by an inch.

Adam bursts outside with Allie close behind him. The sound of the safety being flipped on a gun clicks in the silent night. “Don’t fucking move, Carrow.”

Dante smirks, ignoring Adam when he nudges the back of Burly’s skull with the gun. “Apologize.”

Shame washes over Burly’s cheeks, painting his skin red, but he doesn’t dare act tough while a single twitch of Dante’s finger could end his life. “I’m sorry, Layla.”

Dante leans closer. “Touch her again, and I won’t be so fucking altruistic.” He takes the clip out before handing the gun back. His features soften when he looks at me. “Ready, Star?”

I push away from the wall, ignoring Allie’s quiet whimper when Adam lowers his gun the second I walk into his line of fire. I kiss Dante’s cheek, holding my lips there longer than a simple greeting requires.

It isn’t a simple greeting.

Nothing about us is simple.

“What took you so long?” The fear his presence evoked last night is absent tonight. I’m at ease. It didn’t cross my mind he’d look for me; that he’d find me but teasing him might be my new favorite game.

He drapes one arm over my shoulders, pulling me to his side, and his lips brush against my ear. “Stop sassing, or I’ll gag you,” he whispers, then looks over his shoulder. “Relax, Adam. She’s in good hands.”

He opens the passenger’s side door, letting me in his car. I get comfortable while Adam steps from one foot to the other, eyes jumping between Dante and me.

“You know I can’t let you take her, Carrow. Frank will lose his shit when he finds out. Layla, get back here.”

“She wants to come, so she’s coming. You can try to force her out of the car if you’re ready to bleed.”

Adam takes a few steps forward, and Allie’s hands fly to her mouth, fear etched in her eyes.

“You’re stalling,” I say, summoning Dante’s attention. “It’s my birthday. I expect a drink before the day ends.”

He checks the time on his wristwatch, and thirty seconds later, Adam’s only visible in the rear-view mirror.