Broken Rules: (Broken Duet #1)

Layla wakes me up, jumping on the bed. I can’t complain, she wears my shirt and white panties.

Her messy hair fans her too-breezy-for-seven-thirty-in-the-morning face. Her hands, in which she must hold a gift, are tucked behind her back as she rocks from left to right.

“Merry Christmas!” She gives me enough time to rub the sleep away from my eyes before she shoves a small box into my hand. “Open it!”

“Good morning to you too.” I go about untying the white bow while her face fills with frustration. She lasts ten seconds, then tears the paper, tossing it on the floor. “Why did you bother wrapping it?” I open the lid on a brown leather box to find a watch inside.

The same one I wanted to buy but had no time for shopping. The Christmas schedule is filled to the brim. Demand is through the roof. Lonely people search for a brief high to forget about reality, regular customers stock up to save themselves supply trips while the streets fill with joy and clubs order double the usual amounts expecting higher traffic.

Three trucks a week are now six. Drugs are being delivered hidden everywhere, even in the fuel tanks. The more courageous drivers stuff their mattresses to earn extra cash. As fate would have it, the last two deliveries came hidden in tires. Twelve of my men emptied the trailers for eight hours straight while I checked that the quantities delivered matched what the V brothers sent. I haven’t had much time for Layla, let alone shopping.

Good thing I had her gift ready last month.

“Thank you.” I clasp the watch on my wrist and lean over the bed to open the drawer. Layla eyes the small, red box with a faint blush on her cheeks. “It’s not what you think,” I say, amused by the mortified look on her pretty face. “Well, yes, it’s a ring, but not an engagement ring.” I pull her into my arms, her back to my chest. “Remember what you told me the first night in Delta when I asked what you dreamed of?”

“A little shooting star.” She imitates the mocking tone she used then.

My chin rests on her shoulder as I open the box.

“A little shooting star?” she asks quietly.

I put the ring on her finger, pleased that it fits perfectly. “This,” I point to the star made out of platinum, “is the little star, and this,” I touch the black stone in the middle, “is a real star.”

“I don’t understand.” She moves to the side to look at me. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a shooting star, baby.”

“Are you saying this is a meteorite? Where did you get it?”

“They’re not that rare. There’s a lot of jewelry with meteorites, but this was made to order. It took the jeweler a while to locate the right stone.”

Layla pushes me flat on my back and straddles me, leaning over to kiss my lips. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“And what do you dream of now?”

“I dream things won’t change and that you’ll always be mine. I want you to remember that I love you so much that it hurts. It’s not possible to love more.”

I think the same, but my mind and heart prove me wrong each day. “Consider me yours as long as you want me.”

She arches back, resting on the pillows with a content smile. “Stop the time.”

“I got you a shooting star, but this… you’ll need to ask Santa.”

“Okay, fine. I want a cat. A ginger one with a flat nose.”

I catch her legs, slide her closer and throw her over my shoulder. “You’re not getting a cat. Now, show me what you bought yesterday.”

I arrived home late last night, too exhausted to check the state of the house. It probably resembles Santa’s Grotto. Layla asked if she could buy a Christmas tree and some decorations, so I sent her shopping with my black Amex card, Luca, and two other guys to keep her safe.

Julij rang on Monday to say that Nikolaj was rushed to the hospital in critical condition. There’s nothing left for the doctors to try. They stopped the chemo and put Nikolaj on morphine to alleviate the pain.

He had a few months to live not long ago. Now, he has days left. Every time my phone rings, I’m sure it’s Julij calling to say his father has passed away, but Nikolaj’s hanging in there so far. My protectiveness has kicked into overdrive, and I tripled Layla’s security.

I enter the living room, setting Layla down on her feet, soaking up the view. A ten-foot-tall tree stands by the glass wall overlooking Lake Michigan. Tinsel is wrapped around the bar, and the stair rail and a large glass vase filled with gold baubles of different sizes stand on the coffee table.

“Is this it?” I ask.

“Is this it? Is it not enough? You don’t like it?”

“I do, but I thought you’d buy more. I told you to reach the daily card limit. I doubt this cost twenty grand.”

She drags me toward the door, yanks her warm boots on, and runs outside, not waiting for me. “Tah-dah!” She stops in the middle of the front garden wearing just my shirt.

I drape a coat over her shoulders, looking at the house. A giant sleigh with six reindeer is parked by the garage while Santa climbs the gutter on his way to the roof. Hundreds of colorful lights hang around the windows, doors, and under the eave. They must’ve been switched off last night because there’s no way anyone could miss them.

“Please tell me you made Luca run up and down the ladder like the good boy he is to hang it all.”

“I tried, but he’s not that stupid. He hired a team. The house was decorated within three hours.”

We retreat to the kitchen for our morning caffeine fix. The maid busies herself preparing Christmas dinner for us. Over the past week, Isla rang every day to invite us to spend Christmas in New York, but due to Nikolaj’s worsening state, I can’t leave Chicago. Instead of flying over here, she decided that we’d face time at dinner and spend Christmas together that way. Watching my mother and her friends smiling from the screen of my laptop doesn’t sit high on my list, but Layla and I both need a breather. A moment to forget about the approaching finale.

Isla helps a lot with her babbling.

We spend two hours at the table. During that time, I joined the conversation no more than four times because my mother and her friends preferred to talk to Layla about her dissertation. We say goodbye at seven o’clock, and Layla hauls herself onto the table.

“You need to change,” I say, standing between her leg, my lips on her neck.

In the fitted evening dress with a slit that reaches all the way to her hip, she looks sexy, but without that dress, she looks even better. I slide it off her shoulders. It takes thirty seconds before she sits before me in nothing but black lingerie. Her hot body reacts to every touch of my lips.

I switch off when she’s close. Money, problems, the end of the war… all cease to exist. She’s the center of my world. My focus point. “What have you done to me?” I lift her into my arms. “All I see is you, baby.”

She runs her fingers through my hair, kissing my neck while I carry her upstairs. I lay her on the bed, unclasp her bra, and lean over her, pushing her legs apart with my knee. Goosebumps appear everywhere I touch while she battles with the tiny buttons on my shirt.

When I drive into her warm, tight pussy, a breathless, audible gasp fills the room.

“I love you,” she whispers, and for an hour, she repeats the words over and over like a prayer.

My heart swells every time she says that, but there’s something other than love hiding behind her words tonight. Something worrying. The way she says it, how she looks at me, how she craves my closeness… something’s wrong, but not one rational explanation springs to mind.

I lay next to her an hour later, a mist of sweat on my back. Layla immediately presses her cheek to my chest, wrapping her arms around me as she listens to my racing heart. She taps its rhythm on my ribs with her small finger.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” I press my lips to her head.

She stops tapping, lifting her head. “Nothing. Why?”

“You’re shaken up, Star.”

She sighs, holding onto me for dear life. “Let’s run away somewhere where no one will ever find us.”

“Why do you want to run? Aren’t you happy here?”

She sits up, pulling the covers to her chin to cover her boobs. “Frank called. Nikolaj’s at the hospital… the doctors aren’t giving him much time.”

“I know.” I brush my fingers down her spine. “Why does it worry you so much? You knew that he’s dying.”

She shrugs, avoiding my gaze. “I thought we had more time before everything would change. You and Frank… Julij wants to work with you, meaning he’ll cut out Frank.”

“No one wants to do business with Frank anymore. He messed up too much over the years. The only reason he’s still breathing is Nikolaj’s protection. The minute Nikolaj dies, Frank will try to kill me because if I’m not here, people will have no choice but to work with him.”

“Let’s run away… please.”

“Baby, I know you’re worried about him—”

“It’s not just him I’m worried about.” She turns to look at me. “I wish you could work things out, stop fighting, stop this madness! Frank is vicious and blinded by revenge, but maybe… maybe you could somehow make him forgive you?” She shakes her head because she knows reconciliation isn’t possible.

Frank’s been fueled by hatred for years, and now he’s also driven by fear of losing everything he’s worked for since he was a teenager.

“I’ll do what I can to make sure Frank doesn’t get hurt.”

“Make sure you don’t get hurt.”

There, the worried tone again, the sincerity and firmness that feels like an iron fist clamped around my throat.

“I’ll be fine, Layla. I’ve got you. I won’t leave you here alone. There’s a line of men waiting to take my place. No way in hell I’ll let that happen.”

She chuckles as she drapes her hands over my neck. “There’s no one I’d rather be with. You make me the happiest I’ve ever been. I mean it, Dante. I love you so much. I really love you. More than you can imagine.”

“I know, baby,” I press my lips to her forehead.

My phone rings on the nightstand. From the corner of my eye, I see Spades on the screen. I’m supposed to see him soon, and that’s why I answer. He’d wait to tell me in person if it wasn’t important.

“Fire!” he screams. “Get down here right now!”

I pull my eyebrows together. “What?”

“Delta’s on fire!”

Deafening ringing reverberates through my head. My reactions slow down for a short moment before adrenaline rushes through my veins like a bolt of lightning. My mind is focused, ready for hell. I jump out of bed, throwing a t-shirt over my head. “Where’s Luca?”

“He’s here. Frank sent his guys to do the dirty work. We killed two. The third one is alive. Luca’s torturing him.”

“Send him over here right now. Tell him to bring someone to help. Someone with a good shot.”

If Frank is taking radical steps, it means Nikolaj is dead. Every muscle in my body turns to stone when I realize this is it. The finale,  the six-year-long war over territory is at my fingertips. Before the end of the night, only one boss will be left standing.

Spades cuts the call and grab my holster out of the drawer, strapping it to my belt.

Layla sits on the bed, pale, eyes following my every move. “What’s wrong?”

“Delta’s on fire.” I take a black leather jacket out of the wardrobe. “Luca will be here in ten minutes. He’ll watch over you until I come back.” I open the drawer to my bedside table and pull out another gun. “You know what to do with this. You won’t need it, baby, but I’ll feel better knowing you have it. No one can get in without the code, all windows are bulletproof, and Luca will tear apart anyone who tries to touch you.” I say it out loud for my peace of mind as if listing the reasons why she’s safe here will make it easier to leave. I rest my fists on the mattress, leaning over to kiss her. “Sleep, Star. You’re safe here but if anything happens, call me straight away. Don’t wait for Luca to take care of it. Understood?”

She cups my face, kissing me deeply. “I’ll be fine.”

For the first time in my life, I’m cold at the thought of possibly not coming home. I have to come home. I have Layla, and I’ll walk through hell to get back to her.