Broken Promises: (Broken Duet #2)
Broken Promises: Chapter 30

Three cups of coffee and three hours later, I’m still at Layla’s bed, watching the monitors as I try to decipher the charts. I even attempted to check her dressing as delicately as my calloused hands allowed.

Layla won’t mind adding another scar to her ever-growing collection, but I will die a little under an avalanche of remorse every time I’ll look at it.

With another cup of shitty, lukewarm coffee from the vending machine, I return to her room, and minutes later the door opens again. Lew stands in the doorway, his hand outstretched to show Carlton the way inside as if he can’t cross a fucking threshold without a map.

He drops a small travel bag on the floor by the wall, eyes focused on the many monitors around the room. “How is she?” he asks Layla’s notes already in his hands. Two vertical lines on his forehead tell me he doesn’t understand much of the Russian scribbles.

“Her heart stopped. The doctor here says she’s too weak.”

“He’s not wrong,” he murmurs, glaring at her chart. “She’s weak. She lost a lot of blood. Couple it with anesthesia, a blood transfusion, all the meds, and…” He pauses, eyebrows drawn together. He saunters back to check the notes, and it looks like his mind is doing two hundred miles an hour. “No blood-thinning meds? Why?”

“Fuck if I know, Carlton. Do I look like a doctor? This is beyond my fucking comprehension. All of it.”

Good thing he knows me well enough not to take offense over my snappish tone. We grew up together, so Carlton’s on a first-name basis with my commanding nature.

“Wait here,” I say. “I’ll get the doctor.”

I leave the room to come back five minutes later with the attending, Julij, and Anatolij. Carlton’s in his element, unplugging Layla from the monitors.

“Tell him I need access to radiology,” he snaps, wheeling the bed toward the door.

“I speak English,” the doctor retorts, crossing his hands over his chest. “We did an echo after the cardiac arrest. We haven’t found a clot.”

“It is a clot. Her heart will stop again. It’s just a matter of time. Why didn’t you give her any blood-thinning meds?”

“She didn’t need them. There is no clot. I know how to do my job. An angiograph will strain her heart that much more.” His eyes jump between Anatolij and me. “She might die during the procedure.”

Carlton scoffs, shaking his head a firm no, eyes boring into mine as he taps his foot on the floor, urging me to hurry up and take care of the admin side of things.

“Like I said before. Whatever Carlton says, goes.”

The doctor huffs, face red as he glares at Anatolij. “I will not be held accountable if something goes wrong.” He turns to Layla’s bed and helps Carlton unhook the IV bags. “The radiology is three floors down.”

“Stay here,” Carlton tells me when I move to follow. “Believe me when I say you don’t want to watch this. It’ll take a while. Go grab a coffee. I’ll replace you when I’m done. Or better yet, get some sleep. You look like shit.”

“Have you seen you lately?”

He elbows my ribs. “It’ll take a while to prep her and do the procedure. Once that’s out of the way, I’ll still need to get rid of the clot, so you’re looking at a good few hours wait.”

Anatolij grips my shoulder. “He’s right. You should rest. We’ll go back to my house.”

Sitting around in the waiting room for the better part of the night won’t do me any good. Carlton will call with updates, so I bob my head, kiss Layla, and step aside. They push her bed down the corridor into an elevator.

Now that Carlton’s here, the incessant whooshing in my brain subsides. She’ll be okay. There’s no other option. She’s too important to die. Her life won’t end today or any time soon. I’ll die first as a punishment for years of sins. Years of extortion, racketeering, and murders. The scams, ruthlessness, and arrogance.

They say a bad thing never dies… I hope, at least in part, that’s true because I look forward to a long, happy life with Layla.

Exhaustion hits me square in the gut when we leave the hospital, where a black limousine waits outside. Half an hour later, I collapse on a large bed in the room Layla had slept in for the past few weeks. Snow-white sheets, soaked in the sweet smell of her skin, lull me into a false sense of security. With the phone set to the loudest setting, I let myself sleep.

***

I’m jolted upright by an incoming call. A quick glance at an antique clock on the wall confirms I was flat out for six hours. Wide awake, muscles harder than steel, I slide my thumb across the screen.

“She’s fine,” Carlton says, smart enough to put my mind at ease in the first second. “It was a clot. I almost can’t blame the doctor here for not spotting it. We did the surgery, and her vitals improved massively. She’s still unconscious, but I’ll gradually reduce the meds now.”

I get up, sleep the very last thing on my mind. With good news comes new strength, a new dose of courage. “Does that mean she’ll be okay?”

He chuckles lightly. “Did you dare to doubt my skills? Of course, she’ll be okay. Forty-eight hours from now, you’ll be able to take her home.”

I clench my fist, then bite on my knuckles, my heart ramming against my ribs. “Thank you. I owe you everything, Carlton. I’ll be there soon.”

“You owe me nothing. Don’t rush. It’ll take a couple of hours before she wakes up.” He cuts the call.

The castle is dark and quiet twenty minutes later when I exit Layla’s room after a quick shower. My footsteps ricochet off the stone walls, booming down the staircase. A glint of light shimmers in the living room, halting me on my way out the front door.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” I say, replaceing Julij at the table, a half-full glass of whiskey in his hand.

He lifts his drunken head, unfocused gaze on my face, fire burning in his usually cold, blue eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

He downs the rest of the glass. “She’s my cousin,” he clips, pulling a cigarette out of the packet. Two seconds later, a cloud of gray smoke fans my face. “You fucking knew. You knew all this time, and you let me fall deeper in love with a girl I can’t ever hope to be with.”

“You never should’ve hoped.” The satisfaction I expect to get out of this moment doesn’t arrive. He’s so heartbroken I actually feel sorry for him. “Layla’s mine. She’s been mine for a long time now. You had no right to think she could be yours.”

“I’d never act on it while she’s with you!”

“But you were waiting for us to fall apart so you could swoop in and make her fall for you, right?”

Anatolij enters the room wearing the same suit he wore the previous evening. “I think you had enough, Julij. Go. Sleep it off.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” He takes a few unsteady steps in my direction. “You won at life, Dante. Don’t you dare fuck it up. I take care of my family. You can be goddamn sure you’ll end up six feet under if you hurt her.”

Sensible, smart words. Not what I expected. Especially not in the state he’s in right now. He loves Layla almost as much as I do. I expected nothing short of a row, but not for the first time, Julij proves there’s more to him than his father’s legacy. I can see our friendship growing stronger over the years and lasting a lifetime.

“I assume you’re awake because Carlton called,” Anatolij says. “How is Layla?”

“He removed the clot. She’s fine. More than fine, actually. Carlton says she’ll be good to go home in two days.”

“She’s an Aristow after all. A fighter,” Julij mumbles, stumbling out of the room.

“You go ahead. I’ll freshen up and follow you to the hospital,” Anatolij says as his phone starts ringing.

And before he answers, mine’s ringing too…

“I’m at the airport in Moscow,” Morte says, his voice strained. He probably walked through fucking hell and back.

That makes two of us. We’re on the same boat. Both worried sick, prepared for the worst, ready to unleash our demons on one another. “Someone’s waiting for you. He’ll bring you straight to me.”

“The order is closed,” he offers quietly. “I did everything you asked, Dante. I want my son.”

“We’ll talk when you get here.”

Deep down, I know Morte was Frank’s tool; he merely did a favor to an old friend, but the satisfaction with which he carried out the task thus far turned him into an accomplice. He has to pay for his sins. Everyone does in the end. Morte will settle his debt much sooner than he anticipated.

We both have our fair share to answer for. Karma is out to get me, but today isn’t that day. Today is judgment day. Today is revenge day. Today is the last day of my life as a man with no boundaries.

Tomorrow, a new chapter of my life will begin. No more living on the edge or looking danger in the eye. No more dealing with shit personally. No more putting myself on the line. Layla and I will be dead ten times over before my accounts dry out. Enough people work for me to do the work while I step back, coordinating from behind the scenes.

Layla deserves a bit of normality. And normality she’ll get even if it means revaluating life as I know it.

Anatolij sits at the table, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. I rang Carlton to tell him about the hold-up while Anatolij woke up one of the maids to serve us breakfast. I can’t stomach much more than a piece of plain toast, but two cups of black coffee go down without a hitch while we wait for the son-of-a-bitch I once considered a friend.

“I take it you had confirmation that he retracted the hit?”

“Yes.” I pinch a Marlboro between my teeth. “From more than one source.”

“How long before everyone replaces out?”

There’s no guessing. Although because the same person issued and retracted the bounty, it’ll take half the time than it would if I killed Morte, hoping for word of mouth alone to work its magic. Morte must’ve issued the retraction through the same channels he put this whole farce into motion in the first place to reach the same people.

“I’ll keep the security running for a few months just to be safe, but I doubt we’ll deal with many more killers. News travels fast among the likes of us. By the time we reach Chicago, ninety-nine percent of those interested will know Layla’s no longer a feasible target.”

Forty minutes go by before Lew arrives with the man who stopped the war between Frank and me from ending the night Layla put a bullet in her father’s heart.

Morte enters the room. Sagged shoulders and a mask of indifference he wears is a front designed to avert my attention from the dark circles surrounding his eyes. From trembling hands, he keeps out of view. He’s not the one to willingly showcase his weaknesses or admit defeat, but today, I hold his son in the palm of my hand. He might be reckless, but he’s not stupid enough to make one foul move. He knows my hand will ball into a tight fist, obliterating what he cares for. All he can do now is hope I’ll show mercy.

The thing is… I don’t feel merciful.

The sound of the flat-lining heart monitor lingers at the back of my head, an endless reminder of how close I was to losing Layla, elevating my rage to blind fury.

“Sit down.” I point at the seat opposite me.

He shakes his head, rooted to the ground. “I just want my son, Dante. Where is he?”

“Dead.”

Four letters.

One word packed with more power than an H-bomb.

His world splinters apart before my eyes. He rocks on his feet, unable to hold himself up, and falls to his knees. Thick tears trail down his cheeks, his mind a cage. A fucking prison with no doors or windows. No way out.

I know. I lived through the insanity a few hours ago. I sank into the maddening trap at a snap of fingers, blinded with indescribable anguish.

Morte can’t say a word. He can’t scream. He can’t do anything. Panic, regret, and an overpowering emptiness tear his heart, soul, and mind apart.

Catatonic, paralyzing fear.

No amount of physical pain I could inflict on the fucker would compare to the torture he’s experiencing right now. If I chose to beat him to death, he’d have breaks from pain. Short, sure, but breaks, nonetheless. Every time my elbow would fall back before administering another blow—a break. A second to catch a breath.

There’s no escaping from the madness consuming him whole as he kneels on the floor, tearing his hair out.

Anatolij, Lew, and I listen to his senseless, heartbreaking sobs for one hundred and ninety-seven seconds. That’s how long Layla was clinically dead yesterday. Three minutes and seventeen seconds, which may well have been a lifetime.

The watch on my wrist tells me the seconds are up. I pull my gold revolver from the holster and get up on my feet, the gun aimed at his head. “Aiden’s alive and safe in Chicago.”

His eyes snap to me so fast I swear he almost broke his neck. Hope glows in the black, soulless eyes. With a strain, he rises to his feet, face wet, eyes tearful as he stares into the barrel with fresh terror. “Why…? Why tell me he’s dead?”

“Layla’s heart stopped yesterday because one of the hitmen found her here. He took the shot. The bullet missed her heart by a hair’s breadth… for three minutes and seventeen seconds, I thought she was dead. The longest one hundred and ninety-seven seconds in my life and now yours. I wanted you to know what the pain of losing what you love feels like before you die.”

I don’t wait for an answer. There’s no point in prolonging his misery. No point in talking or listening to pleas. Whatever he has to say, whatever bullshit excuse or deal he came up with on the long-haul flight here isn’t good enough; isn’t worth losing time I can spend by Layla’s side.

I’m sure deep down, he knew he came here to die. When my index finger slides onto the trigger, a glimmer of relief flashes in his eyes. Relief, which can only be interpreted one way. He’s grateful I chose to kill him over his son.