Broken Rules: (Broken Duet #1)
Broken Rules: Chapter 30

For the first time since I started dating Dante, I’m relieved when he leaves me alone. I need time to come to terms with everything Frank said. For weeks now, I hoped the plan could be altered, that nothing was set in stone. The deeper I fell in love, the more I believed Frank would let go of his animosity. How naïve of me.

Frank is not the type to let things slide.

He’s dreamt of revenge for years, and my feelings for Dante are merely an inconvenience. Frank doesn’t care that the second his heart stops beating, mine will shatter, and no one will be able to put it back together. I tell myself off for allowing my feelings to trap me. Now, the only way out is through. I have to finish what I started eight months ago. I was thrilled back then to help my father triumph. Now, I want to stop feeling. I want to fall asleep and wake up when the pain subsides.

Dante said Luca’s due any minute and closed the door behind him. I pour myself a glass of wine, sitting at the bar, my head hanging low. I don’t want to cry. Tears won’t help, but there’s no stopping them. I take a deep breath when the alarm disarms, closing my lips on the glass. Luca would’ve noticed my red eyes the second he walked in if not for the dimmed lights.

“The TV is there.” I wave my hand in the correct direction, swallowing to rid the lump in my throat. “Pretend I’m not here, and I’ll return the favor.”

He rounds the bar to grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. All of Dante’s men usually wear suits, but tonight Luca’s in skinny jeans, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up, showing off the many colorful tattoos marking his body. I make out roses on both palms, letters on his knuckles, a diamond, a serpent, and a forest on his arm. My favorite one, the Phoenix on his neck with wings spreading to his ears, is exposed by the V-neckline.

He eyes me up, thin lips part as if to voice a snarky comment, but his expression changes in a blink of an eye. His jaw clenches, eyes narrow. He closes the distance between us, leans over the bar, and grips my face, his eyes on my lips. “Who the fuck did that to you?”

I jerk away. “That’s none of your business.”

He fists his palms, closing his eyes briefly. When he looks at me again, my body feels cold. He breathes out through his nose as if doing all in his power to keep it together. He doesn’t… he lands his fist on the wall to his left. “Did Dante hit you?” He glares at the wall. “Layla! Was it Dante?”

“No! of course not.”

“Then who was it? Who the fuck hit you, Layla?” He runs his hand through his short hair, still shaken.

“Frankie,” I say, too stunned by the anger in his eyes to argue. “Daddy hit me. Happy?”

“Do I look happy? Get dressed.”

No, he doesn’t look happy. Ever. But he does relax a bit.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Why?”

“Have you ever held a gun?”

It seems that not all wires are connected to the right places in his head.

“A gun? You do remember who my father is, don’t you? of course, I’ve held a gun. What’s your point?”

“But you can’t shoot, can you?”

The sudden change in his behavior takes me aback. He’s no longer furious but not an ass either. He prods at me on purpose as if he wants me to use him as a punching bag.

“I can shut your face.”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “You will be a self-serving bitch your whole life. Take a day off and get dressed. I’ll teach you how to fire a gun.”

If he’s trying to lift my spirits, then good job. I asked Frank to take me to a shooting range a thousand times, but he always answered with a harsh no but wouldn’t explain why. I dreamt of shooting paper targets since I found a gun in his desk drawer when I was eight. It wasn’t loaded, but I played with it for an hour, pretending to shoot different objects until Frank came home and locked me in my room.

“Aren’t you scared I’ll accidentally shoot you?” The delight in my voice is almost tangible.

“I bet you won’t hit the target the first time around. Fuck that, the first ten times.”

I stop on the stairs, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Not waiting for a change of heart, I rush upstairs to change my outfit in record time. Three minutes later, with boots in hand and a hair tie in my mouth, I stop in the living room. Luca hands me a full glass of wine, waiting until I drink half before he takes me outside to his Dodge.

The shooting range looks like nothing much from the outside. An old building not far from the port, in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods. I’d think the building was abandoned if not for the modern reception desk inside. The paint peels off the walls, dirt marks the concrete floor, and most windows are boarded-up. An older gentleman sits behind the tall, metal countertop, motioning his head in greeting at Luca, seemingly oblivious to my presence. Luca shoves big, black earmuffs over my head. Once he makes sure they’re on correctly, he opens the door to a large, long room.

The wall on my right is covered with different kinds of guns. Hundreds of pistols, revolvers, and rifles hang on large hooks with ammunition littering a metal table. To my left, in the distance, are the paper cut-outs of people. The smell of gunpowder irritates my nose, but a smile tugs at my lips when every shot fired by various men at the stations vibrates through me.

Luca points me toward a distant station, grabbing a medium-sized pistol along with the clip. “Think, Layla,” he hisses when I try to load the gun. “You said you held a gun before. No one told you to aim it at the floor when you’re not shooting? Guns like to fire on their own. If you keep looking into the barrel, you’ll shoot yourself.” He waits until I put the clip in before standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders. “Outstretch your hands.” He explains how to stand and corrects me a few times. “Now, for the most important part.” His knee digs into the back of mine, and I bend my legs, almost kneeling on the dirty floor.

I turn to face him, remembering to aim down so he can’t scold me. “Are you nuts?”

“You’re petite. You have to stand firm, or the recoil will hurt you. If I give you a more powerful gun, you’ll dislocate your shoulder, and Dante will disembowel me.” He turns me toward the target, helping me stand properly. He grips me in a few places, showing me where to tense up, then moves his hands to my arms to see if I’ll bend my elbows. “Here,” he pats my shoulders. “This is where you have to be tense. Your arms and shoulders are the most critical part of your stance.”

I nod, eyeing the center of the target. “May I?”

Butterflies swarm in my stomach, making me feverish. Trying to remember everything Luca said, I slide my finger to the trigger. The recoil shakes my body, and the bullet hits the wall next to the target. I don’t care that I missed. Adrenaline throbs in my veins, erasing my problems.

“Go on,” Luca says. “Knock yourself out. Don’t focus on hitting the target. Learn how to control the gun first.”

The recoil isn’t significant, but enough to make hitting the target tricky. At least with the first clip. With the next one, I start hitting the right spot, and with the last bullet, I manage to hold my hands still.

Luca approaches the wall and brings back something bigger. “This is Dante’s favorite pistol, 92 Beretta.”

“I thought he liked his gold revolver best.”

“Out of all the revolvers, yes, but if you give him a choice, he’ll always take this.”

The recoil on the 92 is significant, but because the pistol is heavier, I replace it easier to shoot straight. A few times, I see Dante’s or Frank’s head instead of the target. I put the gun down immediately. My mind tricks me, urging me to choose even though I have no choice.

I’m not sure how much time has passed. I’m too engrossed in the task at hand to check my phone. Luca keeps bringing different guns for me to try, and fires a few rounds at the next station making a sieve out of the target. It’s Dante who stops the fun when he calls.

I take my earmuffs off to answer. “Yes?”

“Are you fucking stupid?! You wanna be deaf?” Luca drags me out through the emergency exit.

“Where are you?” Dante asks, his tone clipped.

“At a shooting range. Luca’s teaching me,” I can’t contain my excitement.

“People I work with want to meet you. Can you come over? I’ll tell Luca to bring you here.”

I glance at Luca, then back at the emergency exit. I’d much rather keep shooting, taking my contradicting feelings out on the paper targets, but no matter how many holes I make, there’s no changing the facts. No altering the past, present, or future. All I have left with Dante are a few weeks, months at the most. “Yes, but I need to change. I’ll let Luca know. We should be there in an hour.”

Luca clenches his jaw, kicking the trash can. “They’re fucking idiots, Layla. Don’t go there.”

“Let me talk to him,” Dante says. “And baby, just so you know, we’ve got eight hookers here. The V brothers…”

“Don’t worry. I don’t think you’re cheating on me with hookers. Frank makes his money the same way you do. You think I don’t realize what your business meetings look like? I’ll be there soon.”

I hand the phone to Luca, watching his jaw work. “Why the fuck do you want her there? They’ll holler every time she snaps!” He kicks the trash can again while listening to Dante. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

An hour later, Luca parks the car in the underground parking lot, taking his phone out to call Dante. For the twentieth time, I check in the rear-view mirror whether the red lipstick covers the cut on my lip. The club is mainly lit by strobe lights cutting through the darkness, but dimmed halogens hang above the booth. I don’t want to explain to Dante’s people who hit me.

Lipstick and concealer hide the cut well, so no explanation is necessary. I run my fingers through my hair, draping it over one shoulder, then leave the car, straightening out the canary-yellow dress.

“If they start fucking with you, I’ll take you home.” Luca joins me with a cigarette in his lips. “Vince is bearable, but Vinn is an idiot. More so when he’s drunk.”

I smile, seeing Dante walk out of the elevator. “Three… two…” I count, looking into Luca’s dark eyes, “…one.” The smile on my lips grows wider. “It’s break time, Luca. Thank you for tonight. I expected us to kill each other, but when you’re not on your period, you’re bearable yourself.”

Dante’s arms wrap around my stomach. “How are you feeling, Star?”

I turn to kiss him. “Good. Luca helped a lot. I let it all out at the shooting range. How are you? You look like you need caffeine.”

He nods, glancing at Luca. “You can head back home, but if you want to stay, stay here.”

“I’ll stay. I’ll take her home when Vinn gets out of hand.”

Dante laces our fingers, pulling me toward the elevator. “They promised to behave. I can vouch for Vince, but not for Vinn. He’s unpredictable, young, and never filters his words. He wants to see you in action, so feel free to show him his place. Spades told him I’m hiding you because you’re sassy.”

“You wanted me here, so I’ll argue with him?” My good mood evaporates in a flash. “I’m not a circus monkey!” I storm out of the elevator.

“I wanted you to come because I wanted you close, Layla,” he says, stopping behind me when I’m already at the bar. “I thought you enjoy shooting guys down.”

“No, I don’t. I shouldn’t have to fight for respect. I’ve been doing it all my life. How could you think I’d enjoy arguing with some dimwit for his entertainment?!” I drop my clutch bag on the bar, waving the bartender over.

“Hey Layla, the usual, is it?” he asks, beaming.

“Yeah, but make it stronger.”

Dante rests his hand on my waist, pulling me to his side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind, you know I like it when you get so feisty.” He tries to kiss my cheek, but I turn my head the other way, too enraged to be appeased.

“When should I send another one, dolly?” The bartender hands me a drink.

Dante lunges over the bar, grabbing the bartender by his tie. “Dolly?” he snaps, yanking him even closer. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” He shoves him back, looking at me just in time to catch me roll my eyes.

Knowing full well how childish it is, I smile at the bartender. “Next one in five. Thank you.”

“C’mon, I’ll sort them out,” Dante says.

“Forget it. They’ll think I’m afraid of them. I have to earn their respect now. I sure hope they work for you and not the other way around because if they take it too far, I’ll fucking destroy them.”

Two wrinkles crease his forehead, and he grips my hand, yanking me closer. “Don’t ever swear again. It doesn’t fucking suit you.”

I’m just as surprised as him that fuck came out of my mouth, but rage chews at my brain, and my filter went to hell. Everyone at the table looks up when I approach.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting for three hours, girl!” A blond guy in the middle yells, shaking a hooker off his lap.

“That’s Vinn, the one next to him is Vince, and that’s their right hand, Caro,” Dante says, then snaps his fingers, ordering two hookers to get out of our space.

I keep my mouth shut, scooting closer to Spades to give Dante a little room. There’s no way I’ll start the show, but I threw my inhibitions out the window, so God help them.

Vinn rests his elbows on the table like a CEO of a fancy organization. “So, you’re Layla.” He sizes me up. “You got me on my knees.”

Not only is he brusque, but so unoriginal. Half of the people who meet me for the first-time quote Clapton’s song.

“Don’t get up.”

Vince chuckles under his breath, looking me over before turning to Dante. “She’s young.”

“Perfect for me,” Vinn clips. “You even look like my future girl.”

“And you look like rejection.”

“If I didn’t respect your man like I do, I’d take you out the back so you could put that filthy mouth to good use.”

Dante tenses beside me, but I open my mouth before he can cut in. “Doesn’t it say ‘warning: small parts; potential choking hazard’ down there?”

Spades bursts out laughing. I feel as if tickets should be available for my performance.

“You were fucking right to keep her away, man,” Vinn tells Dante. “I’ll fall in love, and you’ll have an opponent.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. It’s incredible how little it takes to hate someone. “Sorry to clip your wings, but I don’t date men who attack women to inflate their egos.”

Nate looks at me from behind Spades’ back. “He’s just messing around. He wanted to check if you’re really that feisty.”

I get up, squeezing in-between Dante and the table, then bow as low as Adam often does in front of my father. “Next time, get a magician to entertain your guests, baby. Goodnight.” I turn on my heel, storming off, not daring to look behind me or wait for more insults.

“Layla, wait.” Dante catches up to me in the elevator and shoves his hand in-between the closing doors.

“Leave me alone. I’m not going back there. I lived through enough humiliation for one day. I’m going home! You can call me in the morning.”

“You’re not going to Frank’s.”

“You won’t tell me what I can or can’t do!”

“You don’t get it!” He grabs my waist and pins me to the wall, his face inches from mine, anger in his green eyes, but his voice steady. “I’ll lose my fucking mind if something happens to you.”

“Let me go… I want to fall asleep and pretend that today never happened. Frank, Luca, you, and the high-maintenance idiot upstairs!” Tears betray me rolling down my cheeks to fuel the fire inside my head. “Enough!”

Dante hushes me with a kiss. His lips battle with mine, his hands in my hair, his body pressing hard against mine. I’m grateful for the distraction, for his possessiveness, because all I need to get a hold of myself is him. I kiss him back, fisting his leather jacket when he moves his hands to cup my face. It’s just us, lost in each other, the moment, and all the conflicting emotions running through us.

“I’m sorry I asked you to come.” He brushes his lips over my nose and takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. “We’re going home. I want to watch you fall asleep.”