Chapter 0030
Chapter 0030
Aldo
“I never married her,” I murmured into the pelting droplets of icy water. I didn’t know where the words came from or why I spoke them. But I was suddenly glad they were true.
She’d drugged me.
Aurora had slipped something into my drink, I was almost sure of it. I hadn’t realized it at the time, that the heat coursing through me couldn’t have been real. That after eight long years of saying no, I couldn’t possibly have changed my mind.
But now, sprawled spread–eagle in my own bathtub like a pathetic drunk, icy water coursing down my face to soak my clothes, I slowly regained my rationality.
Or maybe it was the tight, angry lines of the beautiful face hovering over me that brought me back to reality.
“I never married her, and I’m glad.” My body still burned, ached from the aftereffects of the drug, but my words came out more clearly. Surer.
Layla went suddenly still. Her face unreadable. “You
you didn’t go to her?”
left me…
but
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“No.” I never had. Even with the drug coursing through me, I hadn’t touched Aurora. With my body heated and my mind clouded, I’d looked, instead, for Layla.
I’d found her, too. And for a few beautiful moments, all the world had felt right again. Like the pieces of my shattered life had fallen back into place, back where they were supposed to be. In my Layla’s arms, I’d felt whole.
But of course, it couldn’t last.
She’d pushed me away, and now, I was waking up to the truth.
Aurora, clearly, had gotten desperate. Maybe it was my unexpected rejection after welcoming her into my room. Maybe it was Layla’s presence here–and my obvious pull to her. Maybe it was the escalating violence with the clans, with the Moretti family.
Whatever was, Aurora had just proved she’d do anything to get what she wanted. Even taking away my choice.
Maybe that’s why I was really here. Because
someone I’d trusted since childhood had betrayed
- me.
So I’d run to the only person I knew, in my heart, I could truly trust.
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Hell, my body ached–from the drug, from the fight last night–and now my heart hurt, too.
“But…” Layla’s soft voice drew me back. “But you left me for her. And you never even married her?”
I shook my head, sending water flying. And I offered her the tiniest piece of truth. “There was another reason for leaving you.”
“Right.” She scoffed, and suddenly she was on her feet. “Of course. All these reasons, all these mysteries. All these things you can’t tell me. In the end, they’re all the same–lies.”
I flinched back from the truth. Her truth–and mine. I was a liar. I’d always been.
“I don’t know you.” She leaned forward and cut the water off suddenly. “Clearly, I never did. Even when we were at our happiest, you shared nothing with me.”
The silence rang in my ears. Her words cut like knives, yet still I protested. “I didn’t think it would matter-”
“The truth always matters.” She shook her head, slow, almost sad. “You lied to me. Betrayed me. Abandoned me. Not being married to Aurora doesn’t give you any right to interfere in my life.”
The air heaved out of my lungs in great, billowing
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breaths, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the drug or the truth behind her words. I shouldn’t be in her life at all. “Layla—”
“No, Aldo. You don’t have any right to judge me or tell me what to do.” A derisive laugh escaped from her parted lips. “You think Marco’s a jerk? You’re ten times worse.”
It was yet another slap to the face. Adding to all the cuts and bruises I already bore. Adding another ache to my collection, another scar to my body’s canvas.
She spun away from me, headed for the bathroom door. But before she could march through, she paused. Turned back. And the look in her eyes was one of unfiltered anger—hate.
So cold.
Those same eyes had once looked at me with love and trust. But no more, never again. I’d lost that
love.
“Stay out of my business, Aldo Marcello.” She marched through the door without a backwards glance.
I’d ruined everything.
All I’d wanted was to protect her–from the family, from the Moretti family, from men like Marco who’d shred her heart to pieces.
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But in the end, it was me she hated. Me who’d hurt
her, who’d made her heart bleed. Not once, but
twice.
I tilted my head back against the cold tile, shivering in my frigid, wet clothes. The still–healing gunshot wound in my arm twinged its displeasure. But at least I was sober.
A phone jangled against the tile flooring, drawing me up so fast, pain flared through my wound again. My phone! Somehow, I’d managed to extract it from my pocket before I’d gotten in the tub; it buzzed against the floor beside the porcelain.
Carlo’s name flashed across the screen.
I sighed. Thank God I was sober. For him to be calling me this late, it couldn’t be anything good. I lifted the phone to my ear. “Talk to me, Carlo.”
“I’ve got news,” said Carlo without preamble. “ About Marco Ricci.”
My stomach bottomed out, like I was riding an elevator that had suddenly been cut loose. Marco Ricci–trouble with a handsome smile. A problem, if ever there was one.
A mystery I hadn’t yet solved. “Great.”
Was I wrong to have been investigating Marco initially? Maybe. Had my feelings of resentment
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and jealousy spawned the investigation? Most likely.
Was I right to continue it, despise Layla’s anger and warnings to stay away?
Almost certainly.
“He seems like a blank slate,” Carlo said in my phone’s speaker, but we both knew that wasn’t true.
When I’d marched into the private back room of the bar, seeing red at his display of blatant hedonism, it was my anger that drove me to slam him against the wall. But the bruises on his face- and the one on mine?
Those were products of the unexpected fight that had ensued. Marco’s fist slamming my cheekbone. Mine smashing the wall when he ducked–faster and more skilled than I’d expected.
Our fists flew, our bodies ducking and weaving in a dance that might have been beautiful to behold. Because we were both professionally trained in the art of fighting.
I’d gotten the upper hand at last. And Marco had showed an important card in his hand–what kind of doctor was a trained fighter?
“He appeared out of nowhere,” Carlo continued. ” Or it seemed like it at first. But I found something.”
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I huffed out a long breath, steadying my nerves. Tell me.”
“He was overseas, until about eight years ago.” Carlo paused. “He came to America about six months after you moved back to New York.”
Eight years ago.
Eight.
That was when I’d left Layla. When she’d gotten pregnant with Eli–allegedly by Marco. But how could he have fathered her child when he wasn’t even in this country?
He couldn’t be the one Layla had been with.
So…
Who was Eli’s father?
