5. Chapter 5
5
Luca
I’m laid out on Roman’s sofa flicking through channel after channel on his big 72-inch TV, but nothing holds my attention.
Some fucker tried to kill us tonight.
Kill me.
My mind fires at a million miles an hour trying to answer the question…Who?
Who put a hit out on us?
The Dutch? Albanians? Hell, I’ve got a list as long as my arm of people who want my blood, but who would be stupid enough to do it? They must have known that doing this might start a war.
I look down at my blood-soaked shirt and lift the material to inspect the bandage Layla secured in place, my skin blazing from where she cleaned my wound and stitched it.
Whoever it was, I swear to the devil himself, that I will find the fucker and rain hellfire down on them in a torrent of bullets and blood. I will peel the skin from their body and shove it down their throats.
“Luca?”
It takes me a moment to realise I’d fallen asleep; I can’t even remember closing my eyes. “Yeah.” My voice cracks, I clear my throat, sitting up as Roman crosses the living room, shucking off his suit jacket and walking straight to the dark wooden cabinet that houses his liquor. “You follow her?”
He doesn’t answer, pulling out a decanter full of amber liquid and grabs two glasses from the cabinet and brings them over to the sofa placing them on the coffee table. I sit silent watching as he pours two fingers, pauses and pours another two before passing me a glass.
“To death.” He raises his glass with a sardonic grin.
“To war,” I reply, and we both take a swig, the whiskey burning on its way down.
“Any thoughts?”
“Lots actually,” I say as he flops back on his end of the couch, resting his tumbler against his chest and closing his eyes.
“And…?”
“The Dutch. It’s the only reasonable explanation. We’ve fucked up one too many shipments, and they wanted to send a message.”
He opens his eyes, tired and bloodshot.
“We give them their only foothold to the UK market, they need the Covenant to do business with, not start a war.”
“They would still have the Covenant. They don’t need me to continue to work with Levi and John. Or the rest of them for that matter. Killing me would send the message they need.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“It just feels too easy to blame them.”
He’s not wrong there, but I’ve not pissed anyone off recently to warrant what happened tonight. Well, no more than usual. “What of the girl?”
“She’s at home. Went straight there. Lives in South Kensington with a flatmate. She’s fiery, good senses to her, she knew I was there without seeing me—I hid in the cupboard like a Peeping Tom, so she didn’t whack me with a baseball bat.”
“And…?”
“Twenty-five, single from what I can tell, grandfather lives in a care home, she doesn’t have a lot. No real material possessions, one family photo, but that’s about it.”
“Paperwork?”
“Bills and a lot of them.”
I rub my top lip. “So, Layla is in financial trouble.”
“She could come in useful.” Roman takes another sip. “For what comes next.”
“Find her Achilles heel.”
“I think I’ve found it but I’m sure I can find more,” Roman mutters. “Have you called your uncle?”
I snort, and lean forward, wincing as the stitches pull. “I’m undecided.” I take a swig. “We need to meet with the Colombians. The sooner I can start to set up our own supply chain, the better.”
“We still haven’t secured real estate by the freeport on the Thames, Henry is coming up empty.”
“We’ll sort it, we just need to find somewhere with potential and then find the right leverage. My main priority is the Colombians.”
“You think they will meet you after the fuckups in Liverpool? They would have heard rumours, I’m sure.”
“Get me Steven’s head. We’ll send it to them, so they know I’m a man who takes care of business, and we aren’t scared to get our hands dirty. I need them to understand our ambition. And when I put forward my plan to them, it will be too good to turn down. I only want our guys on this. No one who has ties with the Covenant, or my family gets wind. Understood?”
“One problem.”
“Only one,” I say smirking, and he grins back.
“Steven’s head,”
I frown remembering what I did to it earlier, and the fact that Steven no longer has a head to send, or at least not a recognisable one. I grin sardonically. “Oh, yeah. An arm then.”
Roman nods and takes a sip of his drink. “The girl?”
“Keep a tab on her. Look , Roman,” I say pointing, “but don’t fucking touch her.” His hazel eyes meet mine.
“And how long am I looking?”
“Long enough to make sure she doesn’t go to the police, and if she’s someone we could rely on. Oh, and I’ve been thinking. I want to up our legitimate business ventures.”
“For?”
“Laundering.”
“I think you have the meaning of legitimate mixed up.”
“Needs must, brother. Needs must.”
She’s dancing. And she looks free. Free from worry, free from restraint.
Her arms are above her head in the dim light of the small café, the door locked and music loud. The methodical beats muffled from where I stand in the shadows of the bus stop across the road. She moves gracefully from table to table, spraying pink liquid, before spinning on the spot and then wiping the tabletop. Once one is clean, she spins to the next one.
Spin, spray, wipe, repeat.
Methodical, planned, yet so free.
My heart is beating wildly in my chest, adrenaline coursing through me. I don’t know what drew me here. But as I come down from the high of my meeting with the Colombians, the need to see her in the flesh consumed me.
The pictures Rome had snapped of her over the past seven days were like a ray of sunshine in the otherwise dark debauchery of my life.
I saw everything I needed to know about Layla Johnson in the file Rome handed me. But it didn’t tell me enough. It didn’t tell me why she wasn’t scared of me that night. It didn’t tell me what body wash she used to make her smell so fucking delicious. It didn’t tell me why I can still feel her soft touch on my skin.
What it did tell me is that she works for Alec Morelli.
And that is not fucking acceptable.
I watch my ray of light dance like no one’s watching, mesmerised by her beauty. She has become my obsession.
She consumes my thoughts, consumes my dreams, consumes me.
I rub my jaw; I need to shave. Leaning against the side of the sheltered bus stop, I pull my packet of cigarettes from my pocket. Taking a long drag, enjoying the burning smoke filling my lungs, I puff it out, the cloud snaking away through the darkness.
The meeting with the Colombians went well. They had Steven’s arm on the table, middle finger sticking up. It was a nice touch, and I can’t help but smirk as I take another long pull. They’re sick motherfuckers just like me.
We’ve come to an understanding, and that’s important.
Six weeks to sort a warehouse by the Thames, six weeks until the first shipment. Six weeks until I start to really move on my plan, use the Covenant to push the Albanians out, while they turn their attention to them, I’ll start shipping the Colombians' product into London.
I’ll start to compete with the Albanians, and I’ll do what the Covenant can’t.
Take back control of London.
I blow out a perfect ring, which spirals up to create a halo above Layla in the distance. Still dancing.
Like a fucking angel.
My angel.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Flicking the cigarette, I pull it out and see John’s name on the screen.
And I’m back.
Shrouded in the darkness, and although it was nice for a moment to stand in the light, I answer and disappear into the shadows.