Chapter 4

Lena blushed and pressed a finger to her lips.

I kept my eyes on Charles, as though I hadn't heard a word Carl said.

"I'm not the one pushing my luck, Charles. You are. I haven't held you accountable for your infidelity, and you should be grateful for that. Don't forget, you got this marriage by kneeling at my feet and begging."

The color drained from Charles's face. My words had struck a nerve.

Lena looked at Charles with concern. "Charles, don't talk to Layla like that. She's not wrong. I'm the one at fault. I'll disappear. Forever..."

Charles fixed me with a hard stare. After a long moment, he picked up the divorce papers. "Layla, you know me. I'm not a kind man. Divorcing me comes with a price."

He picked up a pen, tapped it against the papers, and lit a fresh cigar.

"The Augusto Family is muscling in on our arms-smuggling route. Take that route back for me, and I'll agree to the divorce. But think carefully. They built their empire on contract killing. They've got ways of dealing with people you can't even imagine. You'd probably get yourself killed. I know you've lived a sheltered life and never gotten your hands dirty, so maybe you should just..."

"Done." I cut him off, slid the papers back into my bag, and walked out.

Charles sat there with his mouth half open, speechless. All he'd wanted was to watch me back down and quietly accept his affair with Lena.

"Let her go, Charles! Her father spoiled her rotten. She thinks being a Ferraro princess means she can do whatever she wants, but she's nothing but an empty name!" Isabella's voice followed me out, but I walked on as if I hadn't heard a thing.

I knew exactly what was going on. That smuggling route was always meant for Lena. Charles would've cleared every obstacle before handing it to her.

By sending me instead, he'd saved himself the trouble.

But I wasn't doing this for anyone else. I was doing it for myself, to put a final period on a marriage that should never have existed.

Halfway there, something felt wrong.

The Augusto Family had always been flashy. Their compound blazed with lights day and night. But tonight, the entire area sat in eerie darkness. Even the businesses nearby had gone dark.

Dread pooled in my stomach, but even afraid, I couldn't turn back.

The car jolted violently. I gripped the steering wheel on instinct, and the next second, bullets rained down on the car like a storm.

Given who I was, my car had been fitted with full bulletproofing.

But the firepower was too heavy. Several rounds had already punched through the glass.

Shots rang out in rapid succession. The rounds hammered in beside the driver's seat—one grazed my scalp, another buried itself in the left side of my chest.

Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I swung the car around and fumbled for my phone with the only hand that still worked.

Carl's call came through just then. "Carl... Mommy's been shot. Call an ambulance. Tell our people to get here now..."

"Stop faking it. Daddy said you'd try to weasel your way out of this, and he was right. I'm calling to tell you that you'd better get this done. I'm so sick of you. I want Mommy Lena to be my real mom!"

He hung up.

I looked down at the wound pouring blood, and in the distance, the gunfire hadn't stopped.

Suddenly, this didn't seem like such a bad way to go.

There was nothing left in this world worth holding on to.

So maybe I should just let go.

Lena, for reasons no one could pin down, had sunk into another depressive episode and was about to slit her wrist with a razor blade.

Charles was terrified. He snatched the blade away and rallied everyone to rush her to the hospital.

While they waited for Lena's examination, he kept calling Layla's phone without pause.

Mark handed him a cup of coffee. "Still going to voicemail?"

He didn't seem to care about the answer. "Lena's fine. It's just a scratch. Some rest and she'll be good as new."

Charles nodded, staring at his phone's dark screen with a cold snort.

"That sister of yours is getting bolder by the day. She's never turned off her phone before."

Before he could finish, several nurses sprinted past him, shouting for a doctor.

Behind them, paramedics were wheeling in a gurney. The person on it was soaked in blood from head to toe, an oxygen mask covering their face.

Charles frowned at the sight. Something about all that vivid red unsettled him.

Before the coffee touched his lips, his phone rang.

His eyes lit up for a second, then dimmed when he saw it wasn't Layla's number. He answered with a hint of disappointment.

"Is this a family member of Layla's? This is Massachusetts General Hospital.

"Ms. Layla has been shot. She's in emergency surgery. We need you here to sign the consent forms immediately."