Layla
They’d taken my son.
The words kept repeating themselves over and over in my mind. My thoughts tripped over the possibilities, through every connection we had, every Rossetti asset Aldo might be able to squeeze for information.
Surely, there was some way to get what I needed from what we had. Surely, we’d overlooked something, some clue or detail, that would get me answers.
The Rossettis wanted war? I’d serve them one on a silver f*****g platter.
“Layla.” Aldo’s fingers wove their way between mine. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to find him.”
He squeezed my hand. And I squeezed back.
“I know.” I forced a stream of air through my nose in a long, slow exhale, trying to find some semblance of calm. But how could I be calm when my son was gone, when they’d taken him?
How co
