Page 28

28

Layla

Luca leads me to a table where Rome and Katy are already sitting, along with four other couples who are all talking quietly. Thankfully none of them are Levi or the other leaders. Although I can still hear the rambunctious laughter from their table, along with multiple people who continue to mill around them like they’re some celebrities.

A couple moves away, and my eyes meet Levi’s.

I shiver.

“Everyone, this is Layla, and her friend, Katy.” Luca introduces them one by one, but by the end I can’t remember a single name. He pulls out my chair whispering in my ear as I fold into the chair. “My people.”

I’m safe. He trusts them.

“If for any reason we become separated, these men at this table, they are who you find.”

“But you promised.”

“And I meant it,” he says seriously. “But you need to know who you can trust.”

“I have Katy,” I say, smiling over at where she bickers with Roman.

“Who is being held over you, therefore making her a target and someone who is unable to protect you. These men and women,” he glances around the table, “will protect you.”

“Okay.”

Things are shifting between us. I can’t say what. Today felt different, tonight feels different. There’s something in me, a parasite feeding off the drama, feeding off Luca.

I’m under his spell, and protection. I need to remember that. This is an arrangement, a deal, it’s fake.

He’s shown a different side to me, yes, but he is ruthless and I still wonder whether he will kill me when I run out of use.

We haven’t spoken about the phone that Levi gave me in the manila envelope, we haven’t spoken about what information I would start to feed him. But its there, in the back of my mind like an annoying gnat.

“Layla, tell him,” Katy says, and I turn to where Rome is sitting grumpily next to her.

“Tell him what?”

“He doesn’t believe that I can still do the splits.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose on a groan. Here’s my life falling apart, and then there’s Katy talking to one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever laid my eyes on about being able to do the splits.

“Prove it,” he goads her, and Katy goes to stand. I pull her back down.

“You are at a black-tie event—you cannot just crack into the splits like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do,” I hiss. “You.” I point at Roman who points at himself mouthing “Me?”

“Stop winding her up. Katy will call your bluff every single time. The sooner that gets through your thick brooding skull the better.”

“He is broody,” Luca adds from behind me, his arms draped on the back of my chair, his thumb skims the skin on my shoulder.

“That he is,” pipes up one of his men, Henry, from the other side of the table, his green eyes twinkling from behind his glasses. “He’s always got that pensive, intense thinking look on his face.”

“That’s what you call it?” Katy says looking at Roman, who ignores the jabs and takes a sip of the red wine the waiters have just poured us all. “I thought he was trying to suppress a fart.”

The table erupts in laughter and to my surprise even Luca joins in. The rich sound washes over me and makes me sit up straighter. I glance across at him, and his eyes are alight with humour.

His face is transformed, and I frown.

He leans closer. “What?”

“I’ve just never heard you laugh before, not so carefree.”

He covers my glass and shakes his head as the waiter goes to pour me wine, and I pull a face at him. “Just humour me for the next thirty minutes. You’re still on edge, the alcohol won’t help.”

The table laughs again, which pulls us out of our little bubble. “Rome looks like he wants to stab her with the fork.” I muse, watching as he grips it tightly in his hand. “Are you sure we’re safe sitting here?”

He tilts his head assessing his friend. “Curious. Your friend Katy—”

“Is a liability.”

“Can we swap seats?” she asks Luca, interrupting our conversation, “Your mate Roman has his head so far up his own arse I can’t tell where he starts and where he ends.” She stands, picking up her glass of red. “Don’t worry, you’ll still be next to your girl. Quick, quick, the starters are on their way.”

She grabs her clutch bag, flips Roman the bird and waits patiently for Luca to vacate his chair.

“She won’t move,” I explain as Luca tilts his head to look at Katy tapping her foot impatiently, waiting. “She will stand there for the full meal if she has to.”

“I’ll do it,” she says, nodding. “I’m really annoying.”

“She is.”

“Fucking women,” Roman mutters.

“Woman. You mean woman. She’s the nightmare.” I say pointing at Katy.

“I am.” She nods smiling, her eyes widening. “Bonkers me, with zero shame, and who can still do the splits.”

Roman sips his wine.

“Careful, Rome, you almost cracked a smile there,” one of the women says from across the table.

“They say when that happens, a leprechaun shits a pot of gold,” Luca adds, standing, as the table laughs again. He crosses over to Katy’s seat and squeezes his friend’s shoulder as he sits.

“That man is an arsehole,” Katy mutters, huffing out an agitated breath as she takes Luca's seat. “He rocked up at the flat, thrust a dress bag at me, and told me I had forty minutes to get ready. Forty minutes. No explanation where I was going, just said he was a friend of yours and Luca's,” she says loud enough for Roman to hear, and the full table for that matter. “Like that would fill me with a great amount of comfort.”

I purse my lips softly and look away, no, a warning to bring it down a level, thankfully she understands.

“Why’s your glass empty?” She nods at mine before taking a gulp of her own.

Luca at that moment rests his hand on my thigh, and I know that even as he holds court with everyone else at the table, he’s fully aware of what is happening beside him.

“Luca is a controlling arse-wipe.” I reply and his response is to squeeze my leg making me squirm, and I can’t help but grin.

Dinner passes in a flash of amazing food, more alcohol, yes, he did allow me some more, and shockingly good company.

Luca has surprised me, showing another side of him. Relaxed, at ease, and dare I say it, having a good time.

“After dinner we all go back out to the reception area and terrace while the tables in the centre are moved, and it’s converted into a dance floor.”

“I can’t imagine anyone here cutting shapes on the dance floor.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Henry says, although I don’t know what Henry does, I do know it has something to do with computers. So, in my mind, Henry is a hacker.

Henry, Tom, William, and James along with Emily, Isla, Emma, and Sophie. They work for Luca, with their own jobs within the organisation and all are members of his inner circle, his most trusted.

“Even you?” I ask Luca.

“You’ve not lived until you’ve seen him do the Macarena,” Isla says from next to Henry. There’s something else these women have in common with each other and being part of his inner circle, and well, let’s face it, criminals.

They all walked straight out a magazine.

Isla takes breath-taking to a whole new level. She’s the epitome of flawless elegance, with radiant pale skin and captivating brown doe eyes. Her long chestnut hair shimmers with honeyed highlights, a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks adds a touch of charm.

“Fuck off. I did it once. You’ve got to let it go, Isla,” he replies, grinning, and she laughs.

My stomach twists and I feel a pang of something, making my chest squeeze. How many of these beautiful women has he slept with?

Why am I thinking about that?

More to the point, why do I care whether he has slept with any of these people?

It doesn’t matter. It’s all an act. Remember.

“Excuse me,” I say, standing.

“Want me to come?” Katy says, glancing up at me from the chair.

“Can you walk in a straight line?” Roman says with narrowed eyes.

“Probably not, to be fair.” Katy waves her hand. “I’ll wait here, hold the fort.”

“Noble of you,” Roman mutters and she pokes her tongue out at him.

“I’ll be right back.” Luca stands, but I raise an eyebrow. “I think I can manage a wee without you.”

“I did make a promise.”

“Levi is preoccupied. He’s already had his fun with me.” Picking up my glittery clutch, I excuse myself again and follow the groups of people who have started to vacate the main room.

“Layla? Layla Johnson?”

I look from side to side, searching for the source of the voice and see a man waving at me. He’s not much taller than me in my heels, greying hair, and slightly overweight, his shirt is tight underneath his tuxedo showing a belly that enjoys the finer things in life.

Like sweets. Lots and lots of them.

His face is kind though, blue sparkling eyes show intelligence, and his smile is infectious. I just wish I knew who he is. And how the hell he knows my name.

I wave stupidly and then carry on walking, heading towards the ladies. Who’s to say this isn’t a trap?

Fingers crossed there’s no bloody queue.

“Layla.” At a light tap on my shoulder, I start, and then look from the finger to the man. “Jesus,” he places his hand to his bow tie. “You look just like your mother!”

I freeze.

Everything in me coils up, my breath hitches at hearing someone refer to me and my mother in the same sentence.

That hasn’t happened in a long, long time.

“I wasn’t sure it was you, but now I’m seeing you up close.” He pulls me into a hug, and I just go. Because I am completely confused as to what the bloody hell is happening. And who the bloody hell he is. He releases me and I step back, rubbing at my arm as a wave of unease runs through my body. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“No.” I press my lips together and frown before clearing the frog in my throat. “No, it’s okay. But I’m really sorry, I have no idea who you are.”

“You wouldn’t. I worked with your parents. I always wondered what happened to their daughter, and here you are.”

“Here I am.” I smile politely because I’ve literally got no idea what else to say to the man. “You said you worked with them both? I didn’t know they worked together.”

He shifts, and something flashes in his eyes, he glances to the left before turning his attention back to me. I’m getting better at reading people, and he has just said something he shouldn’t have.

“Yes. Government.” He says the second word a bit quieter. “We went way back. Your mother and I met when we were working in the Foreign Office together. Then your father, well, he met your mother during one of their placements. When they found out they were pregnant with you, they ended up back on home soil in the Home Office.”

I rack my brains for any recollection of them ever saying they worked in government. “So, they were civil servants.”

“Yes, exactly that.” He says it too quickly, too loudly.

“Oh, well. It’s lovely to meet you. Thank you for saying hello.” I try to excuse myself, because there’s something clawing at the recesses of my brain. Something that my subconscious is trying to grip hold of, but I can’t reach the memory, it’s niggling at me, but after the car crash, I stopped thinking about my life with my parents.

I have no recollection of them ever telling me a story of how they met though, but they must have. I must have asked.

“If you ever need anything, please call me.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a card, which I look at quickly before placing it in my clutch bag.

Terry Peyton, Deputy General, Home Office.

“Thank you. Take care, Terry.” I smile politely and walk away.

Terry, Terry, Terry. Terry Peyton. Home Office, Foreign Office.

Nope, nothing.