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“But—”
The door to the bedroom slammed behind him, leaving me in the rumpled bed, confused, sad, and worried that Mark was about to do something really, really bad.
I’d noticed a phone in my earlier perusal of the room and dove for it.
Dialing Hannah’s cell phone, I worriedly twisted my fingers in the disheveled comforter.
She answered on the third ring. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hannah, it’s Layla,” I said quickly. “I think Mark is going to try beat up Leo.”
“What?”
I explained the situation to her, and she groaned. “Shit, shit, shit. Thanks for telling me. I’m sending a message to Leo right now.”
Relief spread through me. “Thank you. Why is he so mad that Leo hypnotized me?”
“Uh, well, Mark’s one of those guys who doesn’t believe in it.” I picked up on something strange in her voice, but before I could question her, she said, “Gotta go!”
She hung up, leaving me looking at Vali, who rested with his head on the edge of the bed. Patting the mattress next to me, I eagerly accepted his kisses and cuddles, my mind and body both exhausted. Rolling over to my side, I got beneath the blankets then curved around Vali like the big spoon as he laid down next to me.
I don’t know what Mark’s stance was on having dog hair on his bed, but right then, I didn’t care.
So many worries clamored for my attention that my brain didn’t know what to focus on first. Instead, I used a trick I’d learned years ago. I began to imagine my safe space. It was a beautiful, massive marble patio coming off a castle turret. Behind me, gauzy peach curtains covered in gold spangles billowed in the breeze. Overhead stretched the most beautiful sunset. The balcony looked over a lush jungle, and in the distance, massive waterfalls crashed and churned. I’d imagined the place so many times that I swore I could smell the exotic scents of tropical flowers surrounding me.
Safe in my dream haven, my overwhelmed mind relaxed, allowing me to drift off into the healing sleep I desperately needed.
Chapter 11
Mark
Three security guards waited for me as the elevator opened to the VIP floor of the Cordova building downtown.
I tried to ignore them, but Mateo, a man I’d known for years and considered a friend, stepped forward first. “Mrs. Cordova would like to speak with you.”
He could have told me the pope wanted a word, and I would have walked right past him in my search for Leo, but I couldn’t ignore the summons of Mrs. Cordova. In the hour it had taken me to drive here, my anger had calmed down slightly, but I was still pissed. I’d trusted Leo to not program Layla without talking to me first, and he’d betrayed my trust. My anger sparked again, but I knew I couldn’t confront Leo until after I’d spoken with Mrs. Cordova. Old school crime lords like the Cordovas were big on showing respect, and I had no urge to see if Mrs. Cordova really did keep a large jar holding the balls of those who’d offended her in her safe.
While her husband was the official head of the Cordova Cartel, Mrs. Cordova was no slouch. Third generation cartel, Mrs. Cordova had been born and bred to be a crime lord. She was ruthless, terrifying, and she demanded complete loyalty.
But she was also devoted to her family and took excellent care of her people. There was a reason the waiting list to work for the Cordova Empire was ten miles long, and it wasn’t just the money and power. Everyone knew that the Cordovas cared about the people that worked for them and kept them safe.
In today’s world, safety was worth more than money.
I clenched my teeth and nodded at the few people we passed, ignoring the curious looks we were getting. No doubt they wondered what kind of shit storm I’d just come from that made me look like a beaten-up homeless guy. The Cordova Empire offices had a very strict dress code. Mr. and Mrs. Cordova believed in looking professional at all points in time. She said it helped ease civilian’s minds about the corporation. Plus, people treated you better when it was obvious you had money.
Sad but true.
Normally, I kept myself pristine. Not a hair out of place, not a stain on my suit. My hair color might change, depending on if I needed to disguise myself for a job, but it was always well cut. Presentation was a big part of my job, and I took it seriously. At least, I usually did. Right then, I wore an old heavy metal t-shirt gone threadbare in places, a pair of dark blue dress slacks, and sneakers without socks. In my haste to kill Leo for fucking with Layla’s mind, I hadn’t given a shit about what I wore. While my temper had cooled somewhat—I was no longer in a blind rage—my sense of betrayal had grown.
