I Would Do Anything for Love...

I couldn’t remember ever seeing her like she was when we pulled up in front of the closed restaurant. She didn’t wait for me to come around and open the door, instead getting out and waiting for me in front of the dark storefront. We walked around to the side of the building and down the wet alley, water dripping from fire escape above us on either side of the alley from the thunderstorm which had just passed. Black garbage bags overflowed from a dumpster and a man stood by the side door just beyond it. He said something to her in Italian and she nodded.

He stayed outside as we entered. If we turned right as we had done many times before, it took us down a hallway and into the kitchen; tonight however, we went left where there was a steel door which opened with a groan and led us down an old, creaky wooden staircase into the basement.

The front part was for the restaurant; doors opening for the two walk-in boxes. The walls were filled with shelves that housed dry goods and cans of items the kitchen used every day. Wooden pallets lined the middle of the floor and were used to store bags of onions and potatoes, flour and all other bulky items the kitchen needed.

The room was big and lit fairly well but didn’t quite illuminate the steel black door in the far corner. She knocked once and the door was opened from the inside. Three large men whom I recognized as her father’s men were inside the sparsely decorated room. An old, gray metal desk was at the far wall with an ancient but functioning computer on it. There were three large metal file cabinets on the wall to the left of the desk. A worn leather couch was against the other wall; this was Dom’s office, Dom was Layla’s father. Dom was the boss of the Mancini crime family and was dead, assassinated by the man that was tied to the chair in the middle of the room on a plastic tarp.

He was bleeding from a few cuts on his face, no doubt the work of the three men in this room who would love to have done more. His mouth was taped but Layla ripped that off. One of the men handed her a gun. She looked at me with a resolve I had never seen before, her blue eyes unusually steely and cold, her face steady and her lips firm. It was not a look I liked but I understood. She took a step closer to the chair and the man looked up at her, pleading for forgiveness. She raised her arm…

One year earlier:

I didn’t know who Layla Mancini was when I met her. She was playing saxophone for the band I hired to play in my brother’s bar. When I sat with the band after to have a few drinks, there was no denying we had a connection and when she accepted my invitation for lunch the following day, well I was pretty psyched.

I was working at my brother’s place to stay busy, I had just sold my business for a huge windfall and needed something to do besides sleep and play golf.

When I pulled into the diner’s parking lot in my old Porsche 944, Layla was already there sitting in her brand new 700 series BMW. I automatically wondered what I was getting myself into. We went inside and sat in a booth near the window where we compared notes on our respective rides.

“A Porsche 944, you don’t see that car too often. Did you get that to make yourself standout a little?” she asked with a touch of sarcasm.

“Ever see the movie ‘Sixteen Candles?’”

“So, you’re a hopeless romantic?” she asked with a grin.

“I hate to admit it, but I am.”

“Good. There should be more hopeless romantics in this world,” she said smiling.

“What about you?”

“I am just hopeless. It kind of comes with who I am.”

“What do you mean? Look at that car you’re driving.”

“That car is because of my father. Wait, you don’t know who I am?”

“Layla Mancini, right?”

“Yes.”

I just looked at her not putting two and two together.

“Mancini. My father is Dom Mancini.”

Then it hit me. Dom Mancini was in the mafia. Actually, Dom Mancini was the mafia. He was the head of the Mancini crime family which ran South Jersey.

“Holy shit,” I said taking a breath.

“That’s the reaction I always get. Usually followed by an uncomfortable silence and then stupid family questions. I haven’t been too fortunate with relationships once people find out who my father is.”

I thought about that for a second.

“In all due respect, I really don’t care about your father, I am here with you and want to know about Layla.”

She looked at me stunned.

“That’s a great answer,” she said blushing.

The waitress came over and we placed our order.

“So, what do you do besides play the sax?”

“Since my mom passed away ten years ago, I work for my father.”

I wanted to know more about her father but didn’t press.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did your mom pass?”

“Ovarian cancer. She fought hard but ultimately lost. That’s when I started the sax. When she was sick, she’d listen to jazz all day, and I fell in love with it. I made my father buy me one and I took lessons without my mother knowing. I had my teacher teach me one of my mother’s favorite songs. As soon as I felt like I could play it perfectly, I surprised her and played it. She was in her glory and so proud of me.”

“That’s tremendous. Did you get to play more songs for her?”

She paused and stared out the window.

“The day after I played her that song, she passed. I could have packed it up and sold the sax after that, but I chose to dedicate myself to learning to play in honor of her.”

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say.

“Don’t be. I am a hell of a sax player, and I love playing, so it kind of worked out in a way.”

Our food was placed in front of us, and I was thrilled to see she was a girl who was not afraid to eat in front of me. I knew at that moment; she was going to be special even with Dom Mancini as her father.

When I first met Dom I was nervous, I expected to be intimidated, but I wasn’t. He was like a big teddy bear and his daughter was his world, but he didn’t spoil her. Well, he tried to spoil her, but she insisted on working for what she received and not being your typical mafia princess. I liked him but he did remind me not to hurt his daughter on more than one occasion.

Layla’s passion for the sax was matched by her passion for every aspect of life. Whether it be food, wine, clothes, music and thankfully sex, she approached everything with a zeal which I had never seen before. Our lunch date turned into a whirlwind romance that grew in intensity with every new day. And it wasn’t long before I knew she was the one.

Although they kept the other part of their life in the dark, I knew it was there, looming, hoping one day it wouldn’t come into the light of our happy life. I never really knew what Layla did working for her father and having his guys around the house became a part of our normal life when we were there, it never really bothered me. Layla was always the same fun loving, easy going, sax playing woman that I had fallen in love with that day at lunch.

Dom decided to take Layla and two of his guys to Atlantic City in his 57 Chevy. She was excited to spend the day with him, and I was happy for her. I was going to sit with him the next day and ask for his daughter’s hand, so this day away was probably a good thing.

I sat at my table with some takeout and flipped on the TV just in time to see the breaking news. Alleged crime boss gunned down in Atlantic City, two people were killed and two seriously wounded when a lone gunman opened fire on the car containing the four people.

I dropped my food and went into a panic. Where was Layla? Was she okay? I made phone calls to my friends to help me out. One had a connection to get me the hospital information; another arrived at my house in less than five minutes to drive me.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was relieved to find out Layla was alive. She was hit twice, once on the side and once in the arm. The bullet wound to her side punctured her lung causing it to collapse. She was rushed into surgery and was now in ICU recovering. I was allowed to see her.

My heart hurt seeing her that way with the IV in her arm and a tube down her throat helping her breathe. I didn’t know if she even knew about her father yet, I was not looking forward to telling her. Watching her unconscious like that took my love to a different level. I had not seen her hurt or in any pain, but I knew I had to be there for her. I had to do anything she needed me to in order to ease her pain, to bring us back to the life we were on our way to having but I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

When she woke up several hours later, I could tell she already knew about her father. Tears trickled from her eyes and even after they removed the tube and she could speak, she didn’t. She didn’t have to. She knew I was there and would do anything she needed me to, no matter what. Our love was that strong.

Things began to change after the funeral, not so much between us, but with Layla herself. The fun-loving, carefree Layla was a bit colder, more serious about things. Needless to say, I put asking her to marry me on the backburner for a bit. She also seemed to be taking care of her father’s business for the time being and I was no longer as in the dark as I had been. But when I found out how involved she was, I was shocked. Apparently, she didn’t work for her father, he worked for her. She was the one making the decisions for the family and he was there to help her. He had relinquished most of the control to her about five years ago when he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Only a handful of people outside the family knew this and now not only was she hunting for her father’s killer, but she was also fighting to keep control of the family.

Unsure what to do with this information, I had to know her plans. I didn’t think I was ready to live this lifestyle. The uncertainty, the violence and always looking over our shoulders and having this dictate our lives. Plus, I still wasn’t sure of her plan if they got the guy before the police and I had the distinct feeling that the family had better information and the inside track on catching him.

“Layla, what are you going to do if you catch him?”

“He is going to suffer. Then I will kill him.”

She said this without flinching and I knew she was serious.

“You can’t do that.”

“Watch me.”

“I can’t watch you. I don’t think I can live with that.”

“Do you love me?”

“You know I do. But…”

“But what? Do you want me to just hand him over. He assassinated my father.”

Just the way she said it made me understand that her mind was made up and it would be me being forced to decide.

“I can’t just let this go and if you really love me, you’d understand that and not ask me to not do it,” she said.

I turned and looked out the window. My heart was trying to change my head, and it was working to an extent. I loved her, I felt her pain and anger. I did understand where she was coming from, but it just didn’t seem right.

“I’m not asking you to do or not do anything. And I love you with all my heart and if the roles were reversed would want you by my side. I am here. I am with you. But when the time comes, I make no guarantees.”

“Fair enough. Who knows, maybe I won’t even be able to be able to do it when push comes to shove.”

But I saw her eyes. Given the chance I knew she would take it and get her revenge. The only question would be, did she want revenge more than she wanted me? Or did I want her to do what she needed to do in order to be happy again and have a life with me? Only time would tell. Unfortunately, that time came a lot faster than either one of us expected.

It was late when her phone rang, and I knew just by her reaction they had him. When she hung up, she turned to me.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to come. But I’m not sure if you should be here when I get back if you don’t.”

I reluctantly got dressed. My heart was racing; this shit was really happening. It was a little after two in the morning when we got in her car and headed to the restaurant.

When she raised her arm and the gun was pointed at him, I turned and headed for the door. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be there while she executed this man even though every ounce of my soul knew he deserved it. Her decision would either be a relief to her or make her as cold-blooded as this life could make her. But either way, if she pulled that trigger there was no turning back and I knew if I walked through that door there was no turning back for me either, our lives would never be the same.

As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard the gun shot. I paused for a second and then started my ascent. I had reached the alley when she came running up behind me.

“I couldn’t do it,” she said breathing a little heavy from chasing me.

But I could see the damage was done. Either way I had made the decision I would regret for the rest of my life.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I know, I just always thought you’d have my back no matter what.”

“I did too, but I couldn’t do this.”

“I couldn’t either, but you left me when I needed you most.”

“I will always wish I didn’t. I will always love you.”

And I turned and walked away. She didn’t follow.