CHAPTER 166: ANOTHER MARRIAGE

~LAYLA~

The next evening, I stood in front of our car, the diamond bracelet cold against my wrist. Axel was beside me; his jaw was tight, and his hands were clenched at his sides.

"If I could," he said quietly, "I wouldn’t let you do this. I’d lock you in the house and deal with Marco myself."

"I know." I touched his face gently. "But we have little to no choice. This is our best shot."

"Tye’s got you covered," he said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than me. "Four men in your security detail, all armed. Tye himself will be inside. And I’ll be monitoring everything from the van outside."

"I’ll be fine."

"You better be." He pulled me into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. "Because if anything happens to you, if Marco even looks at you wrong..."

"He won’t. He wants something from me, which means he needs me alive and cooperative." I pulled back to look at him. "I can do this, Axel. I have to."

"I know." He kissed me, soft and desperate. "I love you. Come back to me."

"Always."

One of the security guards cleared his throat. "Mrs. O’Brien, we should leave now to arrive on time."

I squeezed Axel’s hand one last time before climbing into the backseat of the black SUV. Two guards sat in front, two more in a vehicle behind us. Overkill, maybe, but after everything we’d been through, I wasn’t complaining.

As we drove through the city, I stared at the bracelet on my wrist. The diamonds caught the passing streetlights, throwing sparkles across the car’s interior. Marco had insisted I wear it... another power play, another way to mark me as his.

The thought made my skin crawl.

But if wearing his bracelet got us the information we needed to clear our names and redirect Sinaloa’s wrath toward Charles, where it belonged, I’d wear it. I’d smile and play along with whatever game Marco thought he was winning.

Because in the end, we’d be the ones walking away victorious.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

La Sirena was everything Marco had promised: upscale, public, filled with well-dressed diners and the soft murmur of conversation. The waterfront location offered floor-to-ceiling windows with views of the harbour, boats bobbing gently in the evening tide.

My guards escorted me to the entrance, with two staying outside and two following me in before melting into strategic positions near the exits.

Marco was already there, seated at a corner table that offered privacy while still being visible to the main dining room. He stood when he saw me, a smile spreading across his handsome face.

"Layla." He took my hand, bringing it to his lips. "I wasn’t entirely sure you’d come, but here you are."

"Here I am." I pulled my hand back, noting how his eyes went immediately to the bracelet. "Shall we sit?"

"Of course." He held out my chair, ever the gentleman. Once we were both seated, he leaned back, studying me. "You look beautiful tonight. That dress suits you."

"Thank you." I’d chosen an elegant but modest dress. "This is a lovely restaurant."

"One of my favourites when I’m in town. The chef trained in Italy, and the wine list is exceptional." He paused. "Does your husband know you’re here? Meeting me?"

The question was casual, but loaded with implications.

"I’m my own person," I said coolly. "I don’t need to report my every movement to anyone, husband or otherwise."

Marco’s smile widened. "Independent. I like that. So many women in your position would hide behind their husbands, let the men handle the dangerous negotiations."

"I’m not most women."

"No, you’re certainly not." He gestured to the menu. "Shall we order? I recommend the osso buco. It’s spectacular."

"What do you want, Marco? Really?"

"Right now? To enjoy dinner with a fascinating woman. Later? Well, that depends on how the evening goes."

Before I could press further, a waiter appeared at our table. "Good evening. May I start you with wine?"

I glanced up and nearly did a double-take. The waiter was tall, dark-haired, and wearing thick-rimmed glasses that completely changed his face. But when he winked, so quick Marco couldn’t have possibly seen it, I recognized those eyes even with the contact on.

Tye.

"The Barolo," Marco said without looking at the wine list. "The 2015, if you have it."

"An excellent choice, sir." His voice was different, slightly accented, nothing like his usual rough American drawl. "And for the lady?"

"The same is fine," I managed, relief flooding through me.

Tye was here. Right here. Close enough to intervene if things went wrong.

I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.

After Tye left to retrieve the wine, Marco leaned forward. "So, Layla. Tell me about yourself. Beyond the CEO title and the dramatic marriage to Axel O’Brien."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Your dreams, your fears, what drives you. I find you intriguing."

I played along, sharing carefully edited stories from my childhood, my business aspirations, and my love for Eclipse Beauty. Marco listened intently, asking questions and laughing at the right moments. He was charming, I had to admit. Dangerous, but charming.

Tye returned with the wine, poured with professional precision. "Your server will be with you shortly to take your dinner order."

Marco raised his glass. "To new beginnings," he said.

"To clearing up misunderstandings," I countered.

We clinked glasses, and I took a small sip, aware that I needed to keep my head clear.

Dinner arrived, the osso buco for both of us, as Marco had insisted. The food was incredible, but I barely tasted it, as I was too focused on my real objective.

"This must be difficult for you," I said casually, cutting into my veal. "Having to clean up your father’s business deals, deal with problems that aren’t really yours."

"It comes with the territory. When you’re born into a family like mine, you learn early that business and family are inseparable."

"Still, it seems like a lot of pressure. Especially when the evidence isn’t exactly clear-cut."

His eyes sharpened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, how can you be certain Eclipse Beauty was laundering Sinaloa money? That’s a serious accusation. Surely you verified it thoroughly before taking action."

"We don’t make accusations lightly, Layla. We had documentation, bank transfers, shell companies, the whole trail."

"But how did you get those documents? That’s proprietary financial information, not exactly public record."

Marco smiled, taking another sip of wine. "You’d be surprised what money can buy. Including loyalty from people who should know better."

"Such as?"

"Such as junior associates in law firms who have access to confidential files and expensive tastes they can’t afford on their salaries." He cut another piece of veal. "It was actually quite easy. A little cash, a little pressure, and suddenly we had everything we needed."

My pulse quickened. A lawyer’s associate. That was traceable.

"That seems risky," I said carefully. "What if the documents were fake? What if someone fabricated them to frame Eclipse Beauty?"

"Why would anyone do that?"

"To redirect your family’s attention. To make you focus on us instead of the real thief."

Marco set down his fork, his expression shifting from casual to calculating. "Is that what you think happened? That someone framed you?"

"I think someone stole from you and made it look like we did it. I think you’re chasing the wrong target."

"And you’re trying to convince me of this over dinner?" His smile was dangerous now. "Is that why you agreed to meet me, Layla? To probe me for information? To find some way to wiggle out of the debt?"

"I’m here because you invited me. Because you said you could help."

"I can help. But not by entertaining conspiracy theories about mysterious framers." He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. "I have a different proposition for you."

I pulled my hand back. "What kind of proposition?"

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense. "Marry me."

Everything around me felt like it had frozen in place. The chatter and clinking of dishes at the restaurant turned into background noise. All I could focus on was the loud thumping of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears.

"What?!"

"Marry me," he repeated.