“What are we supposed to tell them happened?” Driver said.
“The truth,” I said. “I slipped out of my handcuffs and then took the gun you’re holding and turned it on you.”
“The truth?” the one with the gun said. “I’m still holding the gun.” He shook it at me.
“Now,” I said, looking at my watch. “In ten minutes, when you open this door, it’ll be mine.”
“I can kill you right now,” he said, pointing the gun at me.
“You could,” I said. “I doubt the organization will appreciate you killing me, though, seeing as they have rules for how this is supposed to go down with me and mine.”
The driver pulled to the side of the road.
“What are—” the one with the gun started.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” the driver said, cutting him off. “I’m letting him go.”
“Good choice,” I said in Sicilian.
The one with the gun straightened, taking a deep breath, while the driver let me out. I stood there and watched as the cruiser pulled away and left me alone on the road.
Every man has a price. Even when he says he doesn’t.
Even me.
She would always be my price. I’d pay with my life to keep her.
* * *
The party was still goingstrong at Club Desolation.
It was alive with a buzzing sound that echoed inside of my head. It needed to be silenced.
Her peace was mine, and until she had it, I wouldn’t rest.
With a mask on my face and a cloak that matched the theme of the event, I slipped inside from an entrance few people knew about.
Starting from the inside out, the motherfucker was going to burn.
After I did what needed to be done, the people inside starting to dance to the chaotic sounds of the fire alarms blaring, I stepped outside as flames ripped up vines of ivy, like fire through veins made of paper.
Oaths.
The blood.
The bones.
The flesh.
All the secrets—even mine.
Up in fucking flames.
The heat of it warmed my back as I took my first steps toward freedom.
25
Rosalia
