A message appears.
One location pin.
My hands shake so badly I nearly drop the phone.
Chapter 15
Darling
The pin Rico sends glows on my screen like a bruise.
Lady is already moving when it comes through, keys in hand, mouth set, eyes sharp. She doesn’t ask if I’m sure. She knows I’m not. Sure is a luxury.
My throat feels tight as I stare at the location.
Little Havana.
But not the version tourists photograph for postcards.
This is the other side. The side where paint peels off buildings in tired strips and balconies sag like they’re thinking about giving up. Window air conditioners hang crooked from rusted brackets like loose teeth ready to fall. The whole block smells like mildew, grease, and regret that never quite leaves.
Lady refuses to let me go alone.
We argue in the marble lobby of her building for five full minutes while the night guard pretends not to listen.
“He said alone,” I hiss, gripping my phone like it might explode.
“And he’s a coward,” Lady snaps back, folding her arms across her chest. “Cowards lie.”
“He’ll hurt Disco.”
The words come out thinner than I want them to.
Lady’s jaw tightens. For a moment I see the calculation behind her eyes, the way she weighs risk like gamblers count cards.
“Okay,” she says finally. “I’m driving. You’re walking in alone. I’m not letting you disappear.”
“That’s not what he asked.”
“Fuck what he asked,” she says. “He stole your bird and your peace. He doesn’t get to set rules.”
I swallow hard. “Rules are what keep you alive.”
“So is breaking them at the right time,” she says.
In the end she drives me anyway.
But she parks two blocks away from the building, engine idling, headlights off. Streetlights flicker weakly along the sidewalk. Music drifts from a nearby bar. Someone laughs too loud, the sound bouncing off cracked pavement and graffiti walls.
Lady reaches across the console and grips my arm before I open the door.
“If you’re not back in twenty minutes,” she says quietly, “I’m calling Diablo.”
My stomach twists at the sound of his name.
Calling Diablo doesn’t mean help.
It means motorcycles. It means patched men. It means a 1% club showing up like a storm and leaving bodies when the rain stops. It means Rico doesn’t just get found. He gets erased.
