Fuck my motherfucking life.
The Diazes own this parking lot.
Of course, they fucking do.
They own half the fucking shit around here. The other half pays them protection money.
A truck passes in front of me as I wait to cross the street. By the time it drives past, Alejandro’s disappeared.
Fuck.
I glance around to make sure no one’s paying attention to me. Many people from northern Italy have lighter coloring than many would expect of people from a Mediterranean country. While I’m not naturally as dark as people from the southern regions, I tan really well. That means between what’s naturaland what the sun does, I can pass for many ethnicities. I can pull off most hair colors without looking fake.
Right now, I’m sporting a wig with long, black, wavy hair. It’s much darker than my natural color and much thicker than the one I wore on the cruise. Since I have a tan from my last job in Greece, I can blend in as a Latina here. Maybe not Colombian, but I’m passable. I speak fluent Spanish, so I’m not scared I’ll be a deer in the headlights if someone speaks to me in the language.
I notice men in suits standing outside a bodega, so he must be there. I’m unprepared for him to walk out so soon and hand an envelope to one guy. I duck into a store before he can look in my direction. I don’t notice what the place sells until the door closes behind me.
Thank God it’s not a butcher or a baker.
Instead, it’s a cell phone store. I pretend to look around, making a beeline for a particular brand of phone. I keep my back mostly to the door and windows and bend over a display, but from the corner of my eye, I watch him walk past. Thankfully, the advertisement plastered to the window makes it difficult to see in or out clearly. I feel him looking at me. If he can even see me, I’m certain it’s just my outline, so it’s not obvious I’m looking at him too.
A sales associate greets me, but I’m quick to let him know I don’t see what I wanted. I try for a brief thank you, no thank you, but he starts his sales pitch. I cut him off—I know I’m rude—but I don’t have time to waste in here. I slip out the door and pretend to be rummaging in my purse for something as I check the sidewalk in both directions.
I put on sunglasses and follow Alejandro, who’s a block ahead of me. He leads me toward the parking lot, so I head to the car rather than follow him. Once I’m inside, I lock the doors and pretend to scroll on my phone. With the sunglasses on and my chin tucked, I’m still able to see what’s going on around me.I’ll wait for him to make his next move, then follow him without him noticing.
He’s working as a bouncer at the club his cousin owns. I blend into the crowd, lingering with groups of women, just close enough to appear like I’m the quiet friend without appearing obtrusive to any of them. I sip my drinks in between dances.
I’m on my third bay breeze when I spot Alejandro scanning the crowd.
Did he notice me earlier?
Did someone notice my behavior and report it to him?
Did they think I was suspicious?
While I keep my gaze sweeping the dance floor and the part of the bar I can see, I force my expression to remain neutral, like I’m just people watching. When the fourth group of women I’m near head to the dance floor, so do I. It’s not long before a guy maneuvers himself toward me. Other men have danced with me tonight which has kept me from standing out. But this one gets handsy. I attempt to step away, but his arm snakes around my waist and pulls me toward him. When I don’t budge, he yanks harder.
“Don’t.”
“Come on. Shaking your ass like that tells me you’re looking for someone to pay attention.”
I love to dance—not like at the bachelor party. Despite being here to watch Alejandro, I was making the most of this and enjoying myself.
But this douchebag…
“I dance because I like it not because it’s an invitation. Don’t.”
His hand slides down to my ass and grabs it. This time I let him pull me closer. Then I knee him.
“Bitch!”
“Asshole.”
He may have yelled his expletive, but I muttered mine.
“He is an asshole, and he’s leaving.Now.”
I turn my head to find Alejandro standing behind me. He steps closer, not just crowding me but thestronzo—asshole—who hasn’t let go yet. When he leans forward, his chest brushes the back of my shoulder. It’s like leaning against a brick wall. I feel the menace rolling off him as though it were a cloud engulfing me. The guy lets go and takes a step back, his hand over his crotch, but he doubles down.
