The door creaks as I push it open, a bell jingling overhead.
Cold air-conditioning hits me like a slap, raising goosebumps across my sunburned shoulders. The shop is narrow and cluttered, with glass cases lined with watches, jewelry, and electronics. Everything smells of dust and desperation.
“Can I help you?” The clerk doesn’t look up from his phone. He’s middle-aged, balding, with thick glasses perched on a nose that’s been broken at least once.
My throat tightens as I approach the counter. “I… I need to sell this.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, hoarse from crying, from screaming as Andrea’s hands squeezed my throat.
The clerk finally looks up, eyes widening slightly as he takes in my disheveled appearance. I haven’t seen a mirror, but I can imagine what I look like—wild-eyed, sunburned, hair tangled from the wind and boat spray. I must reek of fear and guilt.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” He holds out a pudgy hand, fingers wiggling impatiently.
I place the diamond choker on the scratched glass counter, my fingers reluctant to release it. Raffaele’s collar. The symbol of his ownership that I wore with pride. Now it might save my life from him.
The clerk picks it up, whistling low as he examines the stones. He reaches for a jeweler’s loupe, screwing it into his eye socket with practiced ease. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker, casting sickly shadows across his face as he studies each diamond.
“This is high-end.” He turns it over, examining the clasp. I just shrug since I have no information to offer. “Where’d you get it?” His eyes flick up to meet mine, suspicion hardening his features.
“It was a gift.” The truth, technically. A gift from a man who collected me like a debt, who married me, who showed me a different life before I destroyed it all with a single desperate act of survival.
“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t believe me. “You got papers for it? Certificate of authenticity? Receipt?”
My heart sinks. “No.”
The clerk sighs, removing the loupe from his eye. “Look, lady. This thing’s worth at least fifty thousand dollars. Maybe more. I can’t just buy something like this off the street.”
“I don’t need fifty thousand,” I say quickly, desperation creeping into my voice. “I just need enough for a plane ticket. Two thousand? Please.”
He stares hard at me. “You’re running from something.”
I say nothing, but my body betrays me—hands trembling, pulse visibly hammering in my throat.
“Or someone,” he adds, pushing the choker back across the counter toward me. “Either way, I can’t help you. Something this high-end is hard to move without questions. And I don’t need that kind of heat.”
“Please.” The word catches in my throat. “I’m not… I didn’t steal it.”
“Doesn’t matter if you stole it or not. Your husband gave it to you, and now you’re running from him. That right?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t need marital problems becoming my problems.”
I pale, the trembling in my hand intensifies. How does he know all that? Tears burn behind my eyes. “You don’t understand. I need to leave. Today.”
“Not my business.” His tone hardens. “Look, try the airport. Sometimes they have currency exchange places that’ll take jewelry. No promises, though.”
The bell above the door jingles as another customer enters, signaling the end of our conversation. I scoop up the choker with numb fingers, sliding it into the pocket of my shorts.
“Thank you anyway,” I murmur, though there’s nothing to thank him for.
Outside, the heat slams into me again, along with the crushing weight of my situation. No money. No ID. No phone. And somewhere out there, Raffaele is looking for me.
Hunting me is more like it.
I know he won’t listen to my explanation if he catches up to me. Leaning against the building’s grimy exterior, I close my eyes, fighting back tears. I can’t afford to break down now. I need to keep moving, keep thinking.
“Rough day?”
I jerk upright, heart lurching into my throat. A man stands a few feet away—salt-and-pepper hair, a weathered face with kind eyes. His casual stance suggests no immediate threat, but after what happened with Andrea, I don’t trust anyone.
“I’m Ray.” He gestures toward the pawnshop door. “Couldn’t help noticing you didn’t have much luck in there.”
I take a step backward, eyes darting to the street, calculating my chances of outrunning him if necessary.
