"I'm lying in bed counting ceiling cracks. How much smarter do you want me to be?"
"You could have called the family doctor."
"We've been over this."
"And we'll keep going over it until I understand why you chose her apartment over a hospital."
I don't answer. There's nothing to say that wouldn't make things worse.
Lorenzo sighs. "How is she?"
"Not speaking to me."
"Can you blame her?"
"No."
"Dante." His voice softens. Just slightly. "Whatever this is—whatever you think you're doing—she's not part of our world. She left for a reason."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I stare at the ceiling. Crack number seven branches into three smaller lines near the light fixture.
"I know," I repeat.
"Stay put. Stay quiet. We'll handle the cartel. When it's safe, we'll get you out."
The line goes dead.
I set the phone down. Press my palm against my side. The pain is a dull throb now. Manageable. Almost comfortable in its familiarity.
The smart thing would be to leave the moment I can walk.
The smart thing would be to disappear and never contact her again.
The smart thing?—
The door opens.
Marina stands in the doorway. Tray in her hands. Soup again. She's wearing a gray sweater that's too big for her and leggings that make her legs look endless. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun.
She doesn't look at me.
"Lunch," she says. Sets the tray on the nightstand. Turns to leave.
"Marina."
She stops. Doesn't turn around.
"You can't ignore me forever."
"Watch me."
"It's been twenty-six hours."
"I'm aware. I let you in.I'm keeping you fed and medicated. That's the extent of my obligation."
