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Well. I say big, but it has a big grocery store and maybe five other little stores next to it. It’s not too far from the garage. “But—”
“We know the owners of most of the shops over there, and they’ll let us have one spot for a bit. You can use the guest wifi from most any store, or go work at the library.”
“But I—”
Rhea is on a roll. “I’ll give you the laptop and a list of parts that we need ordered. I’ll text them to you. You do the ordering.”
“That’s just more work for you!” I exclaim.
“It’s one more step, but it’s training you to do it so that you can do it when I’m not here,” Rhea states, arms crossed across her chest. “When I’m on maternity leave, Laz will have the shop full.”
“This could happen next week! He won’t want to work with me. I’m... I know how I feel, but I should just go,” I whisper.
Manny’s hand is like a stack of bricks on my shoulder, but well-meaning bricks. He pats me gently. “Let us talk to him. Give it a week. Then see.”
I don’t have anything better than this. That’s the sad truth. This might be the only place where someone like me can start over without a prison-orange wardrobe or a new address six feet under. “Okay. We’ll see.”
Chapter Sixteen: Lazarus
“Let’s walk over together.”
Manny is standing outside of my crypt.
“I know I’m late, but you didn’t have to come get me. That’s why I have a cell phone,” I mutter, pulling my coat around me, keeping my head down.
I don’t know if my eyes ever look tired. I know I didn’t sleep.
I just played and replayed every conversation. I missed Victoria’s voice. Her scent. The feel of her.
And I sat here, missing her one moment and hating her the next.
“No, I know I didn’t have to. Just thought I would. We have a few things to talk about.”
“You saw the apartment? Did she leave a note?”
“Victoria left the apartment. She didn’t leave a note. She talked to us, very maturely and honestly. About her past. About her reason for being in the area. About what she hopes to do with her future.”
Well, that’s a shocker. “Did she?”
“Mmhm.”
“What kind of a future does a mafia hitwoman have?” I ask.
“The kind where she’s not known by that job description. She wants a nice life, with a new family, new friends, and a new start. Can you relate to that?”
“Mmhm. Very relatable.” My tone is flippant, and of course, Manny catches it.
“Lazarus. She did a horrible thing. She broke your trust, and she threatened your life.”
“She never threatened me.” I brush my cheek and hide it by tugging my collar higher. I remember the way she slapped me. And kissed me. The way she didn’t push me off when I was rough, when I bit, or even flinch when I almost slugged her. This isn’t who I want to be.
And yet, at my worst, she just wanted me to stay.
She saw me when I was someone’s pet killing machine. She saw me kill people in the worst, messiest, most violent way. She forgot all about it after she met me and saw me help her.
I miss her.
I hate her for making me miss her.
