We lie down in my bed, and I pull the blanket over us both. I wrap my arm around her and turn off the light. I asked her to stay tonight. Not because I’m weak, but because I think we both need each other’s comfort right now.

Her fingers gently play with the necklace cradled between her tits. It’s a cross … and the moment I touch her hand, she flinches.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“Don’t be. You keep touching that. I was just curious.”

“Oh … yeah, it’s special. To me, anyway.”

“How come?” I ask.

She blows out a short breath. “My mother gave it to me when I was young. Said that I could always find her there, tucked away between the silver.”

I smile and plant a kiss between her shoulder blades. “That’s a nice gesture.”

“Hmm.”

I stare at the sink where our clothes are drying off. She crawls closer to me, her warmth filling me with momentary happiness. Is it okay to feel this way? Am I allowed to let go of the past and enjoy what I have?

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say, smelling her hair to calm myself down.

“Don’t lie. You’re tense, and you won’t stop sighing.”

I sigh again, smiling. She can read me so well it’s almost scary.

“You’re worried about those men,” she fills in for me. “If they’ll keep coming after us.”

“I’m worried about how many more I have to kill to be safe.”

She swallows. “Those men you were after … they were my father’s men, weren’t they?”

I nod against her skin, pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades.

“Do you think he wants you dead?”

“He gave them a picture of my son just to make me mad. I think he means business,” I reply.

“But you don’t have to let him get to you.” She glances over her shoulder. “You could run.”

“I’ve already run too many times.”

“What then? Are you going to kill all of them?” she asks, turning around in my arms.

“If I have to.”

“What about this church? And Margaret?” She leans on her elbow. “Will you just abandon them?”

“I can always come back …”

“How do you know?”

“Because I came back before … back when I was still in a gang myself.”

She sighs and lies back down on her pillow, her eyes boring into mine. “Tell me more about your past.”

“You don’t want to know more, trust me.”

“Yes, I do. If we’re going to be … something … I have the right to know more.”

Something.

I wonder if that means what I think it means.

“Like I said, I wasn’t just a dealer. I was a murderer too. Whatever the gang asked, it was never too much for me. I did some shit I’m not proud of, and I’d rather forget it all.”

“And this gang … were they enemies of my dad’s?”

I nod.

She blows out another breath. “So this isn’t just about us.”

I don’t say a word. I don’t know what to tell her. And I think she already knows where this is going.

“You can’t do it.”

“He won’t leave us alone,” I say.

“But he’s my dad.”

With furrowed brows, I say, “I know that, but you hated him too, right?”

“Yes, I hate what he’s done, but …” Her face darkens. “He’s still my dad.”

“How can you call a man like that a dad?”

“His blood runs through my veins.” She raises her hands, gazing at them like they’re not hers. “I am him as much as he is me.”

I grab her wrists and lower them. “That’s not true. You are compassionate. Loving. Good.” I entwine my fingers through hers, trying to persuade her my way. “Everything he wishes he could be. That’s who you are.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” I shrug.

“Hmm.” She gazes off into the distance. “Guess I’m more like my mom in that way.”

My throat clamps up, and I suddenly find it hard to breathe.

“Still,” she continues. “He is my dad. I don’t want to … lose him.” She swallows like she’s afraid I’m going to kill him.

And that feeling is correct.

“He’s everything that’s wrong with this world, Laura.”

“I know.” She rubs her forehead with her hand. “I wish I could pull my dad out of that monster. Like sometimes, I want to separate them, but I can’t. He’s one and the same. A kind daddy … and a vicious mobster.”

I rub my lips together and say, “Exactly. Someone has to stop him … and if it’s me, then so be it.”

She nods a few times and then turns around again, curling up into a ball. I wrap my arm around her and pull her closer to smell her scent again.

“Good night,” she whispers.

I’m not sure whether we’re on good terms or if she’s upset.

But what I do know is that we both need our sleep … to prepare for what’s to come.

* * *

When morning arrives, she’s gone.

Not a single hug or kiss given and not a trace left. Even her clothes are gone, and the room is exactly like it always was. As if she vanished into thin air.

Swallowing, I sit up straight and look around, sighing.

I guess she really was mad about our conversation.

I can’t blame her. I would be too if someone said they were going after my father. But she also knows he deserves it, which is why it’s such a difficult thing.

I don’t want her to be mad at me, though. We should talk this out first before I do anything stupid. So I get dressed and make myself some breakfast. After I’ve finished eating some good old cereal, I straighten my jacket in the mirror and reach for my ring, but it’s gone. Frowning, I stare at the sink for a while as if that’s going to help. Must’ve fallen into some nook or cranny after we put our clothes here.

I shrug and put on my necklace, kissing the cross for good luck before I go out. I’m going to need it because I plan to do something terribly stupid. To make it up to her, I’ve decided I’m going to cook her dinner. You know like manly men do. With bare hands and bear love.

In my good outfit, I go to the supermarket and put some fresh veggies, cream, cheese, fettuccine, and chicken in my basket. Why? Chicken fucking alfredo, that’s why. I’ve never met a person who doesn’t like it. And if they don’t … well, then they’re not human.

With my basket full of shit, I go to the cash register and stand in line when I recognize the dude standing in front of me. I cock my head and grin then tap him on the shoulder.

At first, he glances at me with a gangster look in his eyes, like he wants to straight up murder me or something, but then a relaxed smile follows.

“Ricardo,” I say, “what a coincidence.”

“Hey, dude,” he says, giving me a bro-fist.

“How’s Sofia doing?” I ask.

He scratches the back of his head. “Who?”

When I make a face, he laughs and punches my arm. “Relax, dude; I’m kidding.”

“Sounds about right,” I reply. “She dead yet?”

“Nah, bro, ‘course not. I’m not that kind of a shitty dad.”

I shrug, and now, it’s his turn to make a face.

“Dude, look at my basket,” he says, holding it up to show me how much he’s stuffed it with food. “Does this look like something a shitty dad would do?”

“I dunno. Have you learned how to cook yet?” I raise a brow. “Or do you have some side chick cooking for you now?”

“Tsk,” he retorts. “Like I got time for a bird with a baby in my home.”

“Right …”

“Hey, see this?” He points at one of the pots in his basket. “That’s asparagus, yeah. High-class shit. They don’t serve this to babies, do they?” He cocks his head. “Except this badass daddy.”

I snort. “I’ve eaten those; they’re not just for rich people.”

“What’d you get then?” He peeks in my basket. “Chicken, huh?”

I pull my basket behind my back, annoyed by his snootiness. “You can do a lot of fancy shit with chicken.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he says.

“Chicken alfredo.” I purse my lips. “Do you even know what that is?”

“Fuck you, course I do. I grew up eating chicken for breakfast.”

I burst out into laughter. “That your momma made for you.”

“What? You think I can’t cook my own shit?”

I’m still laughing my ass off. “Dude, I’ve seen you give a baby Cheerios with milk. No way you can cook this shit.”

“Bitch, please. I can cook your ass into next week. I don’t care what the recipe is.”

“Really?” I snort. “I’d love to see you try.”

He moves closer. “Oh, you’re done for now. It’s on …”

“Excuse me?” The lady behind the cash register clears her throat.

He gives me the side-eye then walks ahead and puts his items on the counter while I trail behind him. I watch him lay it all out, giving him stupid looks in between just to annoy him.

It’s only then that I notice he’s got a brand new tattoo.

It’s a barcode … Right below his nape.

I don’t know how I missed that. I must be really blind.

“So you got a new tattoo?” I ask.

Ricardo glances at me again, giving me the stink eye, but then he opens his mouth. “Got it last week. Showed a picture of a barcode to my tattoo artist, and he put it right below my hairline. Hurt like a motherfucker, but it’s totally worth it.”

“How so?”

He raises his brows. “So I can do this.”

He slams his head down on the counter, grabs the scanner from the lady’s hands, and lets it bleep near his neck. It actually registers.

“Twelve fifty,” Ricardo says as he stands up straight, gazing at me with big eyes. Then he bursts out into laughter. “That’s what I’m worth.”

I don’t know why—maybe it’s the way he’s laughing—but for some reason, I’m laughing too, and I can’t stop either. Meanwhile, the cashier looks at us like we’ve lost our damn minds. I don’t blame her. This is one fucked-up dude.

“Sorry, can’t help it,” he jests, packing up his stuff while I place mine on the counter.

I pat his back. “You always give me a good laugh when I need it.”

“Well, that’ll be twelve fifty then.”

We both burst out into laughter again.

I can barely contain myself as I pay for my stuff and Ricardo walks off with his groceries. “See ya.”

Right before he’s gone, he turns around and calls out my name. “Hey, Frank! Next week, yeah? Cookout. Me and you.” He points at me like he’s already made up his mind. No use in arguing with that. Besides, I’m too damn curious to see if he can pull it off. With his twelve fifty tattoo.

Shaking my head, I laugh it off, grab my stuff, thank the cashier, and leave the store.

* * *

A few minutes later, I knock on her door and wait. It takes a while for someone to come to the door, but it’s not Laura.

“What do you want?” It’s Bruno.

I smile. “Hey squirt, it’s me. Frank.”

“Oh, hi!” He opens the door, wearing hippo pajamas. “Sorry, Laura tells me not to open the door to strangers.”

“But I’m not a stranger anymore, now am I?” I wink.

“No,” he says, grinning. “But Laura isn’t home right now.”

“Oh … well, that’s a shame,” I reply, peering over his shoulder to see if he’s lying or not, but I don’t see anyone. “When do you think she’ll be home?”

He shrugs. “She didn’t say. I’m watching the house with my brother.”

“Can I … come inside real quick?” I ask. “It’s just that I was thinking of making you all dinner, and I brought all these delicious things.” I lower the bag to show him the goods, and his eyes glimmer with curiosity.

“That looks yummy,” he says, and he opens the door a bit more so I can step inside.

“Thanks, bro.” I rub his head, messing up his hair.

He grins and says, “Bro? No one ever calls me bro.” He seems genuinely excited as if calling him bro makes him feel older or something.

I smile back. “Well, you’re my bro now.”

“Ah, yes!” He makes a fist pump in the air, making me laugh.

“Dude, why’d you let him in?” Diego scowls at me as he switches the channel on the TV.

“Because he’s our friend,” Bruno declares.

“Says who?”

“Me.”

I grin and high-five Bruno. “Thanks, bro.”

Diego rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“I promise you; I won’t be an annoying shithead today,” I muse.

“Yeah, right.”

“Hey … I’m trying to do my best here, okay?” I say.

“No, you’re trying to get in my sister’s pants,” he retorts, raising a brow.

“So? Haven’t you ever liked a chick?”

“She’s my sister,” he sneers. “And ew.”

“What, don’t like girls?”

“Of course, I do,” he says. “But not in this house.”

“Well … I do, in this house. And your sister and I are very close.”

He blinks a couple of times and makes a face. “Please stop, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Hear what?” Bruno asks.

“Don’t,” Diego murmurs, making me laugh.

Bruno sits down beside him, and they watch the game show together while I place the groceries on the kitchen counter and start unpacking everything. That’s when my eyes slide across the kitchen and into the living room to a picture sitting on a small table. While putting the chicken in the fridge, my eyes are still completely transfixed on the image. My body moves toward it instinctively, and the closer I get, the less I can breathe.

My fingers tremble as I pick up the picture and stare.

It feels like my heart is beating out of my chest.

Like I’m frozen to the floor.

Because the image under my thumb is of the woman I killed … and on this same table is her ring.

“What’s wrong?” Bruno asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

A cold shiver runs up and down my spine as I put the picture down. Completely frazzled, I reply, “Nothing,” as I make my way to the door. “I have to go.”

“Why?” Bruno asks, staring at me as I open it.

But I can’t answer his question.

Only Laura can.

Clutching the wood, I sigh and look out at the street, wishing I didn’t see what I just saw. Wishing I could take everything back. Then I close the door behind me and run.

She knows.

I killed her mother.