Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77066 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77066 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Siéntate ahi,” she says, pointing to a booth off to the side. Sit there.
I grip the paper pressed against my chest as she takes a step back, knowing it’s a job application. I mimic writing, asking for a pen.
She pulls one from the waist apron she’s wearing as she rolls her eyes. They must be really hard up for help. Normally I’d be turned away for looking unpresentable and not coming in prepared.
“Gracias,” I tell her, drawing another frown to her face as I accept the pen and take a seat in the booth.
I don’t know how my luck keeps holding out, but I can see Alessio in his spot across the restaurant.
I only look up a few times, making sure I’m not drawing attention to myself as I fill in the lines on the application with fake information. I don’t put anything off the wall because I don’t want to be memorable.
Alessio’s meeting with Raul doesn’t last very long, and I have no doubt that the terms of whatever contract they’re working on have already been ironed out and this is just the official final agreement.
Raul stands, his cartel guards shifting, as he shakes hands with Alessio before walking away. Severino doesn’t even show enough respect to stand as this happens. Although I can’t see his face from my angle, I imagine that Raul isn’t very impressed with the hint of disrespect.
The Mafia leader is less eager to leave as he scoots further into the booth, and then she’s there—the woman who has seen so much, she didn’t even bother to scream as she was covered in her lover’s blood.
Her eyes dart to the side, but never look directly over at me. She nods as he speaks to her, and I take a moment to really look at her, trying to just see rather than let my feelings about the bitch take over.
Her right leg bounces, jostling the tablecloth. Her hands are twisted together in her lap, and despite her back being as straight as a board—something that tells me she’s not only trained but cultured—there’s still a tension in her shoulders that tells me she’s not exactly comfortable right now. I don’t know if it’s grief or fear that’s making her give off these subtle clues, but something is going on with her.
I follow her eyes across the restaurant when she looks up, watching as another man approaches the table. He hands a stack of papers to Alessio, and I hate that I can’t see what it is from my vantage point. Alessio tilts the papers in her direction, and she shakes her head at what she sees. Satisfied, Alessio distributes the papers to the men surrounding him, keeping one before handing the remainder to the man that provided them to him.
Alessio stares down at the sheet in his hands before ripping it in half.
Whatever he sees enrages him, the tips of his ears turning bright red even though his face remains a mask of calmness.
I spend the next half hour working through the application and tracking them as they sit and have a drink. I don’t know if it’s in response to what has happened or if Alessio would normally drink whiskey before noon. I’m too busy trying to keep my eyes off the woman to pick apart his actions.
When she slides out of the booth, Alessio standing up after her, I drop my head.
I know I have a little time to stick around, too curious about what was on the paper, because they didn’t leave the hotel with their luggage. It tells me that they don’t intend to check out today.
I wait until the efficient busboy clears the table before slipping him a twenty on his way back to the kitchen as I pull the ripped paper from his tray.
He shakes his head like I’m insane, but he tucks the money into his pocket before darting away.
The rough drawing I’m staring at makes no sense.
I watched her approve this image, but I’m not staring down at a crude drawing of my face. The guy in the picture looks nothing like me, and there’s no mistaking her lie because off to the right are the words blond hair, blue eyes, American.
My hair is nearly black, my eyes only one shade lighter, so damned dark most days you can’t tell the difference in pupil versus iris. The only part she got right was American.
There was no reason for her to lie. It’s not like I’m trying to get away with what I did. Someone who feels guilty wants that. Someone who wants to remain anonymous wants that. I want the Severino family to know what I did before they come to the same end. I want them to be well aware of exactly why I’m seeking justice and that even seventeen years later, they aren’t safe from the evils they’ve participated in.