“I know.” I turned away, and he let my chin go. “Trust me.”
“First thing, we don’t separate. I am with you always. If you need defending, I’m going to do it.”
I admired the way he assessed and took control of a situation. I admired his passion and heat, his old world attitudes and how he was willing to bend them to accommodate his respect for me, and how unwilling he was to let go of his responsibility to protect me from all the evil I’d brought on myself. I couldn’t have asked for better, and that made me want to shield him from the worst of me.
“I love you, Capo.”
“Say you understand.”
“I understand. We stay together. All the way back to Los Angeles.”
“And you do not pick up a weapon to defend me. As long as I’m alive, I am your weapon,” he said.
“You’re not dying.”
“Say it. Say I am your weapon.”
“You are my weapon.”
“I see you, beautiful Contessa. Don’t think I’m blind.”
“What do you mean?” My voice was sharper than I wanted it to be. I was afraid he saw my emotional discomfort and mistook it for guilt. But it wasn’t guilt he saw. I’d turned my back on heaven when I pulled that trigger, and I felt no regret. I didn’t want him to see the empty hole where guilt and sorrow should have been.
“You don’t have as much practice at this, and today, before the passports come, I’m going to teach you to defend yourself for the day I may be gone.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“Call it a sleep then. I need you to know what to do if I sleep.”
I nodded, because I knew what I’d do if anything happened to him. I’d find the bastards who did it, and I’d put them to sleep with Paulie. I was a talented psychopath. I had a real God-given gift.
I kissed Antonio so he wouldn’t be able to look in my eyes and see what was broken and what was whole. He owned me with his lips, protected me and told me I was worth saving when I felt less than worthy. I loved him for trying, for telling me how precious I was without saying a word. I wanted another hour with him, so he could fuck me so hard I became the human he thought I was.
three.
theresa
t felt hard and warm, the surface supple to the touch, with curves designed to comfort the force of a closed fist.
“You know how to use it?” Antonio asked, even though he knew the answer.
The long brushy desert behind the hostel was perfect for target practice, and the owner didn’t seem to mind bullets flying as long as we didn’t disturb or shoot the guests. It was as good a pastime as any while we waited for passports to be fashioned out of lies.
I took aim at the empty Coke bottle, putting the pin of the front sight into the notch of the rear sight. Squeezed. Missed.
He smiled on one side of his mouth, lips full in the blasting Mexican sun, face cast in hard shadows that accentuated the flawless angles of his face. “I can see that it bothers you.”
“What? That I missed? Everyone misses. It’s a small object, and you put it far away.” Was I whining? Maybe.
“But it bothers you.”
He put his fingertip on the back of my neck and started to say something, as if he would teach me how to shoot. That was why he’d brought me out here. Before he could start, I leveled the gun on the bottle and squeezed, expecting to waste a bullet.
The bottle shattered.
He pressed his hand to the back of my neck.
“I’m getting anxious.” I pulled the trigger again. A ping echoed over the rocks when I hit the bottle just at the edge. It spun then fell. “Every hour that passes… I might miss him.”
“I think we can make it,” he said.
“Then what?”