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“It’s not your fault. And besides, I’d do it all again if I had to,” he says.
At that, his aunt calls out to God.
He turns to her, tells her it’s okay, and to go inside.
She looks at me, distrust in her eyes. I don’t blame her. “She shouldn’t be here,” she says. “She’ll get you killed.”
“I just want to give you something,” I say, reaching into my clutch to take out the Ziploc of cash. “They’re dollars but you can exchange them for Euros. There’s almost ten-thousand here.”
I hold it out to her, but Alex puts his hand over mine. “No need for that, Gabi. I told you that, too.”
“Just let me do this one thing, Alex. It’s nothing compared to what you did for me.”
“You’d have done the same thing if our roles were reversed. And Gabe…” He trails off.
A moment of silence passes between us. We’re both thinking of Gabe. Of what happened. Of the consequences he bore.
“I shouldn’t have gotten you involved,” I say, needing to not think about my brother.
“Do you still have the passport?” Alex asks.
I nod, feeling the sharp edges of the diamond in my palm. I don’t have the heart to tell him it doesn’t matter. That my circumstances have changed. I gesture to the money instead.
“Please, take it.”
Alex nods, giving his permission. His aunt cautiously takes the money.
That’s when the front door crashes in and Alex’s aunt screams and I scream too, jumping in front of the wheelchair, thinking it’s my father’s men and they somehow followed me and came back to punish Alex again. Maybe to finish the job this time.
But it’s not my father who walks inside. Who stands there brandishing a gun. It’s not his men who stalk into the small house as if they own it, as if they have every right to be here.
It’s Rafa and two other men I don’t know.
And behind them is Stefan.15StefanSo this is Alex? He’s a fucking kid. Her age, I’d guess. With two broken legs and fresh bruises on his face and arms.
But he’s got his hand on Gabriela and is tugging her back behind himself, away from me.
As if he’d stand between me and what I want.
The older woman has dropped to her knees and is sobbing, praying out loud and Gabriela, my deceitful little fiancée, stands beside Alex, eyes wide. The makeup of earlier has smeared around her eyes and her hair is wavy from the up-do. She looks stunning and messed up and utterly terrified all at once.
“What the hell is this?” I ask as I step over the splintered wood of the door and deeper into the house to collect what’s mine.
When I take Gabriela’s wrist, she pulls back, and I see how Alex’s hold on her tightens as he sets his other hand on his lap and cocks his pistol.
He must have had it tucked into the side of the chair. I would too if I were him.
The sound of Rafa’s gun being cocked comes from behind me and I raise up my hand to stop him or anyone else from shooting.
“You’re Alex?” I ask, noting the plastic bag of American dollars on the dirty carpet.
The younger man nods, eyes narrowing.
“I’ll ask you exactly once to get your hands off my fiancée.”
His eyebrows furrow together, and he turns to Gabriela.
I notice she doesn’t quite meet his eyes when she nods to him.
“It’s okay,” she says, her voice quaking. She must know it’s not okay. Not at all.
He lets her go.
I turn to her, look down at her hand. I see the platinum band, so I twist the ring until the diamond is on the outside. This, I guess, is her following my order to not take it off.
“Outside. In the car. Now.”
She shakes her head and I gesture to Rafa who puts his gun away and steps forward to take her to the car.
I brought Rafa on purpose. I want to be sure she’s clear that there’s nothing nice about my cousin.
Rafa takes hold of her arm. “Let’s go,” he tells her, his voice slightly less harsh than mine.
“No!” she tugs against him, taking hold of the back of a nearby chair.
Alex turns, points his gun at Rafa.
“She said no. Get your hand off her or I’ll blow it off.”
Rafa smiles, but that smile turns evil in the space of a second as he reaches for his weapon and I lunge forward, gripping Alex’s arm and aiming it up toward the ceiling when it goes off.
Gabriela screams and so does the old woman who buries her face in the seat of the ratty couch as plaster rains down on us.
“Let’s put all the fucking guns away, shall we?” I say.
I relieve Alex of his and I think we’d be well matched if it wasn’t for the fact that his legs are both broken, and he’s confined to a fucking wheelchair.
