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I said a silent prayer, an apology for the child whose remains I was about to use to prove a point. He shouldn’t have had to bear the weight of my anger, but it was too late. I’d tried to save his little life once, had held his newborn flesh against mine and warmed his body as his mother lay dead in the car seat behind us. He’d survived being born in a tiny cell in the back of a truck, he’d survived the cold and the dark as his mother bled to death beside him, and he’d survived the precarious months since then. But he had not survived ultimately. He was dead, and Emilio had killed him. His death could not be in vain. An innocent child didn’t deserve this ending, not after he was already dead. He didn’t deserve to be disrespected. But in whatI did next, I hoped that I would be standing up to his killer, to make sure his death didn’t mean nothing.I’m so sorry, I offered up to his poor tiny soul, as I did what I did next.
I tipped the box upside down over Emilio’s ridiculous fucking desk, sending pieces of ash and bone in a pile that gave off grey dust, enough to choke a person. Emilio closed his mouth as soon as he realised what it was I’d just deposited in front of him. Something about the look in his eyes tantalised me – he was surprised. Not angry. Just shocked.
‘I’m impressed,’ Emilio said, pursing his thin lips together as he looked down at the ashes in front of him. ‘I didn’t think you had this in you.’
‘Neither did I,’ I replied.
Beside me, I heard Dornan clear his throat. ‘Will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?’
Emilio’s eyes were on the ashes in front of him, and it was then I realised I’d won. I’d out-stared him. Out-manoeuvred him. Question was, how was he going to punish me for it?
I turned my cold gaze to Dornan. It was almost comical how much he looked like his father – the Italian features, the dark eyes, their identical cheekbone structure. I marvelled momentarily at how I could have fallen so hard, so fast, for a man who looked eerily like the person I hated most in this world.
‘Your father delivered a package to me this morning,’ I said, my voice monotone. ‘He even called me to make sure I personally unwrapped it.’
Dornan shifted uneasily in his seat, looking between me and his father. Emilio wore a smirk as he looked between the mess on his desk and me. It was almost as if he were pleased that I’d done this. Maybe he was.
‘And?’ Dornan pressed. ‘What was in the package? What is that?’
‘A dead baby,’ I said flatly.
Dornan raised his eyebrows. ‘What!’
‘The baby we took to the hospital the night you were shot. We tempted fate.’ I looked back at Emilio, who couldn’t wipe the smile off his smug fucking face. ‘Luckily, your dear father was here to restore the balance in the world. Make sure nobody got away unaccounted for.’ My words were dripping with sarcasm, and it was a wonder Emilio didn’t stand up and slap me from across the table. He was oddly removed, and I realised how much he was enjoying this – watching my reaction unfold.
I would give him nothing. Not a single outcry, not a single tear. I could be a blank slate, a monster, just like the two men I was currently sharing oxygen with inside this stuffy room.
I heard footsteps in the hallway come closer, rapidly, as if someone were running. I had two guesses as to who they belonged to. Sure enough, the door burst open to reveal Guillermo, his round face shiny with sweat as he held on to the door handle, panting heavily.
‘Get out,’ I said to him. ‘We’re not finished yet.’ Guillermo looked like I’d shot him, he was so surprised.
Glancing at Emilio, who tipped his chin in a gesture that said he agreed with my sentiments, Guillermo closed the door again.
I could feel Dornan’s presence beside me. He was bewildered. He was angry. Most of all, he was afraid. I didn’t even need to look at him to know that he was terrified for me. Because if his father could kill an innocent baby, what would he do to me?
‘Pop, tell me she’s wrong.’
I side-eyed Dornan, a little surprised that he’d found his voice. He was a man who could intimidate anybody except his own father.
Emilio leaned back in his chair. ‘She’s not wrong,’ Emilio countered. ‘You two left quite the mess for me to clean up. You should be thanking me for tying up your loose ends.’
I laughed mirthlessly. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I exclaimed. ‘Seriously. We should thank you.’
Emilio didn’t respond. His smile started to shrink a little. His amusement, it would seem, was turning to displeasure.
‘How did you do it?’ I asked, smacking my palms down on the desk as I stood over the man I’d once feared too much to even look in the eye. ‘Did you even do it yourself? Or did you make somebody else, you fucking coward!’ I picked up the closest thing to my right hand – ironically, a framed photograph of Emilio with several of his grandchildren, Dornan’s sons – and drew my arm back, aiming right for Emilio’s face. I was going to smash that framed photograph into his face so hard he’d see stars. He’d need stitches from where the glass shattered and cut his face. He’d probably kill me for my transgression.
I no longer had the capacity to care if I lived or died.
But somebody else did. Out of nowhere, Dornan was behind me, his hand around my wrist, twisting painfully so that my grip on the photo frame faltered. With an angry cry, my fingers loosened and the photo fell to the floor, bouncing harmlessly.
Dornan pulled my arm, hard enough that I was forced to face him. ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘Look at me. What do you thinkyou’re doing?’ His fingers were squeezing my upper arms so hard, it ached. I struggled in his grip, my eyes only for Emilio.
‘Look at me!’ he roared. It was like time stood still for that moment, our tragic tableau representative of our entire lives – Emilio, smirking as he crossed his leather shoes on the edge of the desk where a dead child’s ashes lay scattered; Dornan, hurting me, always hurting me. And me. Useless. Pathetic. Emilio had killed a baby. He was a human trafficker. He dealt in women and children like it was nothing. I’d known the depths of his depravity for almost a year now, ever since that night when Dornan had been shot, when he’d revealed to me the cost of keeping me alive was to do his father’s bidding – transporting human beings across state lines, across countries, stealing people and selling them. Selling them! And I’d sat on my hands and blamed my need to protect Luis and done nothing.
In some ways, I was just as bad as them. Worse. Because I couldn’t help feeling – knowing – that if I’d done things differently, the nameless baby Emilio had killed would be alive right now. Maybe even his mother, if we’d taken her to a hospital instead of Dornan shooting her in the back of his truck to relieve her suffering as she slowly bled out after giving birth. I could have done something, anything, and I’d been sitting on my hands for a year, hell, for ten fucking years, and I had nobody to blame but myself.
‘Look at me, goddamn it,’ Dornan muttered. I did. I raised my eyes. I could only imagine what they looked like. Wild. Empty. I was empty inside. Dornan’s dark eyes widened a little when he saw my gaze. I think I must have repulsed him, then. With my face twisted into a mask of rage and grief, my eyes blank and hollow, it was a wonder he recognised me at all.
