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I could never forget who my husband was, that if it was his female relative found with a man, Nico would’ve been the one to shoot him in the head.
I could taste the respite when the bus pulled up to the curb with a screeching grind. I climbed on and sat far in the back.
Slipping the ring off my finger, I turned the piece of jewelry in my hands. The relief I believed I would feel was now mixed with regret as I watched home fade from view. But I had to do this, to remove the weight pressing on my shoulders, to right a wrong in the only way I could. I put the ring in my pocket and prayed Nico would understand. He had to.
I stood in front of Francesco’s double green doors. The window was already replaced and most likely now bulletproof. The Closed sign hung in the window and the bread rack sat empty, but when I tried the doorknob it was unlocked.
My eyes adjusted to the dim room. Goose bumps ran up my arms as the memory of rapid gunshots filled my mind. The restaurant was immaculate, however. Nothing to hint at the shooting that had taken place. The clank of pots and pans came from the kitchen and I heard my uncle’s voice amongst the commotion.
As I took a step toward my destination, a girl with a swinging blond ponytail came out of the back room, carrying a tub of new glasses. “Elena. Hi!”
I internally cringed. Her voice was loud enough to be heard in Korea. “Hi, Sarah. Is my uncle around?”
“Yes! He’s in the kitchen. I’ll go get him!”
“No, that’s okay,” I blurted. “I’ll go surprise him.”
“Oh, perfect! Mum’s the word!” She locked her lips and threw away the key. Setting the tub on the bar, she smiled at me like we shared a big secret before disappearing into the back room. Sarah had worked here for a few years. Zio liked to say she was sole che cammina. Walking sunshine. It was the best way to describe her.
No matter the whole display of locking her lips, I didn’t believe she was going to keep quiet long. The secret would burst from her like pure sunlight. Heading into the hallway near the bathroom and private dining rooms, I stopped before a wooden door.
Please be unlocked. Please be unlocked.
The door pushed open and I exhaled, taking the stairs two at a time. The apartment was half the size of the restaurant below and always a bit too warm with how heavily the sun streamed in. I found my way into Zio’s office and sat at his desk.
A drop of sweat ran a lazy path down my back.
Tapping a few keys, I woke the computer up. When the screen asked for the password, I said a quick prayer that Zio hadn’t changed it in the past six years.
Dulce. His late wife.
The rainbow spinning wheel went round and round, and as the computer opened to the home screen, another heavy breath rushed past my lips.
When Adriana and I were younger and Mamma and Papà had dinners to attend, they’d drop us off here. Most kids watched Disney movies and ate fruit snacks at the babysitter’s. I sat on Zio’s lap at his desk while he cooked books and let me have tiny sips of scotch.
I’d watched him transfer money a hundred different times, but I didn’t remember there being so many programs as there was now.
Please, Memory, don’t fail me now.
Five minutes later, I found what I was looking for just as my nerve endings threatened to jump out of my skin.
I typed in the information from Nico’s personal bank account and then mine.
Entered a seven-digit number.
And pressed Transfer.
On my way out of the bank, my shoulder collided with another’s. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, giving the man a glance. My stomach dropped like an anchor to my toes.
Sebastian.
“My, my, what do we have here?” Intrigue glinted in his dark eyes as he ran a hand down his navy blue tie.
My heart beat in my throat. This was probably the worst thing that could have happened—running into one of my husband’s newest business partners—but I didn’t come this far to stop now.
“You know you sound like a cliché villain, don’t you?” I responded, continuing down the sidewalk and into the bustle of the city.
Sebastian caught up to me, his Ferragamos in sync with my sneakers. “Oh, Elena. I am the villain.” A dark undertone slipped into his light Colombian accent. His gaze coasted the area. “Why do I have a feeling you’re out here all alone?”