Page 39 of Sapphires and Snakes

“When?” she asks.

I reach a single finger to brush her elbow. “I was a kid.”

“Was it before or after your knee?” She doesn’t pull away from me.

“Before.”

“Did you…” She swallows like she can’t stomach the question. “Did you get hurt on the job?”

“You could say that.” My voice is a quiet murmur. Memories of that day, of my capo and crew cornering me in that alley, of the imperious woman who led me into the trap set for me, swarm my head. They overtake my senses without my permission, and for a second, I can smell the trash. I can hear my own bones cracking, their fists thudding. I can feel the betrayal leaking out of my cuts and blossoming under my skin, red, purple, and blue.

“I left after that.” More like I was forced out, but Zarina doesn’t need to know that. Not yet. Hopefully not ever.

She blinks at her hands resting on the tops of her knees folded to her chest. “And started your own gang.”

“In summary.” It was more convoluted than that. It was years of liaising with suppliers abroad, forging new ties through old connections, conspiring with Darius and Mateo Russo before the latter left with little explanation other than a glitter-soaked kiss. But that’s not what Zarina is asking about. Though I wish she was. It’d be easier. I reach for her arm, tracing the shape of her elbow.

She doesn’t pull away. “So you’re not hiding. You’ve always been Andrea Tamayo.”

“Since I was born.”

“Why leave, then?” She finally meets my gaze, her chin tight like she’s using all her will not to look away.

This part is easily answered. Even if events had unfolded differently, I think I would have ended up with a gang, a family, of my own. “I didn’t want to work for someone else,” I answer. “I wanted more.”

“Do you still want more?” She still doesn’t look away.

I let a corner of my mouth sidle up into a smirk. “Sure.”

“Like what?”

I slide my palm down her forearm to her wrist and pull until she gives in and unfurls. I tuck her head under my chin as her legs stretch the length of the couch and her shoulders relax under the palm of my hand. She nestles into my chest as I pull the blanket to cover us both.

“Like you,” I whisper.

I say it like I mean the moments when we come together, rather than moments like this when we lie fully clothed but bare. Even if all the answers that leave my lips are half-truths shrouded in misdirection.

She smacks my arm lightly. “Be serious.”

“I am.” I chuckle.

“I’m not talking about us. I’m talking about you, your family.” Her fingers twitch toward the loose thread at the pocket of my shirt.

I hug her closer. “I just want them to be safe and taken care of.”

Zarina raises her head to look in my eyes, her hand finding my neck, thumb stroking my cheek. “They are. You know that, right?”

The gold streaks in her irises shine bright as the dawn, warming me from the inside out. I tighten my hold around her waist, cupping her ribs. “Sometimes I do.”

She pecks my cheek, the mole under my left eye. “I’ll remind you.”

“Cute.” I smirk. Because if I let myself smile, I might let myself cry.

She rolls her eyes. “Insufferable.”

“Only way I know, baby.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Ew, do not call me that.”