Right. The press.
I follow him out through the side exit. Down a hallway, through a door that shouldn’t be unlocked but always is when we need it.
Outside, the sun’s too bright.
Press still gets off a few questions a few pictures.
Sal’s car’s waiting. He slides into the driver’s seat and I take the passenger side. Vincent gets in back.
“Drinks?” Sal asks. “Celebrate?”
“Later,” I say.
What I mean is no. But later is easier than explaining I don’t feel like celebrating.
We drive in silence for a few blocks before Sal says, too casual, “So. The witness.”
My whole body tenses. “What about her?”
“She gonna be a problem?”
“No.”
“You sure? Because testifying against the family…”
“She’s in witness protection by now,” I cut him off. “New name. New city. Gone.”
Sal glances at me. “You sound real certain about that.”
“I am.”
Because I asked. Made a call to someone who knows someone. Wanted to see her again.
They moved her the moment she stepped down. Same day. She’s already wherever they put people who need to disappear.
But moved isn’t the same as safe. It just sounds better when you say it fast.
Sal grunts. Seems satisfied. “One less thing to worry about.”
One less thing.
Right.
Except I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me during her testimony. I looked back. Held her gaze. Watched her pupils dilate.
I knew what I was doing to her.
And when she came, and she did, I saw it, that moment when her breath caught and her eyes went unfocused, I had to grip the table to keep from reacting.
She came on the witness stand while testifying against me.
I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life.
And I watched as she walked out into the hallway, legs unsteady, trying to hold herself together.
I helped her testify against me.
I should have let Vincent destroy her credibility completely. Should have let him paint her as crazy, obsessed, unreliable.
