order myself not to shed another tear for that asshole. He’s a monster who doesn’t deserve it. I’m still reeling from the news about Benjy. And, like, how when I told Dad I loved Carlo, it felt true, really true. It’s all too confusing.
Ubert knocks on the door. “Miss, are you okay?” There’s some tension in his voice. I think he knows about the phone. “Do you need some help?”
“Believe it or not, Ubert, I’ve been potty trained.” I go to the door, open it, and shove the cell phone into his chest. “I called my brother,” I tell him. “My dad wanted me to tell him where I was. I didn’t. You can either believe me, because I’m telling the truth, or call me a liar and tell Carlo. But I’m not going quietly this time. I’ve had enough of men telling me what to do.”
Ubert just stares, as though I sound unhinged. Maybe I do.
“You really didn’t tell them anything?” He frowns. “You swear?”
I nod, trying for a smile that comes out more like a sneer. “Really-really.”
“Hmm, okay.” He looks closely at me. “But you can’t do that again, miss. It could get good men killed.”
“‘Good men,’” I laugh, striding down the hallway. “Is there even such a thing?”
I soften a little when I get to the kitchen to see that Ubert has laid out two plates and two generous slices of pie. I turn to find him standing there with a concerned look on his face, eyebrows knit. “What? What is it?”
“Cecilia had the baby,” he says.
“But the due date isn’t for a month!”
He nods matter-of-factly. “Premature, miss. But the baby and Cecilia—his name is Franco; the baby, I mean—they’re out west with her people. Because of the violence, you see.”
I spread my hands. “Congratulations? I’m sorry, Ubert, but I feel like you’re making a point I’m not quite getting.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “We need the boss, miss. And I think he needs you.”
I grit my teeth, thinking about how cold he looked in his office, how he couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried. That’s when I decide that I’m going to get the hell out of here. One way or another, I’m taking my baby and doing what I should’ve done when I first ran from that cartel monster: I’m leaving. I’ll go to California or Mexico or England or fricking Antarctica. I’m done.
“He should’ve thought of that before he treated me like a piece of dirt,” I hiss. “Now, do you want a slice of pie or not? Because I’ll eat both of them. You know I can blame it on the pregnancy hormones.”
Ubert sighs, nods, and picks up a fork.
30
Hazel
Two days pass and I get an eerie sense of déjà vu, only this time there’s this annoying voice at the back of my head telling me to make things right with Carlo. Or to go and see Benjy before he bleeds out from the inside. I hate that voice. It makes me doubt myself. So, whenever this voice tells me to do something, like, say, sit quietly and wait for Carlo to arrive, I do the opposite … like, say, trap Ubert in my bedroom by pushing over a bookshelf after I’ve lured him in there and running for the elevator.
Here’s the thing, though. There’s a fingerprint scanner on the elevator. It beeps twice. Almost like it’s saying nuh-uh. Then there’s a crash behind me and Ubert is standing there, looking angrier than I’ve seen him before.
He shakes his head like a disappointed teacher. “I broke your bookcase,” he says apologetically.
That’s escape attempt #1. Escape attempt number #2 occurs to me when I look out the window and see a fire escape just one story down. All I’d need to do is hang down and drop onto it, and then run. And I’ve got experience in scaling buildings.
But the problem here is that the glass, apparently, is reinforced. So when I throw the metal knife block at it, I have to duck before it takes out my eye. Then Ubert, predictably, arrives.
“Miss,” he says, “I’m going to have to tell Mr. Carlo about this. You know I am.”
I just shrug, looking in wonder at the window. There’s not even a scratch on it.
“Fine,” I say. “Tell him. Can you also give him a message for me, too?”
He raises his eyebrow.
“Tell him to go fuck himself. Like, really, get into yoga and stretch for weeks so he’s flexible enough,