Chapter 42
Alina
The diamond choker burns in my palm like Andrea’s blood did before I cleaned up in the middle of the ocean.
After making sure no one was following me, I paused long enough to wash the blood and grime away. Then I changed into the small tube top and denim shorts I’d left on the boat days ago.
I clutch the jewelry tighter, fingernails biting into my skin as I stare at the flickering neon sign of the pawnshop. It’s the fourth one I’m visiting today. The others turned me away with suspicious looks and questions I couldn’t answer.
But I need money. Need to disappear before Raffaele finds me. Before he makes me pay for what I’ve done to his dad.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The heat of the Caribbean afternoon presses against my skin, sweat trickling down… everywhere.
Even my feet feel sweaty in the sandals I’ve been wearing since… since I killed a man. Since I plunged a knife into my husband’s dad.
The door creaks as I push it open, a bell jingling overhead.
Cold air-conditioning hits me like a slap, raising goosebumps across my sunburned shoulders. The shop is narrow and cluttered, with glass cases lined with watches, jewelry, and electronics. Everything smells of dust and desperation.
“Can I help you?” The clerk doesn’t look up from his phone. He’s middle-aged, balding, with thick glasses perched on a nose that’s been broken at least once.
My throat tightens as I approach the counter. “I… I need to sell this.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, hoarse from crying, from screaming as Andrea’s hands squeezed my throat.
The clerk finally looks up, eyes widening slightly as he takes in my disheveled appearance. I haven’t seen a mirror, but I can imagine what I look like—wild-eyed, sunburned, hair tangled from the wind and boat spray. I must reek of fear and guilt.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” He holds out a pudgy hand, fingers wiggling impatiently.
I place the diamond choker on the scratched glass counter, my fingers reluctant to release it. Raffaele’s collar. The symbol of his ownership that I wore with pride. Now it might save my life from him.
The clerk picks it up, whistling low as he examines the stones. He reaches for a jeweler’s loupe, screwing it into his eye socket with practiced ease. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker, casting sickly shadows across his face as he studies each diamond.
“This is high-end.” He turns it over, examining the clasp. I just shrug since I have no information to offer. “Where’d you get it?” His eyes flick up to meet mine, suspicion hardening his features.
“It was a gift.” The truth, technically. A gift from a man who collected me like a debt, who married me, who showed me a different life before I destroyed it all with a single desperate act of survival.
“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t believe me. “You got papers for it? Certificate of authenticity? Receipt?”
My heart sinks. “No.”
The clerk sighs, removing the loupe from his eye. “Look, lady. This thing’s worth at least fifty thousand dollars. Maybe more. I can’t just buy something like this off the street.”
“I don’t need fifty thousand,” I say quickly, desperation creeping into my voice. “I just need enough for a plane ticket. Two thousand? Please.”
He stares hard at me. “You’re running from something.”
I say nothing, but my body betrays me—hands trembling, pulse visibly hammering in my throat.
“Or someone,” he adds, pushing the choker back across the counter toward me. “Either way, I can’t help you. Something this high-end is hard to move without questions. And I don’t need that kind of heat.”
“Please.” The word catches in my throat. “I’m not… I didn’t steal it.”
“Doesn’t matter if you stole it or not. Your husband gave it to you, and now you’re running from him. That right?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t need marital problems becoming my problems.”
I pale, the trembling in my hand intensifies. How does he know all that? Tears burn behind my eyes. “You don’t understand. I need to leave. Today.”
“Not my business.” His tone hardens. “Look, try the airport. Sometimes they have currency exchange places that’ll take jewelry. No promises, though.”
The bell above the door jingles as another customer enters, signaling the end of our conversation. I scoop up the choker with numb fingers, sliding it into the pocket of my shorts.
“Thank you anyway,” I murmur, though there’s nothing to thank him for.
Outside, the heat slams into me again, along with the crushing weight of my situation. No money. No ID. No phone. And somewhere out there, Raffaele is looking for me.
Hunting me is more like it.
I know he won’t listen to my explanation if he catches up to me. Leaning against the building’s grimy exterior, I close my eyes, fighting back tears. I can’t afford to break down now. I need to keep moving, keep thinking.
“Rough day?”
I jerk upright, heart lurching into my throat. A man stands a few feet away—salt-and-pepper hair, a weathered face with kind eyes. His casual stance suggests no immediate threat, but after what happened with Andrea, I don’t trust anyone.
“I’m Ray.” He gestures toward the pawnshop door. “Couldn’t help noticing you didn’t have much luck in there.”
I take a step backward, eyes darting to the street, calculating my chances of outrunning him if necessary.
“Hey, it’s okay.” He raises his hands, palms out. “Just thought I might be able to help. I overheard a bit of your conversation. You’ve got something valuable you’re trying to sell?”
Suspicion wars with desperation inside me. “Why do you care?”
“I buy things sometimes. You might say I’m a collector.” His smile is easy, relaxed. “What are you trying to sell?”
Against my better judgment, I slip my hand into my pocket, withdrawing the diamond choker. The afternoon sun catches the stones, sending prisms of light dancing across Ray’s interested face.
He whistles, much like the pawnbroker did. “That’s some serious hardware. May I?” He extends his hand, but doesn’t move closer.
I hesitate, then step forward, placing the choker in his palm.
“Beautiful craftsmanship.” He examines it carefully, running his thumb over the stones. “Where are you headed that’s so important?”
“The airport,” I admit, then immediately regret giving away even that small detail.
“I could give you three thousand for this,” he says, looking up to gauge my reaction. “And a ride to the airport, if that’s where you’re going.”
My instincts scream danger, but what choice do I have? Three thousand would be enough for a ticket—even without ID, I might be able to bribe my way onto a flight. And every minute I spend here is another minute Raffaele gets closer.
“How do I know I can trust you?” The question sounds na?ve even to my own ears.
Ray laughs softly. “You don’t. But seems to me you don’t have a lot of options right now.” He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet and showing me the wad of hundred-dollar bills. “Three thousand, cash. And a ride. Take it or leave it.”
I stare at him, searching for signs of deception, of threat. But all I see is a businessman making a deal he knows favors him. “Okay,” I whisper. “Deal.”
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting rigidly in the back seat of his weathered sedan, one hand constantly on the door handle. The cracked leather seat sticks to my bare thighs as Ray drives through unfamiliar streets, making casual conversation I barely hear over the pounding of my heart.
“So, where are you flying to?” he asks, eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
“Canada,” I lie. I haven’t decided where I’m going yet, only that it needs to be far from here. Far from the Caribbean. Far from Raffaele.
“Long flight,” Ray comments. “Visiting family?”
“Something like that.” I stare out the window, watching paradise blur past; palm trees, turquoise glimpses of ocean, tourists oblivious to the nightmare unfolding in their midst.
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from saying anything when I notice him texting while driving. At least he still pays attention to the road.
True to his word, Ray drives directly to the airport departure terminal. He pulls to the curb, shifts into park, and turns to hand me a stack of cash. “Three thousand, as promised.”
I take it with trembling fingers, half-expecting some kind of trap. But he simply smiles while I count it, making sure it’s all there.
“Thank you,” I murmur once I’m done.
“Don’t mention it.” He hands me an envelope that I eagerly shove the money into. Then he gestures toward the sliding doors of the terminal. “Good luck, wherever you’re going,” he says as I climb out of the car.
I stand on the curb, watching as he pulls away into traffic. This small kindness—from a stranger who probably ripped me off—nearly breaks me. It’s the first moment since I plunged that knife into Andrea that someone has treated me like a human being, not a target.
But I can’t linger on that thought. Can’t afford the luxury of gratitude or relief. Not when every second counts.
Taking a deep breath, I turn toward the airport entrance, toward whatever slim chance of escape awaits me inside.
The airport swallows me whole—a gaping maw of noise and bodies and announcements I can’t understand.
I clutch Ray’s envelope against my chest like a shield, the edges of the bills inside digging into my palm through the paper. Three thousand dollars. My ticket away from here. Away from what I’ve done. Away from Raffaele.
My eyes dart from face to face, searching for him in every tall, dark-haired man that passes. He has to be looking for me by now. Has to know what I’ve done to his dad.
The departure terminal pulsates with life. I watch families hugging goodbye, businesspeople striding purposefully with rolling suitcases, and airport staff in crisp uniforms directing the flow of humanity.