Chapter Three — Vinny
Sleep wasn't an option after the warehouse.
Not with her face burned behind my eyes—Sophia, or whoever the hell she was.
I paced my apartment until the sun clawed its way over the skyline, then drove back like a man possessed.
The cops had already taped the place off. Yellow streamers fluttered in the breeze over dark, crusted bloodstains on the concrete.
A tomb now.
The surrounding blocks were their own kind of graveyard: hollow warehouses, crumbling buildings, and the desperate souls squatting inside them.
I scanned every face.
Every shadow.
Hunting for the ghost who wore my wife's face.
I wasn't delusional.
I knew it couldn't be Sophia.
But the resemblance was close enough to crack something open in my chest.
Close enough to make me question if I was finally losing my goddamn mind.
I printed an old photo of Sophia—one from the before, when her smile still lit up rooms.
Folded it carefully.
Tucked it inside my jacket.
And started walking.
The first group of homeless people gathered around a fire barrel eyed me like I was trouble.
I held up the photo.
"You seen her?"
Mumbled denials.
Same at the next cluster.
And the next.
Frustration coiled tighter in my gut with every step, but I kept going.
I had to.
Then I spotted him.
An old man in a faded army jacket perched on a milk crate.
Sharp eyes.
Not broken yet.
I approached slowly, holding out the photo.
"You seen her?"
He squinted, then let out a dry chuckle.
"That's Jamie. But she's a Black girl, not Latina."
He cocked his head.
"Cousins or something?"
Jamie.
My pulse slammed.
Jamie.
Her name bounced around my head.
"Where can I find her?"
I kept my voice flat.
He leaned back.
"What's it worth to you?"
I narrowed my eyes.
I could've put my gun to his head.
Instead, I pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
He took it, examined it, then nodded.
"She crashes at the old lady's place on Gandy, across from the theater. You know it?"
I did.
"Good luck," he said.
"Jamie's feral, that one. Whatever you want with her... she ain't gonna make it easy."
I was already walking away.
The apartment complex was peeling, with cracked windows and the sour smell of neglect.
I parked a block away, found a shadow outside the entrance, and waited.
She emerged mid-morning, swallowed by an oversized hoodie despite the Florida heat.
Head down.
Moving fast.
I followed at a distance in my car.
She stopped at a grocery store first.
Bread.
Milk.
Cans of soup.
She spoke to no one.
Then she started walking back.
I beat her there and waited in the hallway of the building she'd left.
The corridor reeked of mildew and old grease.
She walked right past me.
I waited to see which unit she entered.
Apartment 2B.
immediately, I pulled my lock picks out. One click. Two. The door eased open.
The place was small but clean. She stood in the tiny kitchen with her back to me, unbuttoning her oversized hoodie and dropping it onto a chair. Her earbuds were plugged into her phone on the counter.
She pulled the buds out, caught my reflection in the microwave glass, and froze.
Then she turned.
"Who the fuck are you?"
There was no fear in her voice.
Most women would've screamed.
Cried.
Begged.
Not her.
She stared me down like she'd already survived worse.
And was ready to survive me too.
For the first time all day, I forgot about Sophia.
This woman was far more dangerous to look at. Dangerous way, like a wild animal that could turn on you at any moment.
Her shaved head gleamed beneath the weak light.
She had taken off the hoody and now I could see all of her. She had rich, deep-brown skin that looked like it would burn hot beneath my hands.
Full lips parted in shock.
Doe-shaped eyes that had haunted me since the warehouse.
She was thicker than Sophia.
Wide hips.
Heavy thighs straining against her shorts.
Breast not as full as Sophia’s but still full.
A tattoo peeked from her thigh, dark ink against all that smooth skin.
She looked like a goddess who'd been dragged to hell and decided to rule it instead of leaving.
My dead wife's face on a woman built from sin and survival.
My pulse stumbled.
The air left my lungs.
She wasn't Sophia.
Same face, but different body, different aura.
And somehow that realization hit harder than the resemblance.
Who the hell was this woman?