25. Lucia
25
LUCIA
T he roar of the plane vibrates the warm metal my back leans against, but it isn’t loud enough to drown out the pounding of my heart. Or the sadistic laughter of two of my handlers.
I can’t make out what they’re saying, but even if I could, I wouldn’t listen. I’m too afraid of what happens next to seek out the information. I don’t want to know what happens next.
There’s this fantasy in my head that I’m about to live out some sort of twist. Mario isn’t really the villain, he’s merely playing their game. He’s biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity to sink a bullet into the other men’s heads, then try to whisk me off, just as we’d planned. He’ll tell me he made a horrible mistake, that yes , he came to work for my father with bad intentions, but then he got to know me. I changed him, made him a better man, and all he wants is to drive me to Canada where I can live my better life, in peace. We’ll shake hands, maybe even kiss on the cheek, and never see each other again.
I let this reel play in my head while he stands feet from me, his eyes burning my scalp more than the Vegas sun did while we were stranded together. I can feel him seething, but I tell myself it’s the other men I’m feeling. Mario is only acting.
I keep thinking it even though I know it’s a lie. The truth is, I’ve already lived this fantasy, and there are only so many princes underneath the fur of a beast.
The truth is, I’m going to die. Painfully. Slowly. Probably on video.
When Mario crouches in front of me, I close my eyes, let the fantasy slip away, then look at the white scar tissue marring his tense face. He’s angry. After all he’s done to betray me, it’s him who’s angry.
“How did you know?” he asks me in Spanish.
I just stare at him, my face a blank mask of indifference if it’s any reflection of how I feel. Well, it’s hard to say I feel indifferent about my situation, but I’m beginning to feel indifferent about Mario. Staring at him now, I try to see what I saw in him before, but all I saw in him before was a ticket to freedom.
When my heart pangs, a muscle in my cheek twitches, drawing Mario’s eyes.
I thought I loved Mario then. I was so convinced, but my chauffeur to a better life is all he ever was to me. I wouldn’t have seen it if Luka hadn’t tried to set me free.
Love isn’t supposed to have conditions. It isn’t supposed to be about what you can take from a person. It’s supposed to be about what you can give. You’re supposed to imagine the best possible partner for your companion then do one of two things: commit to being that partner or let that person go. No other path is good enough.
Luka chose to let me go when he couldn’t measure up to what he wanted for me. It made sense. It still does. It’s love. But when I try to conjure an image of the best possible person for Luka… Maybe I’m conceited, but it’s me, every time. And I wish I could tell him that. I wish I could just go back, insist he is the man I picture when I think of who is right for me.
I’m not always funny, but I love his humor, and I no longer wish to live without laughter. I’m not always brave, but I love his patience, and I would cherish a lifetime of holding his hand through the adventures he leads me on.
I’m not always understanding, but I understand him, and I know, without a doubt, that he understands me.
But, of course, none of this matters anymore. That’s what makes my heart pang.
Mario grips my hair at the base of my scalp and jerks to pull me closer to him so he can growl in my face. “ How did you know ?”
“Know what ?”
He lets go of me and rocks back onto his heels, studying me carefully like he’s searching for some truth to a secret I wouldn’t care to hide from him.
I don’t think I hate him. My eyes narrowing as I try to cower against the side of the plane, I decide this.
I was a princess living in his enemy’s castle. A job. A steppingstone to bigger things.
And I ruined it.
Maybe his anger makes sense.
“That night, in the bar…” He closes his mouth like he’s said enough, and he has.
How did you know I betrayed you?
“One of your friends has the Mendoza emblem tattooed on his neck.”
Mario hangs his head and sighs.
“I know,” I say with a nod, as if I’m sympathetic. “You almost had me.”
When he lifts his head, he glares.
“For what it’s worth, Mario, I was heartbroken at the time, but now, I want you to know I don’t hate you. There were many times you were very kind to me, and while they may have been manufactured, they were cherished. I had hoped you’d seen me as more than mere property my father kept, but though I’ve been sheltered, I was born into this world. Business is business. I know that.”
Mario’s glare starts to relax while he searches my face curiously.
“And, just so you know, if and when I’m given the chance to speak in front of your bosses, I will be sure to tell them that you were an ideal handler. I’ll be honest about our situation, and how I slipped away without ever realizing I’d been played. And I’ll assure Senor Mendoza that it was your colleague who alerted me to danger, not you, so, in honesty, it was hardly your fault the second time I got away.”
His head tilts as I sigh.
“But, of course , because I was born into this world, I’ll waste every breath knowing that no matter what excuses I give on your worthless, incompetent behalf, you’ll still be put to death. All I can do is hope that your death is both satisfyingly ear-shrieking and proceeds mine.”
Two seconds pass without his reaction like he simply doesn’t comprehend my words. I try to go over my words, searching for ones outside his comprehension.
Worthless.
Incompetent.
Surely Mario is well versed in these. Then again, they’d never send a novice to do this job.
“Descending!” the pilot on this small plane calls before the plane tips.
I clap my palms on the floor to brace myself while my pulse quickens. Mario doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Still doesn’t react.
“What I’m trying to say, Mario,” I spit, trying my best to ignore the fear curling its way inside my mind. “Is that I hope you die painfully, and I hope I get to watch.”
He nods slowly, his lips pursing. “I have very bad news for you, Princess…”
I blink at him, his choice to switch to English puzzling me as much as the words themselves. They’re grammatically sound, which is strange for Mario. He grew up poor in a rural part of Mexico where Spanish was primarily spoken, so he’s always struggled with the language.
Has he been practicing?
The plane touches ground, making my body jolt and my hands cling to a groove in the side panel. I listen for Mario to finish his sentence, even while panic at being this close to the Mendozas creeps higher and higher, but his words don’t come.
When the plane comes to a stop, he takes me by my hair and hauls me to my feet. Two guns aim at me as Mario leads us out of the plane where a blue SUV awaits.
A man opens the back door as Mario leads me to it and says something to my handler that makes my gut lurch and my head spin. Mario shoves me inside when I hesitate getting into the vehicle.
I don’t ask him about the driver’s words on the way to wherever they’re taking me because if I open my mouth, I might scream. Or puke. But I can’t get them out of my head.
“ Welcome back, Senor Mendoza .”