It’s uncomfortable as we sit at my tiny dining table, drinking coffee and munching on pan dulce after everything Detective Shapiro spread at my feet. How did she know so much? I hope Sammy wiped my prints off the gun. 

Of course, he did! 

He’s a mobster. 

And that wasn’t his first rodeo, so I’m sure he knew exactly what to do...

Except for the part about Richie being shot in the forehead. In hindsight, I should have shot him in the temple, but I wasn’t thinking that far ahead—only about Mindy. She was so terrified, and when I close my eyes, I still see the desperate way her eyes searched the ceiling in fear, the color draining from her beautiful brown skin, and the weakness in her grip as she held onto me. 

Scrubbing my face with my hands, I try shaking the thoughts away, but it’s my mom’s slurping that snaps me out of it. The coffee mug is pressed to her lips as she glares at Angie over the rim. However, Angie doesn’t seem to give a shit with her elbows on the table and crumbs on her chin while licking sugar off her fingers. She’s enjoying this. 

“I don’t like you for my son,” my mom finally says.

“I guess it’s a good thing he’s an adult who can make his own decisions.” Angie sticks her thumb in her mouth and sucks the sweetness off with a smack. 

She needs to stop teasing my mom. The woman despises Celia, so I can’t have her hating Angie, too—not when we’ve reached a turning point.

Clearing my throat, I say, “How did that detective know all that stuff?”

Angie reaches for another sweet bread. “She said they’ve been following The Sisters and the Cartel for a while. So they must already have a shit ton of intel, and Mindy getting shot connected a few more dots in whatever case they’re building against them.”

“She was fishing,” my mom grunts. “All she has is speculation. This is what detectives do. They ask questions and mess with your head. We’ve been down this road before.” She reaches across the table, placing her hand over mine. “Miguel. Why were you there?” 

“I was worried about Mindy. I had this bad feeling.”

She sighs heavily, “Why do you always have to be a hero? I warned you that it would catch up to you. To us.”

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t been there, Mindy might be dead.” I drop my head into my hands. “Maybe I should go see her.”

“No!” my mom barks. “That detective might not have anything on you, but you’re on her radar now. She’ll be watching you.”

“I don’t give a fuck! I need to see Mindy. I need to know she’s ok. It’s killing me.”

Angie clears her throat, “Chloe texted me. She’s at the hospital with Neil. We can get updates from her.”

“We,” my mom grunts. “So, are you two dating?”

“No.” I shake my head. “We need a lot of individual therapy before a relationship could work.” My gaze slides over to Angie. “But I do like her.”

“She reminds me too much of Celia. She will hurt you.”

 “Nah.” I brush the crumbs off Angie’s chin and smile. “She likes to get under people's skin, but I’ve seen the real her, and it’s soft. Sweet.”

 “Oh, God…” Angie worms away and stands, collecting our plates. “Don’t reveal all my secrets, Miguel.” 

My mom follows Angie with her gaze before turning to me with concern knitting her brows. “There’s trouble in the air, and I don’t like her.”

“Give her a chance. She’s not as bad as you think, and she’s learning—growing. It’s not like I’m perfect.” 

“But you’re my son. I don’t know anything about this woman who you’ve allowed into your home and clearly into your bed.”

“I can hear you…” Angie says from the kitchen as she washes the dishes, but my mom speaks louder, her face craned in her direction.

“If she hurts you, I will rip her to shreds like a violent mama bear.”

The faucet shuts off, and the dishes clang in the sink. Shit. Angie strolls up to the table, a towel in hand as she dries herself, and her gaze zeroed in on my mom. Fuck. I begin to stand because, however I feel about Angie, I love my mom more, and I will body slam her if she tries something.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Señora. I’m not Celia. Unlike her, I love fiercely, and I’m loyal, which means I’ll destroy anyone who tries to hurt Miguel. So how about we use that as common ground?” Angie tosses the towel over her shoulder and marches past us.

“Where are you going?” I ask like a fool.

“To change my bandages,” she barks over her shoulder. “I got shot not too long ago, remember?”

My mom grunts beside me, so I lower my gaze at the woman. Her arms are folded, a scowl is wrinkling her forehead, and she looks like a fifty-something-year-old toddler having a tantrum. 

“Ma… I gotta help Angie clean her wound and put on new dressings.”

She shrugs. “I don’t care.” 

“Please be nice.”

“I am nice.”

“I promise this is different. She’s not Celia.”

My mom wipes a tear from the corner of her eye and sniffs. “I just want you to be happy and find a nice girl. That’s all a mother wants—to see her child happy, but don’t be like me, Miguelito. Find someone good.” 

“Don’t blame yourself for Chuck. He was a piece of shit stepfather and an even worse husband. That’s on him.” 

“Whatever, I have to go.” She stands. “I need to call Detective Rooney.”

“What! Why?”

“You need his help. Maybe he can sniff around.”

“Ma, no.” I slide in front of her and block the door. “He stuck his neck out for us when I bashed Chuck’s skull, but that was years ago. He’s old and retired now. Don’t drag him into this shit.” 

Narrowing her eyes with a smirk, my mom curls her fingers around my forearms and shoves me out of the way with superhuman strength. I nearly fall on my ass. She dusts off her hands proudly, swings the door open, and strolls out.

“I’ll be in touch!”

∆∆∆

The view from Angie’s apartment is an expensive one, with the Giant’s AT&T ballpark on display and the sun shining across the marina like a blanket of crystals as kayakers paddle around. Yet, as lovely as it is, I can’t stop to marvel at it. Instead, I toss the placed upside down, searching for hidden cameras while Angie packs a suitcase and toiletries. She can’t live in my T-shirts forever.

“I got ahold of Franky,” she huffs, dragging two gigantic pieces of luggage behind her.

“Jesus. You’re not moving in.”

“Duh, but I have a lot of shit. Ok? What if midday I want to put on shorts or we go out dancing?” 

“Dancing? With all the shit going on, that’s the last thing we’re doing.” 

“Whatever! I need a lot of clothes, and makeup, and hair stuff. These curls don’t shine and bounce on their own.” 

“You don’t need makeup.” 

“Uh, yeah, I do.”

“You’re goddam beautiful. You don’t need to cake bullshit on your face.” I reach for a painting on the wall, but the frame is glued to the surface, so I use all my force to pry it off and find wires sticking out. 

“I don’t cake it on my face!” Angie huffs with hands on hips. 

“The point is, you don’t need to haul a bunch of shit to my apartment." I wrap my fist around it and yank with a grunt. "You can walk around naked for all I care,” I grunt again as I extract, and the wire tears a line through the sheetrock. 

“I bet you’d love that.” She rolls her eyes. “And holy shit. Where the fuck does that wire lead to?” 

“Dunno, but we’re about to find out.” 

Using both hands, I tug and pull, causing more tears across the wall, exposing the hidden wires inside. The line snaps. I stumble back and fall on my ass, but there at the end of the wire is a damn microphone. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” I say, and Angie snatches it out of my hand like she’s wrangling a snake.

“Yeah, no shit!” 

“It’s in the walls.” I stand. “Let’s check behind all of the paintings.” 

An hour later, we’re in the middle of her bedroom, sweating and staring at a pile of tiny cameras and microphones we lumped together on the rug. The walls look like a maze of cracks, from the living room, through the hallway, and here. Angie went absolutely bananas and stomped on the pile in a rage, so I had to haul her out of the room to get her to cool off. A glass of lemonade is in her hand now as she slowly sips, and despite her being in a calmer mood, the anger still rolls off her shoulders like steam.

“Grab the rest of your shit,” I say. “You’re not coming back here.” 

“You couldn’t drag me back to this shithole.” She goes to the closet and hauls out more luggage. “Now I’m mad that we never had sex in my apartment. I would have loved to give Jeremiah an earful as you banged my brains out. He couldn’t dream of making me come like you can.”

My chest swells with pride as I try to hide the shit-eating grin spreading across my face. I don’t care how humble someone is. Nothing boosts a man’s ego more than being told you’re a king in bed. 

“Well, I’ve met the guy,” I say. “He looks like he has a small penis and zero sense of direction or motion.” 

“A crooked penis, too,” Angie grunts, and I bark out a laugh, but then a thought hits me.

“Angie… if something were to happen to Jeremiah, what would happen with your conservatorship and your sister, Ana?”

There’s a pause in Angie’s steps as she holds an armful of clothes with the hangers still intact, but then she dumps them onto an open suitcase on the bed. “Someone else would take his place as my legal guardian.” 

“Then what?”

“If Jeremiah already has a successor appointed, that person would take over. But if he doesn't, someone will need to file paperwork to become my new guardian, and many court hearings would take place to determine my fate."

"Isn't there a way to get out of it?"

"Gwen says she can help me petition to end my conservatorship.”

“You talked to Gwen about it?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs, her gaze at our feet. “I needed to talk to a professional that isn’t getting paid by Jeremiah. Someone who actually has my best interest.” Her eyes slowly return to mine, a sense of vulnerability in them. “I see a court-ordered psychiatrist once weekly, but Jeremiah is always there and hears every word I say. This doctor doesn’t give a damn about how I feel or that Jeremiah is a manipulative asshole. She’s the one who put me in the mental hospital, and she wants a paycheck. So I play the role of a humble and meek wife to show that I’m getting better. It’s the only way I know how to get through it when he’s around.” 

“Come here.” I pull her into my chest, my arms encircling her. “I’m not going to let that asshole hurt you again. You’re staying with me for as long as you need. Maybe after the gala, I can use the money Augusta gave me for us to live somewhere else. Away from all this bullshit.”

Angie looks up at me, her head shaking. “I can’t leave Ana.”

“Of course not. She’s coming with us.” 

“How?”

“We break her out of that place Jeremiah put her in.”

“I’m pretty sure that would be illegal. Then we’d be on the run.”

I rest my chin on the top of her head, releasing a breath, my hands rubbing circles in her back. “We’ll think of something, and I will ensure you and Ana are reunited.”

“Do you really think Gwen can help me?”

“Yes. She’s a good woman. I don’t know why I didn’t listen to her sooner.” I cup Angie’s face and kiss her forehead. “Now, how about we get the fuck out of this creepy apartment?”

∆∆∆

It’s evening, and I’m supposed to be grabbing takeout while Angie unpacks and makes space in my closet for all of her shit. However, I’m crossing the dull linoleum of the hospital floor, my heart racing as I scan ahead for any police officers hanging around. Chloe said Mindy’s family has been here all day, and now that she’s recovering in the ICU after surgery, the tension has eased. Now everyone is waiting for her to come to consciousness.

When I round the corner, I spill into a small waiting area meant for family. Sad faces greet me, and I should have paid closer attention to the signs, but there’s no backing away as Mindy's family scrutinizes me. Recognition hits one of the aunties, and I remember her from the party.

“Come, sit.” She motions. “This is Jesminda’s boyfriend, everyone.”

“Boyfriend?” another woman says, her eyes zeroing in on me. 

The woman is beautiful despite her red, puffy eyes, and there’s something very familiar about her that I can’t pinpoint. Silver streaks frame her smooth, brown face as dark waves cascade down a black blazer. She uncrosses her legs, flashing the red bottom stilettos she’s wearing and stands. 

“Jesminda never said anything about a boyfriend.” She cuts through a few family members sitting with tissues in hand. “Who are you?”

“Um… ah… Mindy and I aren’t together anymore, but I heard what happened and wanted to see her.” 

The woman looks me over from head to toe, disapproving. “You’re handsome, but I’m curious why she never mentioned you to me or her father. You must not be good enough for her.” 

My brows cock at the realization. Oh, so this MILF is Mindy’s mom. “With all due respect, Mrs. Arora, didn’t you and Mr. Arora set up Mindy with Richie? He abused her their entire marriage. Now look at what he’s done.”

“How dare you make such accusations! The police said an intruder killed Richie and shot Mindy. Now, please leave. You're not welcome here.” 

Mindy’s aunties engulf Mrs. Arora, their gazes flashing to me like a snake’s hiss before comforting her in their language and wiping her tears. However, one of them gives me a sympathetic half-smile and points with her eyes toward the hallway. It takes a second, but then I realize she’s hinting at meeting her around the corner. Nodding, I walk away from the family waiting area and park beside a vending machine. About a minute later, I hear the aunty approaching, her expensive heels tapping the scuffed linoleum floor. She pushes a few coins into the vending machine, her manicured nails selecting a snack, and then tucks some of her thick, dark hair behind her ear, exposing it to me. However, she doesn’t look at me when she speaks.

“Miguel, right?"

"Yes."

"Jesminda talked to me about you. For the first time, she seemed hopeful for a fresh start. She really liked you.” 

“I really liked her too, but the timing was off."

She sighs, "Richie was never going to let her move on anyway. I don't care what the detectives say. He shot her. I always felt he would do something terrible, but I never imagined this."

"Have you seen Mindy yet? Is she ok?”

“She lost a lot of blood and flatlined during surgery. It was a struggle but they resuscitated her, and finished the surgery. Things are calm now, but she isn’t conscious. The doctor said it would be best to keep her in a coma-like state. So now we wait. By the way, I’m Noor, Jasleen’s sister.”

“Jasleen?”

“Mindy’s mom.” Noor flashes a grin at me. “I’m the cool aunty.” Her smile fades as she pulls the tab on the soda she bought. “At least that’s what Jesminda has always said. She confides in me, and…” her voice cracks and she closes her eyes. “I feel tremendous guilt for not trying harder to convince her parents that Richie wasn’t good for her. I smelled trouble from the beginning. Many bad rumors surround his family, but Jasleen and Fateh ignored it. The Reddys have a lot of money and influence, and Fateh's family always chooses money. So now Jasleen does too.”

“It’s not your fault.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “Family is complicated. Sometimes we don’t want to see what’s right in front of us, but he’s gone now. Mindy is safe.”

Her shoulders sag on an exhale. “I wish Richie being dead were the end of this, but it’s not. Our family is very complicated.”

As if on cue, a burst of cheerful voices echo down the hallway, causing Noor’s attention to dart toward it. She nods for me to follow, and we tip-toe back to the family waiting area. When I peek around the corner, a group of men has joined, and one takes his place next to Jasleen, his arm going around her waist, so he must be Mindy’s father. But, in the middle of these men is a remarkably handsome one with slicked-back dark hair and an expensive suit. He carries a ridiculous bundle of balloons and a massive bouquet of roses that he hands to Jasleen. Then he kisses her knuckles, uttering his condolences, and offers to help in any way he can on behalf of his family.

“Thank you, Rohan,” Jasleen says, her eyes watering. “No matter what, we are still family.”

Beside me, Noor sucks a breath through her teeth. “Jasleen and Fateh don't want to believe Richie shot Jesminda, but we all know he did, and now Rohan has the nerve to show his face here?"

“Oh, so that’s Rohan. I've heard of him,” I say.

“Yes, and he has no business here.” Noor turns to me and clasps my hands. “Go see Mindy while everyone is distracted with Rohan’s theatrics, but I must warn you, it’s going to be hard seeing her in that hospital bed.”

“I can handle it.”

“No one can prepare you for what you’re about to see. The surgeons said one of the bullets struck her spine, and she won’t walk again. Even though the medication has her in a deep sleep, it’s like my Jesminda knows her life will never be the same again.” She releases me with a push. “Now go. Be quick.” 

When I reach the hospital room, it’s filled with flowers, but despite the plethora of vibrant colors and the aroma of their petals, Noor was right. My heart sinks into the floor as my feet falter in the doorway. Tubes stick out of Mindy, one from her mouth as it helps her breathe, and machines beep around her. A sob I cannot control catches in my throat, so I slap my hand over my mouth and almost back out of the room. 

But I can’t abandon her. I need Mindy to know I was here—that I care.

My shoes are like cement bricks as I place one foot in front of the other. It only takes a few strides, then I am at her side and take her hand. The woman before me looks like Mindy, yet at the same time, it doesn't look like her at all, and my heart twists at the sight.

“I’m so sorry, Mindy,” I cry an ugly cry. “I wish I could have been there sooner to protect you.”

I blabber on, apologizing for my mistakes. On some level, I am responsible for her being here. I made a deal with Richie, and now Mindy is breathing off a tube and paralyzed. So I cry like a blubbering mess, wiping my eyes and returning my wet hand to hers. After a few more apologies, I squeeze her fingers and say goodbye, but a gasp hitches in my chest.

Mindy squeezes back.

“Can you hear me?” My sniffles become laughter as I dry my eyes and kiss her knuckles. "Please do it again."

And she does.

Slumping onto the seat next to the bed, I rest my head against her hip and exhale a ragged cry of relief. This has to be a good sign. When I look up, Mindy's eyes are still closed, but they shift behind her eyelids. She's still in there, somewhere, fighting to recover, so I press her hand to my cheek to feel her warmth.

“Richie can't hurt you anymore, and I will help you find your strength as soon as you're out of here. You're going to get through this.” 

Her fingers reflexively graze my cheek as I kiss her knuckles one last time.

When I finally exit the room, I leave knowing she’ll be ok.