Lucia
Iknock on the door of Alejandro’s office and wait for him to answer before I push the door and walk inside.
There are a few storage rooms in this house I haven’t been inside of, but this is the one room I’ve been curious about.
Marcello told me Alejandro wanted to see me in here after dinner.
I’m in here now, and because I haven’t seen Alejandro since yesterday, my eyes are glued to him.
He’s standing behind a mahogany desk that looks old. He’s dressed in full black, and his beard has grown out again.
He looks tired, but I appreciate the smile he gives me. He hasn’t told me much about what happened with his friend. So, I don’t know if that’s one more thing to add to my ever-growing list of things to blame myself for.
I’ve been walking on thin ice for the last few days, and as the days wear on, I feel it in my bones that something is going to fall out of my control very soon. Tomorrow is Friday—check-in day with Red/ Thiago.
He hasn’t contacted me since the message at the restaurant, so God knows what tomorrow will be like. Especially when I’ll be repeating the same mantra—I don’t have anything for you.
“Hi,” I say, looking around the office nervously. “I’ve never been in here before.”
“Because I hate mixing business with pleasure, but sometimes I have to.” The lightless recedes from his face and he becomes more serious.
“How’s your friend?”
“Still in a coma.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I keep telling myself he’s a fighter. He is. He’s the strongest guy I know, so he has to pull through.”
“I hope so. You never told me what happened. I know you were hurt, too.” Which makes me think it wasn’t a run-of-the-mill occurrence and part of the same problem.
He shakes his head. “I don’t want you to worry about stuff like that.”
“But I do.”
“No. I don’t want you to.”
“If I can do anything to help, please let me know.” I feel like such a hypocrite. A lying, backstabbing hypocrite because there are at least two things I could tell him that would help him, and I haven’t.
“There is one thing. That’s why I’ve asked you to come in here. Have a seat.” He motions to the leather chair in front of the desk, and I plant myself into it.
He doesn’t sit. He walks around the front of the desk, then rests to the edge.
“What’s going on?” My nerves scatter as I wonder if he’s discovered something about me. But I bridle my thoughts because I’m sure he’d react worse if he did.
A shadow of uneasiness crosses his face, and he presses his lips together.
“Do you remember when we went to the beach and I told you something happened to me I couldn’t talk about?”
“Yes, of course I remember.”
“Well, to explain what I need you to do, I think you deserve some context to the request.”
“Tell me.”
“Mia isn’t, um… my niece,” he begins, and my eyes bulge.
“What? What is she?”