You see, there are these apps where anybody can write books, stories and the sort and one day, scrolling the FB (which I don't usually do but I kill time with it on occasions) my eyes fell on a title that made me scoff.
The title, 'Mafia in Love'...
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"Charles, I need you to come over to pick me up and get the plane ready," I tell my driver once he picks up.
I'm already throwing some stuff in a bag, something to have with me for a week or two.
"Where to, boss?"
"The States," I reply and hang up before I get a confirmation.
I have been waiting for a whole damn year for a sign, a word, something to tell me she hasn't completely forgotten me, and today, here is the sign.
She started writing again. I have been checking that damn app every fucking day, multiple times, hoping she would get back to that one insignificant thing for another maybe, but for us, it was the only link we actually had, her book.
Today is my day. Today is the day when I won't let things untouched, burying myself in my other dimension where I feed myself with memories of her beautiful eyes, the fresh scent of her skin, the orange flower smell of her hair, and pretend I'm happy.
I'm not happy. I used to think I'm lucky to be alive but what life is the one that I live, hidden and away, living almost every day a lie.
I never knew if her father told her where I was. We never spoke about her since the day he visited me first six months ago.
I found him in my living room one morning, sitting on the sofa with legs crossed and arms widely stretched on the backrest, holding a lit cigar with one hand and tapping nervously with the fingers of the other.
When I saw him my eyes moved instantly to my gun that was still laying on the coffee table where I left it the night before.
"Don't bother. I took the bullets out," he spoke sternly as if having another pair of fucking eyes at the back of his head. "Besides, I'm not here to kill. You're dead anyway and I..." he continued talking while standing up and walking around the sofa, coming closer to me, staring. "I prefer you stay dead."
"Is that so?" I replied while stepping down the last two stairs and walking to the mini-bar where I fixed two glasses of brandy.
"Why are you here, then?" I asked while offering him one glass.
He kept his stare hard on me, leaving me with my hand in the air before he decided to grab the glass and sip from the booze I offered.
"We have unfinished business, Don Raffa. The raid on my house, on my family...
"It wasn't me."
"I know. I know who wasn't. What I don't know is who was it. And that's what I intend to find out, with your help. None of us is safe before we get to the bottom of this," he concluded and sipped some more brandy. "My guys are searching for the shipment. I sent word to both Moroccans and Mexicans and asked for time to solve this shit. Of course, I had to pay nicely. Warranty money, as they say."
