Page 23 of A Trap So Flawless

But no…

I have a better idea.

“She’s not going to London, Tommy.” I say it with a silken sort of certainty. “She’s coming to Dublin. And you’re going to be the one to get her on that flight.”

“How-”

“I don’t give a fuck how you make it happen,” I interrupt him viciously. “But if Valentina isn’t on that goddamn plane when it lands here, then you’d better start running now and you’d better never fucking stop. Because you have no idea what I will do to you if you lose her on me.”

A shaky inhale. Then, “Understood.”

The line goes dead.

The next time Tommy updates me, it’s to let me know Valentina has successfully boarded the Dublin flight.

Chapter 9

Valentina

After disembarking the plane, I consider trying to make another run for it. I watch some of my fellow passengers head for the connections area and wonder if I can get a second flight from here. But I don’t have that much cash left to burn through.

And let’s face it. I’m in his domain now. I’m in the city that spawned Darragh Gowan. If he could get me to Dublin against my own fucking will, there’s no way he’ll let me leave it. He’s probably got contacts at this very airport. Every time the eye of a staff member or security guard lands on me, I flinch as if it’s Darragh’s fingers trailing down the back of my neck.

I follow the flow of people towards the customs and arrivals area. It’s almost comically bizarre, to stand in line with all these people living their mundane lives. Going home or to school or arriving here for a vacation. I spot the pink cardigan of the older woman who was sitting beside me on the plane. She’s a bit ahead of me in the line. She makes it to the counter, speaks a few words with the agent there, then hobbles to the doors beyond. Those doors lead outside. I can see brilliant, mid-morning sunshine spilling in.

It's almost my turn.

When I’m called forward, I robotically produce my passport. I blandly say that I’m a tourist when I’m asked about why I’m here. I kick myself afterwards. I should have said something stupid. Something that would prevent me from walking out those doors.

But then again, if I’m not allowed through the doors, I’d just get sent back to Canada. Back to Montréal, with its shot-up restaurants and its bleeding men and the tatters of my fucking life.

I wonder if Papà made it through his surgery.

I wonder if Darragh is already here.

It’s easier than it should be to get past the agent at the desk. Clutching the strap of my bag, I walk slowly towards the doors. My mouth tastes like someone’s stuck a penny beneath my tongue.

What do they call a penny in Dublin? Do they even have them? Or did they stop producing them, like Canada did?

I jolt, then swear to myself. I haven’t even converted any of my Canadian money to euros. I don’t see an ATM in this narrow stretch between the agents and the doors. Maybe there will be one outside… But then I’d have to use my credit card…

I exit the airport and can’t stop myself from tilting my chin up to feel the sun. For the briefest of moments, I close my eyes and try to relax. But the sunlight turns the insides of my eyelids red. Red like wine splattered all over my dress. Red like Papà’s blood seeping endlessly through my fingers. I gasp and wrench my eyes open, dragging my gaze down from the sky.

But there’s still red. The dark, rust red of hair I’ve buried my fingers in. The sun gleams on it, painting each strand with loving spangles of copper. So bright.

But the eyes below are dark.

“Hello, pet,” Darragh murmurs. Something steely, something savage, shifts in his gaze, and his next words somehow both caress and cut me. “Or should I call you Mrs. Di Mauro now?”

I have a thousand biting replies on the tip of my tongue.

Not one of them makes it out of my mouth.

I’m really here.

And so is he.

I should be running. I should be screaming.

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