Page 43 of Hearts Of Darkness

“And it doesn’t bother you that he’s a—”

“Does it botheryou?” she retorts, her eyes flashing at me. An uncomfortable silence follows. “I’m sorry, señorita, that was bad manners. Please accept my apologies.”

“No need. I had no right to ask you that question.” I watch her rearrange the apple slices on the plate for a second time. “Where are you from?”

“Cartagena.”

“In Colombia?”

She nods, and I watch her wipe down the kitchen surface and then repeat the same action, three times over. My presence has her on edge.

An unpleasant thought surfaces in my mind.

“Did you know Dante before you came to work here?”

“Enjoy your breakfast, señorita,” she says, cutting me off again and handing me my plate.

I smile at her ruefully.I can be more than a little tenacious at times.

Twisting open the lid to the peanut butter, I start spreading thick, oozing layers to each slice of toast. It smells so comforting. It’s a lazy Sunday morning spent lounging about my apartment…

Overcome with homesickness, I drop the knife with a clatter.

“You’ll see America again soon enough, señorita,” says Sofía gently, handing me a clean one.

I don’t want to talk about home. It’s too painful.

“Do you blame me for getting Valentina into trouble?”

“No, señorita.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Valentina knew what she was doing. She made a bad decision. Señor Dante treats us well. Loyalty is important to him.”

Her smile is so genuine that for a moment I could almost believe he isn’t the devil incarnate.

“Can I ask you a favor?” I say hesitantly.

“Of course.”

“Can you teach me how to speak Spanish?”

“If Señor Dantewill allow it.”

My heart sinks. “Do you have to ask his permission?”

“Yes, in all things. It’s just the way it has to be.”

“But—”

“I serve lunch at midday.”

The message is crystal clear:No more questions.

I grit my teeth and stare down at my plate. “Can I go eat this outside?”

She nods and smiles again. “Señor Dante has granted you access to every area of his compound, except for sector six, of course.”

“You mean the warehouses?” I say, taking a bite of an apple slice.

“Yes, señorita.”

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