Page 88 of Shark Bait

No comfort comes. Alessio doubles down on the scare factor when he steps into my personal space, his blue eyes becoming even paler than before.

“You have amnesia and remember nothing,” he tells me in a tone that makes me soak up every word like a sponge. “Val and I do not exist, and neither does a man who goes by the name Miroslav. If you speak about my family”—he lowers his head to whisper in my ear, his strong lavender-laced sandalwood cologne stuffing my nose—“the next time we meet, it will be on Miro’s grave. And just in case he means nothing to you when one of the agencies offers you protection in exchange for your memories, when they offer you a new home, a new life, remember this: You and I will share a cup of coffee the very next morning after you move into your new place.”

Alessio steps back.

It takes a me a few seconds to understand what he told me and just that long to form a reply. “Bless your heart, Capital. You sure know how to sweeten up a threat.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” He offers me his hand. “Here’s the deal. Your freedom for Miro’s. It’s a fair deal and one I think you’ll welcome.”

When I don’t shake his hand, Val says. “Alessio has arranged a quiet exchange. He will hand you over, and they will give us Miro back.”

“Shark’s coming home?” I ask.

The siblings nod in unison, and it’s the first time I see the similarities between them. The shape of their eyes. The plush mouths. The square jaws.

“And I’m going back to Tennessee?” I ask just to double-check.

They nod again.

“None of this ever happened.” I swallow past the lump in my throat that keeps growing as I talk. “Got it. Delete memories. Got it. I can do that. I’m pretty good at that. Just don’t tell Dr. Gruber. He keeps asking me to remember.”

Val’s eyes cloud with tears, and she extends her hands toward me again, but Alessio steps in her way. “Go to bed, Valerina.”

She leaves, and I march toward the helipad, my arms pressed against my chest, holding in my heart so I can take it with me.

“Wrong way,” Alessio says.

Ironically, that’s the story of my life.

THIRTY-ONE

WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE THIS WAY?

TROY

During the ride in the car from where the chopper dropped Alessio and me, I chewed my nails while he drove calmly, only once in a while clenching and relaxing his hand on the manual stick shift. I’ve never seen one before, so I guess I can take that with me to Tennessee too.

My contractions were fake. Small mercies.

We veer off the road and drive toward a bridge, where one unmarked black van waits for us. It’s surreal. Feels like a prisoner exchange you’d see in a suspense movie. Hope the writer doesn’t plug in a plot twist with flying bullets. We don’t need any of that.

Alessio parks our sleek luxury car with tinted windows next to the black van with even more tinted windows. I try to make out the driver, but he’s wearing black on black and sunglasses. The van’s back door slides open, and I shift in my seat, expecting someone to come out. No one does.

“Your move,” Alessio says.

“You parked too close to the van.” As in right next to it.

“Too close for what?” Alessio asks.

“For me to get out. My belly won’t fit.”

A tiny smile tugs his lips, and he softens his gaze. “Your belly will fit.”

“No really. It’s too close.”

“You’ll make it.” Blue eyes settle on me, and I think Alessio is saying goodbye in the only way he knows how. No hugs. No handshakes even. I have to read his expression and tone, but mostly his actions. That’s how this man communicates.

Since it’s hard to communicate with him, I’m unsure if he’s saying he didn’t park too close (he did), and I’ll make it out of the car fine or if he’s commenting on my life and that I’ll make it out of this messy situation. Maybe both. I’d like to think both. I’d like to think Alessio still has a heart. He sure cares about Shark.

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