Page 63 of Porcelain Lies

The transaction.

Focus on the transaction.

Take the money and get out.

I splash more water on my face, straighten my blouse, smooth my hair. My hands won’t stop shaking as I reach for the doorknob.

Just get the money.

Just get the money.

Just get the money.

The mantra repeats in my head as I force myself to open the door and face him again.

I keep my eyes fixed on the black leather bag sitting on Gianni’s kitchen counter, refusing to acknowledge his presence or the weight of his stare.

Deep breath.

The hard part is over.

Take the bag and escape.

“Aren’t you going to count it,bella?” Gianni’s voice drips with amusement. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m cheating you.”

My stomach turns at his choice of words. The bag sits there like an accusation, proof of what I’ve done. What he made me do. The leather gleams under his recessed lighting, expensive and pristine like everything else in his world.

I reach for the bag with unsteady fingers, its weight substantial and damning. The metal clasp feels cold as I clutch it to my chest, using it as a shield between us.

Three hundred thousand dollars. The price of my dignity. The cost of my brother’s life. Each stack of bills inside represents a moment I’ll never be able to forget, no matter how hard I try.

The bag threatens to slip from my sweaty grip. I adjust my hold, pressing it tighter against my body as if I could somehow hide from the reality of what it represents. Without another word, I grip the leather bag and bolt for the door.

“Drive safely,cara.” His mocking voice follows me out.

I slam the door behind me, cutting off his laughter. My legs carry me to the elevator on autopilot. Avoiding the mirror on the back wall, I stare at my feet until the doors open.

The parking lot feels endless as I run through it. Each step sends shooting pain through my feet as my heels twist and my ankles wobble, but I don’t slow down. The bag bounces against my ribs as I race to my car, a damning reminder of what just happened.

My hands shake so badly I drop my keys twice before managing to unlock the door. I throw myself into the driver’s seat and hit the lock button repeatedly, the clicking sound oddly reassuring in the silence.

The leather bag slides into my lap. I grip the steering wheel, pressing my forehead against my tightly curled knuckles. The familiar smell of my car — vanilla air freshener and coffee — wraps around me like a security blanket.

For the first time since entering Gianni’s apartment, I let myself breathe. Really breathe. The sobs come without warning, ripping through my chest in harsh, ugly sounds that echo in the confined space. I curl forward, wrapping my arms around myself as if I could physically hold the pieces together. It takes several long minutes before I can pull myself together enough to start the car and drive away.

The streetlights blur through my tears as I navigate away from Gianni’s building. My hands won’t stop shaking on the steering wheel. The bag of cash sits in my passenger seat like a dark presence, each bump in the road making it shift and remind me of its existence.

A horn blares. I jerk the wheel, realizing I’ve drifted into the next lane.

Focus.

You need to focus.

Nick is waiting. Nick needs this money. He can never know how I got it.

The thought of telling him makes bile rise in my throat again. How could I explain? “Here’s the money, by the way, I blew your former friend to save your life.”

My phone buzzes with a text from Nick.

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