Page 52 of Sexting the Pakhan

“I can.”

“That’s not how conversations work.”

“I never claimed to be good at conversations.”

For a moment, unbelievably, she almost smiles.

It doesn’t last.

Her gaze drops to my hands. “Are you still looking for him?”

“Yes.”

“The mole.”

“Yes.”

“And you still don’t know who it is?”

“No.”

She breathes out slowly. “So this isn’t over.”

“No.”

Her eyes close. The wind moves a strand of hair across her cheek. She doesn’t push it away. “What am I going to do?” she says.

Money is the simple part. A job. An apartment. Protection. I can fix all of that with one phone call. I could buy the building she lives in before midnight and make rent stop being a word in her life.

But giving her those things would not solve the problem sitting in her chest.

It would only make her feel owned.

“You will eat dinner first,” I say.

She opens her eyes. “That’s your solution?”

“That’s the first step.”

“I lost my job.”

“You still need to eat.”

“I can’t afford my apartment.”

“You still need to eat.”

“I may be on some mafia kill list.”

“Then you especially need to eat.”

She stares at me.

Then, to my surprise, she laughs. It’s small and tired, but real. It slips out of her like something she didn’t think she still had.

I look at her mouth before I can stop myself.

She sees.