Page 60 of No Sweeter Poison

There’s nothing I can give her that wouldn’t be the equivalent of leaving my soul bare on this scuffed up wooden table. Dahlia must sense this because she pushes her glass away and leans forward, bestowing upon me her undivided attention.

I’m unaccustomed to people looking at me head on this way. Anyone who isn’t inferior to me or terrified of me is blood related and even then, there’s a level of respect between myself and the members of my family: Diego and Lettie included. Not Dahlia, though. Unlike that first night in Barcelona, she doesn’t shy away from eye contact or blush whenever my gaze meets hers. An ache blossoms inside my chest and I have to press my palm against my breastbone to stave off the threat of my insides collapsing.

“Growing up was a little overwhelming sometimes. I always felt torn between two versions of myself: who my parents wanted me to be and who my grandfather wanted me to be. Then I hit an age where I realized I was neither of those people but caught somewhere in the middle. I was probably around thirteen when I first realized the family business was a family business. I resented everything and everyone around me.” I say. “We had a few legitimate establishments but Dad really made the push for it after an incident with me and my grandfather.”

“What happened?”

“We were…I think, in Peru?” I shake my head as a memory of gunpowder and smoke rises to the surface of my thoughts. “I was too young to really understand what was going on but my grandfather and I were driving back from somewhere when one of those street markets caught my eye. It was raining and Abuelo wanted to go home but I insisted we stop for a few minutes. We did and somewhere along the way, our security detail lost sight of us. Later come to find out, it was all a set up and someone had planned a hit on Abuelo that night.

“Most of what happened is a blur. There was screaming, one of the booths caught fire, people were running. Abuelo got hit in the leg, dropped his gun, and it skidded across the sidewalk. I didn’t think,” I tell her. “I saw it and I reached for it. I was a kid—I didn’t even know guns had a safety on them. As the smoke began to clear people started making their way toward us. And I fired.”

I can still hear it, clear as day.

Seven bullets. Boom, boom, boom, a row of men collapsing in front of me, their entire lives reduced to the split second it took for a twelve-year-old kid to pull a trigger. After that, my family couldn’t keep hiding the truth from me anymore. It may have taken me a year to figure it out but when I finally did? I was never the same.

“It was instinctual. I kept going until the clip was empty.”

We’re the only patrons here. Despite this, her voice drops to a whisper. “You were a child.”

“I liked it. The rush of adrenaline, the roaring in my ears, the weight of the weapon in my hand. There was no…no remorse, no sanctity for human life that kicked in afterwards. All I felt was relief and a desire to do it again.”

Dahlia sits very still and remains very quiet. I expect a reaction—horror, disgust, fear. She has a history of running away from things that frighten her and so I wait for her attempted escape. Throw the water jug in my face and bolt for the exit with the key to my car in her hand. I realize now that she still has it.

But no. She sits there and listens, and the worst part is that she looks like she wants to hear more. Once I start, I can’t stop.

“My father and I fought a lot. He wanted me to finish school and graduate with a business degree so I could help him fulfill his dreams of family legitimacy.” I wave a hand. “We went on like that for years. He had plans for all of us. Lettie was going to be the lawyer and Diego was going to be our PR person. None of us wanted to follow in his footsteps. I became closer to Abuelo, especially after I started spending the summers with him and my grandmother in Spain. Abuelo started here so despite all the traveling we did growing up, Barcelona was our de facto headquarters.

“My parents didn’t want me involved in Abuelo’s business, Abuelo wanted me to take over one day, I spend the next few years being an insufferable teenage pain in the ass, and then…” I shrug. “Dad gets hit by half a dozen bullets and that’s the end of that. I’m eighteen years old, it’s two hours before my graduation party, and he goes to get me a cake. Never comes back.”

Dahlia slides out from the booth and moves around to sit on my side, sitting so close I can smell her perfume. I realize I’m whispering but she presses herself against me, absorbing every word.

“I spent that entire summer trying to keep my family from falling apart. I’m the eldest son—that’s my job. Mom takes us to New Yok, to get away from everything, but Abuelo later follows. He gives us a choice: stay with her or go with him. And I go with him.”

“That’s why Diego said she’s gone.” She drops her gaze to the hand I have on the table and covers it with hers. “Gone but not dead.”

I nod. “Technically, she could’ve kept Lettie because she was still a minor. But not Diego and me.”

She frowns. “Wouldn’t Diego have been a minor too? He’s a little younger than you.”

“Diego…that’s a bit of a long story. He’s our half-brother.”

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So what did you do? After you and Diego decided to go back with Abuelo?”

“I did what Dad would’ve wanted. Went to university, graduated. But not before proposing to a girl I met in New York.”

“You met your fiancée in New York?”

“Ex-fiancée. Operative word being ex. Her name was Regina.”

Those first few years after Dad died are all a blur. Grief made it easy to forget but looking back, it also made me reckless. Like trusting Regina enough to let her get close and choosing this life over my mother.

“And here I was thinking my life was fucked up.”

I turn to face her.