Chapter 3

I woke up at six this morning. I put on a white blouse and a long gray skirt, the most professional outfit left in my closet. I brushed my hair, put on a little lipstick, trying to look like a doctor worth interviewing even though my license was suspended.

First clinic on the outskirts of town.

"We need a general practitioner, but your license is under review?" said the clinic owner, a middle-aged woman with thick glasses.

"Yes, but I can help..."

"Sorry, we can't take that risk."

Second clinic, a private clinic in a shopping mall.

"Your name is on the national watchlist?"

I took a breath. "It's only temporary. I haven't been found guilty legally."

"This list was issued by the ethics committee. We can't."

Third clinic, fourth clinic, fifth clinic. They all rejected me.

I gave up for today.

I sat at a bus stop, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sleek black luxury car with dark tinted windows that made it impossible to see who was inside.

I'd been seeing that car since morning.

First near my apartment when I left, then at the turn toward the first clinic, then in the parking lot of the second clinic, and at the red light near the third clinic.

Maybe it was just a coincidence, but I was too tired to care.

The bus came. I got on. The black car followed from a safe distance.

I got off at the stop near my apartment. The black car stopped across the street.

I walked quickly into the apartment lobby, then into my room on the third floor.

I slammed the door. I threw my crossbody bag onto the sofa. My body collapsed on the edge of the bed. Five clinics rejected me today.

My phone buzzed on the table.

Father.

"Hello?" I said.

"If you don't come home soon, I'll send someone to forcibly pick you up. You haven't been back to Mexico in eight years. Eight years!"

I stood up and opened the closet. One by one, I took my clothes and folded them roughly, then packed them into a large black suitcase.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I stopped. The white shirt I was folding fell to the floor.

I walked to the door carefully and looked through the peephole.

Blue eyes. The man from the cafe yesterday.

I opened the door.

"You," I said.

He looked at me. His eyes dropped to my swollen face, to the suitcase behind me half-filled with clothes, to the white shirt lying on the floor.

"I want to thank you properly," he said, his voice low, deep, with an Italian accent I was now starting to recognize.

"That's not necessary."

"I'm a man who always pays his debts," he said.

The black car that had been following me since morning, it turned out to be him.

"You followed me," I said.

"I needed to make sure you were safe. You saved my father. In my country, that means my family owes you a life."

I shook my head. My mind was in chaos between the decision to go back to Mexico or stay here. I looked into his eyes again.

I didn't know who started it.

Did I step closer? Or did he? Or did we both move at the same time? All I knew was that suddenly the distance between us disappeared. My chest touched his. I could smell his scent.

Those blue eyes were now only inches from my face. I could see the fine lines around them, the dark rim around his irises, the reflection of the dim hallway light.

"I'm going back to Mexico, and I'm never coming back here," I said.

He didn't answer.

"I still don't know your name," I said again.

Then he kissed me, and his lips felt warm against mine. His hand reached for my waist, pulling me closer, and I let him.

Maybe because I was desperate, and I wanted one last memory before I went back to Mexico.

My apartment door closed. The man's hands touched my back, my waist, then my hair. All I heard was his ragged breathing near my ear and the small gasp that escaped my lips as his fingers unbuttoned my blouse.

Those blue eyes never left my face, watching every change in my expression, observing how my breath quickened every time his fingertips touched the skin of my neck.

My blouse slipped to the floor.

He paused for a moment, looking at me in just my white lace bra. His hand lifted, the back of his fingers tracing my collarbone gently, making me shiver.

"Beautiful," he said in his Italian accent.

I didn't know who moved first, but suddenly we'd fallen onto the bed, the half-packed black suitcase shoved aside. His body was above me, heavy and warm, pressing me into the mattress that felt too soft.

His mouth found my neck. I sighed as his lips pressed there, right where my pulse was beating hard. He sucked softly, then bit gently, just enough to make me pull his hair.

His mouth moved down my neck, my chest, my stomach. His hands opened the remaining buttons of my blouse, pushed it aside, then my bra. I squirmed, my hands gripping the sheets.

He kept going down, kissing my navel, then my hips, and I felt his warm breath down there, right at my most intimate part.

What was I doing? This man was a stranger.

I didn't know his name. I didn't know what he wanted. I'd just been destroyed by two people I trusted, and now I was letting this man, this man who'd been following me since morning, kiss me like this?

My leg moved without thinking and kicked him in the face.

He stumbled back, his hand covering his nose. Those blue eyes widened in shock.

I grabbed my open blouse, covering myself with trembling hands.

"Get out of here," I said, my voice hoarse.

He tried to stand, and then I heard something fall. A business card fell from his pocket. It floated in the air for a moment, then landed on the floor near the bed. I picked it up before he could reach it.

Thick cream-colored paper, with embossed gold lettering.

Luca Vitale

Consulente di Fiducia

Vitale Family Holdings

Luca. Like an Italian name.

He was Italian.

My eyes read the name over and over. Luca Vitale. Below it was a phone number with an Italian area code, an address in Rome, and in the corner of the card, a small crest, a shield with a lion on it.

The man's hand reached out to take the card from mine.

"Luca," I read his name softly.

He just stood beside my bed, his black suit already straightened again.

"You're Italian, and why did you follow me all day?" I asked.

Luca looked at me. Those blue eyes didn't blink.

"I already told you. I owe you a life. In my country, that means everything."

"I don't care. Tomorrow I'm flying to Mexico. I'm going to get married, and I'm not giving my virginity to a stranger like you," I said.

Luca didn't say anything for a moment, then he took the card from my hand gently and put it back in his pocket.

"Then have a pleasant trip. We'll meet again."