Page 68 of Capo

“I understand,” she says, and I know she does. Carmen is a remarkably clever woman, the mother of my son, and one of not even a handful of people who have bested me and lived.

“You all have passports with other identities, right? I know you do.”

“We have,” she says.

I put my hand on the door handle. “Then put them to use. Today. Go to your parents. Go to Colombia, Carmen. Travel simple, inconspicuously. I don’t want to see you here tomorrow, got it?”

She nods, her features grim. “It won’t be easy on David. He won’t understand.”

“I prefer him alive and confused,” I growl. “Do it.”

Then I leave, slamming the door closed behind me, my heart heavy, every step toward the unknown future harder and harder.