The apprehension and hypervigilance that’s weighed me down since I stepped out of the prison van suddenly fade away. Inquisitive looks from the Cosa Nostra members all around don’t burn into my back anymore. I no longer feel the need to wrap my hands around their necks and squeeze until they fall limp at my feet. For the first time in fifteen years, I am at peace.
The priest starts talking. The cemetery staff begin lowering the casket. I don’t even glance at it. My entire being seems to be bewitched by my little spy. She is so f*****g beautiful. I try to take in the rest of her, only then noticing the unusual discoloration around her eyes and on her forehead. A birthmark? Did she have one and I don’t remember? Or is it a scar? Whatever it is, it doesn’t take away from her beauty. I’m stil
