Paula had put herself into this situation on purpose and now it was clear she couldn’t handle it. She’d been a fool ever to think she was a person who could do something like this. She needed to abandon any plan and get out of there rapidly.

She shrank away from him. ‘Please, I’d just like to leave.’

‘Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?’

‘I don’t think you’re an idiot. But I want to go now.’

Paula slid her bum along the slippery leather upholstery to shift closer to the door.

‘You prick-teasing bitch! Did you honestly think you could go on and on all fucking night about that pure stuff in your bag and then just walk out? Are you trying to make me look like an idiot? Fuck me dead …’

‘I’m not trying to—look, I’m sorry. I should go.’

Paula clutched her handbag under her arm and stood up, but then lost her balance on the ridiculous high shoes. That gave Santino a chance to grab for the bag. As he went to yank it out from under her arm, she was still holding tight to the shoulder strap. He got hold of the handbag itself and slammed it hard into Paula’s face to make her let go. One of the metal corners on the bag whacked into her cheekbone and the force of the blow sent her staggering across the room, but still holding the shoulder strap. Santino was so clumsy-drunk, he must’ve lost his grip on the smooth leather surface. That seemed to make him even angrier and he let out a growl of frustration.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ Paula stammered. ‘I’ll give you the syringe, okay? Please don’t hurt me.’

Santino was panting, ready to hit her again, but controlling the urge if that meant he’d get the Dilaudid.

‘It’s here. You can have it,’ Paula said, in the most calming voice she could manage. ‘You can have it. You can have all of it.’

She opened her handbag and took out a travel-sized toiletry bag, just long enough to fit the syringe snugly. On the kitchen table at home, she had taken the bubble wrap off the bottle of Dilaudid Judy had asked her to dispose of safely. She had then put on latex gloves to remove a syringe from its packaging and draw up a large quantity of hydromorphone—more than twice the dose considered lethal. Still wearing gloves, she had dropped the loaded syringe into the toiletry bag and zipped it up.

Now she unzipped the bag and held it out to Santino. He reached in and took out the capped syringe. His fingerprints would be on it, but not Paula’s.

‘You can have it,’ she repeated, ‘if you let me leave.’

‘Yeah, whatever. Piss off.’

‘Do you know how to use the syringe?’