The woman spun around on the chair, her cigar dangling from the corner of her mouth. “I accept dollars, euros, sterling silver, broken hearts and secrets.”

My fingers drifted to the pendant around my neck, then yanked the chain hard enough to break. “Here.” I handed it to her. “There’s a heart inside.”

The corners of her sangria mouth rose, her violet eyes hungry as she turned the necklace over in her hands. “Yours?”

“No.”

“Broken?”

“Yes.”

She let it dangle, holding up the chain, then slipped it into her pocket quickly. “He's yours.”