Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“Buenos días, Natalia,” Paz said as she served him.
“¿Cómo está?” I greeted, pulling my damp hair into a ponytail so it wouldn’t get my t-shirt wet. Despite my shower, I still had flecks of glitter embedded into my hairline and arms from the night before.
Paz responded, nodded at my father’s half-eaten plate of eggs and pico de gallo, and asked if I was hungry. When I told her my stomach was still uneasy from the night before, she got me a warm can of Coke Light.
“Good morning, mi amor.” My father held up the front page to show me a picture of himself with the governor and his wife. Lower down the page, Papá shook hands with the head Calavera himself. I couldn’t even bring myself to think the devil’s name. “You wouldn’t believe the morning’s headlines,” he said. “Everyone says it was a great party.”
No mention of the murder within its walls? Whatever “journalists” had been in attendance should be stripped of the designation.
“¿Hace mucho calor, no?” he asked as Paz set down his toast.
With his complaint about the heat, she set to work opening the windows.
Papá sipped his coffee as I stared at his scabbed knuckles and slightly swollen right hand, remembering how he’d gripped the gun. I knew he’d killed before as sure as I knew my own name. That was no surprise. But to see it with my own eyes, and so carelessly, like plucking an orange off a tree or tossing aside a piece of junk mail. No warning or word of acknowledgment.
A breeze passed through the room, alleviating the heat. “I saw what you did,” I said.
“Hmm?” He looked up at me. “What?”
“Last night, at the party. I was there.”
He stared at me a moment, then stood and carried his silverware and plate of eggs across the kitchen. He threw them in the sink with a clatter. “Goddamn it, Natalia.”
“Why?” I asked.
He turned to the maid as she tried to salvage the cracked dish. “Gracias, Paz.”
She hurried from the room.
When it came to me, my father’s bark was much worse than his bite. I stood my ground. “How could you let that monster back into our lives?” I asked.
“I was going to talk to you today. I didn’t want you to find out that way,” he said. I knew his scolding frown all too well. “I told you not to go to the party. You defied me.”
“If I hadn’t, I’d be reading lies for headlines.” I picked up his picture with Cristiano and thrust it toward him. “My father, shaking hands with my mother’s murderer? How were you going to explain this?”
“With the truth.” He came back for his coffee, took the paper from me, and looked at the photo. “Cristiano is innocent.”
“It’s impossible.” My voice broke, but I did my best to swallow down my grief. If I got emotional, his instinct to protect me would prevent him from sharing anything beyond the fundamentals. “Cristiano killed her, stole from us, and left me in a tunnel to rot.”
“I should belt you for doubting me. My father would’ve,” he said without any conviction. From my grandfather, that threat would’ve scared me. He’d had a temper. My dad wasn’t like that, though.
“Is he blackmailing you?” I asked.
He put down the newspaper and slid his toast toward him. “No—”
“Papá.” I pleaded with him. “Tell me the truth. What does Cristiano have on you?”
“Nothing.” Leaning one hand on the counter, he took a bite, then tossed the remaining bread back on the plate as if he couldn’t stomach it. “And spreading a rumor like that makes me vulnerable, so watch your mouth.”
“What is it then?” I asked, undeterred.
He sighed into his coffee. “If you’d let me get a word in, I’d tell you. You’re like your mother, storming in here yelling at me for things I didn’t do.”
“You shot a man in the head,” I cried. “I saw it.”
Even as his color drained, he straightened up. “Cristiano has proven his loyalty, Talia. For the last decade, he’s done more than built himself a strong, successful cartel—”
“How can you say that?” I fell onto a breakfast stool. “I’ve heard the kind of ‘business’ he runs, and it’s vile.”
“His business isn’t anything you should worry about. All you need to know is what Cristiano has done for your mother. For us.” Birds chirped outside, and a sparrow landed on the sill. Papá shooed it away. “When Cristiano left here,” he continued, “he ruthlessly and relentlessly hunted your mother’s murderer. He made it his mission to find the motherfucker who entered my house—my bedroom—and took almost everything from me. I’ve had dark moments since learning this. I question Our Lady of Guadalupe for letting this stranger into my home, but I thank her you didn’t come into the room any earlier.”