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“No!”

I couldn’t pace in this room and tell myself patience was intelligence while Marcela destroyed him beneath my feet.

I’d spent my entire life waiting.

Waiting for Father to loosen his grip.

Waiting for someone to make a mistake.

Waiting had kept me alive.

It had also kept me here.

A groan rose from below.

“Fuck this!”

I turned toward the door.

I needed the guards away from the cellar.

I needed noise.

Smoke.

Panic.

Something big enough to make everyone move.

Fire!

The idea hit, and that was all it took to send me into motion.

Not a plan, but an answer.

I ran from my room and headed back to the kitchen.

A servant stepped aside when she saw me coming.

Another called my name.

I ignored her.

Father kept his expensive liquor near the veranda in the smoking lounge, where men sat with cigars and talked as though they were important.

I went straight to the cabinet.

One bottle.

Then another.

I didn’t bother reading the labels.

I grabbed the heavy cigar lighter from the table beside a crystal ashtray.

Someone behind me called out, “Señorita?”

I kept moving.