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“I didn’t recognize them. I think they’re from the other side of the family.”

I know what she means.

Gangsters. Whether they’re cartel or not, it doesn’t matter.

My head’s racing as I work through the implications. The plan is straightforward, but this is a wrinkle. Nobody expected guests.

“Tell him I’m here.”

Graciela tenses. “Are you sure?”

“He’ll want to see me.”

“God, girl, you’re going to get us both killed.”

“Do it, or don’t you want revenge? He’s not going to let anyone else get close to him, but he wants me. Go tell him.”

Graciela doesn’t move. For the first time in my life, she looks uncertain, and there’s a strange, pitying but respectful gleam in her eye. She considers, hesitating, but turns away.

“Good luck,” she says, back straightening, shoulders squared. “I have to admit, you have more courage than I thought.”

She hurries away, leaving me alone in the vestibule, and I keep thinking, heck no, I don’t. Not even in the slightest.

I want to run. All I want to do is get behind the wheel of a car and drive and drive and drive forever and ever, drive until all my problems are gone.

But that’s not life. It doesn’t work that way. I can disappear but that doesn’t make my problems vanish, and it would only mean leaving the people I care about behind.

If I learned anything from Bass, it’s not to walk away, not when I can do good.

My stomach flutters but Graciela doesn’t leave me for long. She returns stiffly and nods for me to follow. I drag myself after, forcing each step, feeling like I’m marching toward my own funeral. Instead of through my uncle’s.

Graciela drops me at the door to the bride’s room. I glare at her but she only shrugs. “He’s waiting inside.”

“Fucker,” I mutter, pushing open the door.

It’s a small space. There’s an old vanity, a full-length mirror, and a narrow couch. A framed print of the Madonna hangs gracefully beside the only window. There’s a box of tissues, a bowl of bobby pins, and an old can of hairspray.

Ruben’s standing with his back to me and turns slowly, a smile creeping across his face.

“I wasn’t expecting a treat today,” he says, eyes flicking over my shoulder. “Thank you, Mother, for this gift.”

“You’re welcome, Don Ruben. I hope you enjoy.” Graciela retreats from the room and closes the door sharply.

My knees go weak as Ruben pushes his hands into his pocket and faces me, beaming broadly.

“Why do you look so nervous?” he asks, and laughs when I look away. “Oh shit, Mari, do you think I’m going to fuck you or something?”

My stomach churns and I shake my head. “No.”

“Because I could.” He steps toward me. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t be disgusting. What the fuck⁠—”

His backhand catches me across the cheek. I gasp in shock. How did he move that fast? I stumble into the vanity and catch myself, knocking the hairspray clattering to the floor.

Ruben sounds placid like he didn’t hit me. “Be careful what you say to me now, Mari. Didn’t you hear what my mother said? I’m Don Ruben these days, and if I want to fuck my prissy little bitch cousin, I’ll fuck her. I’ll fuck you raw and bloody and you’ll scream and cry and hate me for it and that’ll only make me come harder.”

I struggle not to gag. My face aches and I taste blood as I straighten. “I came here to try to make peace with you.”