in an instant. The ruse was gone, and he collapsed back in his chair. This was Alfonso Quintana. This was the man, the face people saw before he had them killed . . . before he raped them. This was the man who took Saffie over and over again. “It’s business.” He sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I wouldn’t understand?” I laughed at the assumed naivety. “What wouldn’t I understand?” My voice raised a notch in volume. Adrenaline fueled my every move. “I wouldn’t understand that you kidnap women from their vacations or from vulnerable situations? Children, that you kidnap, buy, and sell into slavery?” I stepped forward and made sure I was looking directly into his eyes as I said, “And wouldn’t I understand that you requested young girls to fuck while visiting your slave camps and forced them to endure you taking them against their will? Children. Fucking children!” My chest rose and fell with the anger that was pumping through my muscles. My father’s face reddened. I had never spoken to him this way. I had never disobeyed him. Never even cursed in front of him. Silence thickened the air. “When?” I demanded. “When did this start? How long have you been trafficking women?”
“Since you.” My eyes snapped to Diego. He was watching me with a smug smirk. And I was sure he caught the blood draining from my face. My mouth opened, ready to speak, but no words came . . . me? What the hell was he talking about? Diego saw my confusion. “You were the first, Adelita.” Diego looked to my father, who had turned just as white. “That’s right, isn’t it, Alfonso? She was the first?”
“What?” I whispered, my heart kicking into a sprint. My father moved quickly and lifted a gun from under his desk. I instinctively stepped back, thinking he was raising it at me, but instead, he aimed it at Diego. Before my father could fire, Diego pulled a gun from his jacket and shot my father through the head. I screamed as blood spattered the wall behind my father and his body slumped in the chair. His forehead hit the desk with a thud. Blood started to flood from his wound.
Heartbeat thudding in my ears, I barely registered Diego calling someone on his cell, until I heard the sound of gunshots thundering in and around the house. Panicked, I turned in the direction of the door. All I could hear were screams and shouts, and bullet after bullet leaving the barrel of guns.
“The house is mine,” Diego stated, making me turn his way. My knees were weak. Fear was all I could feel. Diego straightened his suit jacket, like he hadn’t just killed my father and all his men in the hacienda.
“Carmen . . .” I whispered.
“No one loyal to your father can be kept alive.” Instant sorrow burrowed in my chest. Diego’s arrogance shone through in his tall stance. “It has taken me years to sway enough men to my side, Adelita. Years. Your father was a weak leader. Too concerned with women and acting the perfect cartel boss.” He shrugged. “I have plans for this cartel. Plans that exclude your father and the dead weight he calls his best men.”
“No!” I shook my head and tried to comprehend what was happening. “You,” I said and focused my anger on Diego. “You are involved in the trafficking, aren’t you? You are as much a part of that shitshow as my father! Is that your big plan? Slaves?”
Diego kept his cool. “They couldn’t have children.” I froze, confused by his stark change in topic. “Your mother and father.” He paused, allowing me catch up. “At least those you believed were your parents.” My eyes widened, and I tried to keep my cool. But I didn’t know how. What was he saying? Diego sat down on the seat opposite my father—my dead father. I couldn’t look at the body. Neither could I move. I was rooted to the spot. “He killed her, Adelita. Your father. He killed your mother when she found out what he’d done.”
“The trafficking?” I whispered. “She found out about his business?”
He slowly shook his head. His eyes were cruel and cold. “When she found out you’d been stolen from your birth mother—a woman who had never wanted to let you go.” The pain in my chest was so great I couldn’t breathe. The air seemed too thick to inhale, and my lungs were fighting against it. My hand