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Cristóbal steps forward, faking interest. I watch him from the corner of my eye.
The doctor adds, “We’re continuing compatibility testing for a transplant. We’ve already drawn samples from his wife. We hope to have results soon.”
Mama’s voice is barely a whisper. “And if I’m not a match?”
Silence.
“I’d like to be tested,” I say, before I can stop myself.
My mother looks at me like I’ve just handed her a miracle. “You would do that?”
“Of course,” I say, surprised she would even expect anything else from me. “Anything for Papa.”
My father smiles again—just a flicker of pride beneath the haze of pain.
Cristóbal doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his fury vibrating through the air beside me. His smile never fades, yet his hand on my lower back tightens because what I just said isn’t part of his plan. I’ve crossed an invisible line, and now I can’t take it back.
We chat for a little while longer, engaging in small talk and empty words.
Papa tries to bring up business. “There are matters and suppliers that I’ve been meaning to—”
Mama cuts in, sharp and firm. “No.”
Her voice shakes, but her conviction doesn’t. “No cartel business. Not when you’re this weak.”
Papa opens his mouth to argue, but she lays a hand on his chest and he relents.
When it’s time to go, Mom walks me to the door. Her hand brushes against mine, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of themother she used to be—proud and fierce, a force of nature that I always thought could not be tamed.
“Move back home, Xiomara,” she pleads. “Even if you’re married, why not stay here and spend as much time as possible with your father? We don’t know how much longer we have.”
Tears sting my eyes. I want to say yes because I so badly want to stay beside my ill father. But I can’t. Not while Cristóbal has Maksim under lock and key.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Maksim is… energetic. He’d get in the way of the treatments. But I’ll bring him to visit soon. When Papa’s strong enough.”
Mama’s mouth tightens. “Even if your father can’t handle him yet… I would like to meet my only grandchild. Make sure you bring him tomorrow. Or I will come and see him myself.”
Cristóbal steps in then, smiling as if he’s the perfect husband. “We’ll speak to him tonight,” he says smoothly. “Make sure he understands he needs to behave.”
My mother’s eyes bore into me as we walk away, and I feel the fracture in my already wounded soul deepen. Every lie I tell—every word I withhold—is killing me piece by piece. But I can’t stop. Not while Maksim is trapped. Not while Cristóbal has the power to end us both.
I have played right into his hands; now, I am nothing but his puppet, and he is an evil puppet master who knows how to tighten the strings every time I try to breathe.
As we walk to the car, he takes my hand, but the moment the car doors shut and the driver pulls away from the Delgado estate, I feel the restraint over his mood snapping.
Cristóbal doesn’t speak at first. He just sits there, jaw clenched, knuckles whitening on his thigh. His silence isn’t calm. It’s the kind that builds a storm. My stomach coils.
I keep my head turned toward the window, blinking rapidly, and gaze at the passing scenery without truly seeing anything as I think about my father wasting away, while my mother looks on helplessly.
My mind is preoccupied when suddenly I feel the sharp, brutal pain of a blow landing against my ribs. The seatbelt jerks against me as I double over from the impact, a gasp escaping my throat before I can prevent it. Another follows, then another.
I don’t scream; instead, I clamp my arms around my sides, realizing with horror that he’s avoiding my face to prevent leaving visible bruises.
This motherfucker is strategic even in his violence.
“How dare you offer to get tested?” he growls, each word venomous. “You think you can save your father?”
I shake my head—not to deny it, but because I don’t know what else to do. I can't breathe. My body is throbbing from pain. But it’s not the physical pain that unravels me—it’s the ice that slides through my veins when I realize what he’s furious about.