Page 7

A cold shiver runs down my spine, and I swallow the lump forming in my throat. His indifference tells me more than I wish to know. I force myself to nod, but my thoughts race with dark possibilities.

“Okay,” I reply, though the word tastes like ash in my mouth.

Turning on my heel, I leave them to their liquor-soaked bravado, the weight of the unsaid suffocating me with every step I take. He won’t help me, but I won’t give up that easily. I’ll find another way to discover what happened to the little girl.

Hours later, I am exhausted. The weight of my brother’s world presses down on me like a thousand chains. I’m walking through the warehouse when the door swings open. Maria steps inside, a bag of takeout filling the air with the scent of carne asada and lime. My stomach rumbles.

“Isabella?” Maria’s voice is tinged with disbelief as she takes in the sight of me standing among crates stamped with our family’s mark. “What are you doing here?”

“Long story,” I mutter, glancing around at the workers who pretend not to listen. “I’ll fill you in later—away from prying ears. I think I’m supposed to stay until the day ends.”

Maria nods, her eyes wide with unspoken questions. “Do you want to get out of here after your shift?” she asks softly, her concern for me evident even in the chaos of the warehouse.

“More than anything.” My reply is instant, raw with the need to escape.

“Good, it’s a plan then. I’ll pick you up when you’re done.” She squeezes my hand briefly, a lifeline in the madness, before making her way over to Pedro. After delivering the meal, she kissed her husband and asks, “When will Isabella be able to leave?”

“Well, it has been a long first day. How about now?”

“Gracias, mi amor.” She kisses him, then turns to me. “Let’s go.”

“Where are you two headed?” Pedro asks.

“Out for a drink,” Maria replies, still smiling as if nothing’s wrong. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Be safe,” he says, stepping back. His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary, but I look away, unwilling to engage with the unspoken questions in his eyes.

As we pull away from the warehouse, the tension in my shoulders begins to ease. The car moves through the humid streets of New Orleans, a city that never truly sleeps. Neon signs and streetlights paint Maria’s face in shifting colors as she glances over, concern etched in her features.

“Isabella, how did you get tangled up in that mess? I thought you wanted nothing to do with the family business,” Maria asks, her voice soft but probing.

I sigh, staring out the window. “Juan. He made me.”

“Idiota,” she mutters. “Not you. Him.”

“I know.” I’m silent for a second before everything I’ve been suppressing comes blaring out. “I can’t stand it, Maria! The way our family… our so-called business hurts people. It’s like we’re caught in this endless cycle of violence and power.”

Maria reaches over and rests a comforting hand on my clenched fists. “Cariño, sometimes survival means we have to turn a blind eye. You know how things are.”

“That may work for you, but I can’t handle it the way you can. Looking away doesn’t erase the damage my family causes. Do you know what one of the workers asked me? ‘Where’s my child?’ She’s ten years old and she’s missing.”

“Ay dios mío.” Maria crosses herself before kissing the gold Our Lady of Guadalupe cameo she wears around her neck.

We fall into silence. She knows just as well as I do that I’m trapped. There’s no way out unless I do something drastic. But what?

Stopping at a crossroads, something catches my eye. I gaze out the window at a gaudy banner flapping in the breeze.

“Five thousand dollars?” I gasp, reading the sign.

“Que?” Maria asks.

“What’s ‘Amateur Night’?” I glance at the neon over the entrance. “Voodoo Velvet Gentlemen’s Club? Is that a—”

“That’s the place I was telling you about!” Maria leans over, practically crawling into my lap to look out the window.

“The strip club?”

“Sí.”