"I have to admit, I had my doubts. In my time, a woman in your position was unheard of, and with how the men treated us here…" Ruth trailed off; she didn't need to say more.
"I understand. I remember how things were when I married Fernando. He and his men treated women like toys, and I'm certain some of them are still prejudiced. However, this organization will continue to change and get better for as long as I'm here."
Ruth scanned my face. She swallowed hard, her hands trembling around her cup as tears pooled in her eyes. "You've already made such a difference. But there are things… things you don't know, things I fear you won't be able to fix, and we'll never be whole without them."
I leaned back. Ruth always spoke her mind. She was blunt, tough, and strong.For her to hold back, or admit fear, was entirely unlike her. My questions about Joseph could wait until later—this was more important.
Reaching out, I squeezed her hand softly. "It's okay. I value your opinion, so please tell me and I'll do what I can."
Ruth took a deep breath. "Fernando was a cruel, cruel man. He had unforgivable ways of keeping us in line."
The pain etched on her face as she tried to share her past was all too familiar to me, and I gently ushered her to sip her tea.
After a few minutes, her eyes met mine. "He threatened to take our children."
Everything stopped. I couldn't hear my heartbeat or feel the sun's warmth on my skin. The words echoed endlessly in my skull until it ached. The air thickened; it was nearly impossible to breathe.
"Whatexactlydo you mean bytake, Ruth?"
"If we didn't follow orders, if we questioned him, he'd take them. At first, it was just our sons at fifteen or sixteen. He'd put them to work for him. It's what he did with Joseph. He had no use for little girls, so we thought they were safe… for a while. But then he started taking them too."
My nails dug into my palm containing the rage, the revulsion. "Do you know what he did with them?"
Ruth shook her head. "I just know they never came back. I held their mothers as they cried their hearts out. Some fought and were killed. And those that survived, died inside. That hijo de puta got whatever he wanted, no matter who we asked for help." ?*
"How old were the girls he took?"
Sadness clouded Ruth's face. "As young as three, as old as thirteen."
Fuck.
I'd uncovered a lot about my familia, but so much remained unknown. Fernando was secretive. He didn't share details even with his closest men.
There were no records of minors working for Fernando. His staff was always women over nineteen from outside the familia. Fernando was a greedy pig, so I doubted he killed the kids. But the alternative sickened me.
Trafficking was a lucrative business. There were substantial financial gains I couldn't track, hundreds of millions of dollars' worth. To my horror, it made sensetheywere the money's source.
I was furious. If I could, I would bring Fernando back from the dead and kill him all over again. But this time, I'd do it slowly. I'd keep him alive for as long as possible while I tortured the truth out of him.
A part of me was mad at Ruth for not telling me sooner. But deep down, I didn't blame her. I'd never said a word about my abuse, because I knew no one would ever believe me.
But for the mothers who lost their kids? They'd tried and gotten nowhere. Why would they open up to someone, especially after so long? That Ruth had said something now was a show of utmost faith and trust.
She gripped my hand tightly. "I have no right to ask, Doña, but I believe in you and that you want what's best for us. If you can, please find out what happened to the children. Give us the peace we've never had."
"I will." I squeezed her hand just as tight. "I'll give this familia the answers it deserves. I won't rest until I do."
My hands grippedthe steering wheel tight as I stopped at the electronic gate of Fernando's mansion. I took a deep breath as I entered the code, trying to settle my nerves.
I hadn't set foot in this house since the day he died. Everything about this place filled me with dread and nightmares.
He's dead. He can't hurt you. You're strong. You beat him,I told myself, but the words of encouragement didn't make me feel better.
I entered Fernando's office on trembling legs, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. My familia was counting on me to find answers, to locate any records of the children stolen from them. I couldn't do that if I had a mental breakdown.
He's dead. He can't hurt you. He's dead. He can't hurt you.
I repeated the words over and over until I believed them and began systematically searching his office. I pulled out every drawer, even searched within the furniture for hidden compartments. I moved the heavy pieces to check for loose floorboards, and hidden safes behind the walls. I pulled the frames off paintings, checking to see if paperwork had been hidden beneath them, and turned books inside out.
