Page 14 of No Merciful Corruption

“What else is there?” I reply. “That’s all I want; more than anything else in the world. To be loved.”

GAEL

Alejandro

New York City

Gael Rosario is different from what I imagined.

I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe someone whose presence commanded the attention of everyone in the room or a man with an aura as disarming as his daughter’s. The man who enters the hospital waiting room does so in the shadow of his niece. He neither cowers nor hides behind Karina, keeping his spine erect and his chin level, but it’s clear he’s following her lead and not the other way around.

“Thank you for calling.” Karina pulls me in for a hug and I’m surprised by how she greets me. “Thank God there wasn’t any traffic on the Midtown.”

“At this time of night, I doubted there would be.” I glance at the man behind her, unsure of how to address him. “Is this⁠—”

“Yes, sorry,” she turns and reaches for her uncle’s hand. “Tio, Alejandro fue quien llamó, es el novio de Dahlia.”

Standing side by side, Karina could easily be mistaken for his daughter. Dahlia never thought so but their familial resemblance is nothing short of striking. Their slim, pointed noses are identical as well as the shape of their mouths. But Gael’s eyes…my God, it sends a shiver down my spine thinking of how Dahlia’s are the same shade of glowing amber. A color so intense it sometimes resembles fire.

Gael is tall—almost eye level with me—with a deep brown complexion and hair like spilled ink. Soft waves brush his temples where a few strand of silver give away his age. But other than that, time has been generous to him. He doesn’t look quite as old as he should be for having a daughter Dahlia’s age. Dressed simply in dark jeans, a black coat, and work boots, there’s no mistaking his blue-collar background. He keeps twisting his gloves and his varnish-stained fingertips remind me so much of Dahlia’s hands when she works.

He looks up at me with a modesty I hadn’t expected. “Hi…I’m…Dahlia’s father.”

I extend my hand and he shakes it hesitantly. “I wish we were meeting under different circumstances. Thank you for coming.”

He presses his lips together in a way I’ve seen Dahlia do a thousand times. “Thank you…for call…”

The hesitancy with which he speaks reminds me he isn’t fluent in English.

Karina’s distracted by something happening behind me. She touches her uncle’s arm and says, “Alyssa está aquí, voy a hablar con ella. Espérame aquí.”

If he’s uncomfortable being left alone with me, he doesn’t let on. He stands with his shoulders pushed back but a forlorn expression that weighs down his gentle features.

“Señor Rosario.” I follow Karina’s lead and abandon English all together, switching to Spanish instead. “There isn’t much time to explain so I’ll get to the point. Dahlia was shot and lost a lot of blood. The doctors stabilized her for now but they need to operate immediately.”

Seemingly relieved he doesn’t have to translate our entire conversation, he ceases the wringing of his gloves but his white-knuckle grip on them never loosens. “How did it happen?”

I shake my head. “I’ll explain everything later. Right now, she’s incapacitated and unable to consent to surgery herself so she needs a health proxy to sign off on it.”

His eyes widen slightly but it’s the most emotion he’ll allow himself to express. “I…I don’t think Dahlia would want me to make decisions like this for her. It should be someone else.”

“You’re her father.”

“And you probably know her better than I do,” he replies. “It should be you who decides.”

“Legally, I can’t. We aren’t married. It has to be you.”

His chest rises and falls with each shallow, unsteady breath. The wringing of his gloves resumes and he paces in place. After a beat he shakes his head. “No…I can’t. It has to be someone else.”

“Señor Rosario, you don’t understand⁠—”

“No,” he interjects, firmly yet still gentle, his voice never rising above a whisper. “You don’t understand. I promise my daughter wouldn’t want me to make this decision for her. She’ll be furious⁠—”

“She’ll be dead.”

He stops in his tracks and stares at me for a long time, all the while I’m counting down the seconds as they tick by. “How long have you and Dahlia been together?”

I don’t exactly have the time—or the patience—to explain that at the moment his daughter and I aren’t technically together so I lie. “Three years this spring.”