Page 93 of No Merciful Corruption

“Abuelo’s coming.” Karina doesn’t look up from her plátano cutting. “He called last-minute.”

“Tio!”

I look over and Allegra stands by the breakfast table in a pair of tap shoes two sizes too big. Lettie’s steps match the beat of the salsa music playing from the speaker on the table and when Allegra makes a distracted half twirl, she gives her niece’s chubby hands a gentle tug.

“Focus, Lela,” She’s bent over slightly at the waist in order to reach Allegra’s height. “Otra vez. Front then back.”

Allegra presses her lips together and her brows furrow over a pair of enormous, vibrant blue eyes. No one knows where such a striking color came from—they’re darker than Abuelo’s and more intense than Diego’s—and so big and round they take up most of her baby doll face. Looking into her eyes is like having the deepest Mediterranean waters reflected back at you.

Despite her shoes being too big, she takes confident, definitive steps, doing her best to follow her aunt’s lead. Lettie attempts to introduce hip swaying to their movements but Allegra is aggressive in her pursuit of perfection and ends up shaking so hard the layers of her tutu go up in a flurry. Karina snorts as she attempts to hide her laughter and Allegra’s head whips around at the sound. Having realized she’s the reason for one of her mother’s rare displays of joy, she smiles so wide dimples appear in both cheeks.

I drop to my hunches and take her face in my hands as I press a kiss against her forehead. “How was the doctor?”

“They shooted me!” She announces.

Karina startles and drops a plátano in the hot oil too quickly. It sizzles and pops and she jumps away to avoid getting burned. “Vaccinated, Lelita, Jesus Christ.”

Lettie smiles with pride and bends down to scoop up her niece. “She’s so clever, isn’t she. Just like her Señorita Tía.”

“She’s three, Leticia,” Karina deadpans. “Don’t you think that’s a little pretentious for a three-year-old?”

“Three and a half,” Lettie corrects. “Someone has to properly educate my niece.”

A sigh comes from the other end of the room and Dahlia rounds the corner holding a pair of porcelain serving plates in her hands. “Don’t mind Professor Narvaez over there; she’s raising baby Einstein.”

Lettie lifts her chin indignantly and holds Allegra close to her chest. “Come on, Lela. It’s our reading time anyway.”

Karina’s head shoots up at that and she forgets the plátanos frying on the stove. “You’re not reading One Hundred Years of Solitude again, are you?”

“We can’t hear you!” Lettie calls over her shoulder as she and a giggling Allegra take the back stairs up to the main apartment.

“I wasn’t aware we needed such a grand production for Abuelo.” I grab an apple from the fruit bowl and bite into it. “Dahlia’s wearing her dinner heels.”

She sets the serving plates down on the island and turns to me. “We were hoping we could finally convince him to move in.”

“You know that’s never going to happen. He hates living with people.”

“Yes, but he isn’t getting any younger.” Dahlia counters. The concern in her voice is palpable. “He has a history of stroke and is in his eighties. I’d be more at peace knowing he was here and not in Vallvidrera.”

I tilt my head back and forth, considering. “He has another twenty years in him at least.”

She purses her lips. “Alex.”

Karina lets out a laugh. Her second in one day; a new world record. “Ese viejo nos va a enterrar a todos.”

Dahlia’s lips purse. “Can we be serious for a second? I’m concerned. At this age, he shouldn’t be on his own.”

“Dahlia, Abuelo is nearly the same age as our grandparents and they live alone just fine.” Karina replies.

“Ugh,” she crosses her arms. “Of course you’d say that.”

Karina picks up her knife and resumes plátano cutting. “Do me a favor and get out of the kitchen if you aren’t cooking anything. God forbid a splatter of oil gets on that dress. It probably costs more than my first car.”

I hadn’t taken in her appearance before but now that I have, I can’t look away.

I just love the way dresses look on her. The way the light, airy fabric moves against her body every time she walks and clings to her hourglass shape like an embrace. Fabric like that kisses her skin in all the right places; gently around the neckline, roughly at the hips, and no more than a phantom’s touch against her thighs. Deep, golden orange with crisscrossed panels, the intricate beadwork glistens in the light like a sunset at sea, offset by the deep red of her hair, each strand the color of a pomegranate seed. Tall, full-figured, and divinely shaped, I often wonder how the hell I got so damn lucky.

She lifts a brow at me. “Alejandro.”