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CHAPTER TWELVE
MARIANA
Murphy was long gone, and I’d looked at each photograph at least a dozen times before I sprang into action. I rechecked the front door, making sure it was locked, and jammed a dining chair underneath the door knob for good measure. Once I was certain the place was relatively secure, I retrieved my burner phone from its hiding spot: a canister of flour that sat at the back of the pantry. Shaking the excess powder from the protective ziplock bag, I took the phone out and dialled.
I prayed for an answer.
‘What?’ the voice on the line said abruptly.
‘It’s me,’ I whispered, my heart thundering in my chest. Nobody was with me, but if Guillermo arrived home from his ride, I didn’t want him hearing my conversation.
‘We’re not due to speak for two weeks,’ Este’s older brother hissed. ‘Is this a safe line?’
Once a month for the past eight-and-a-half years – ever since John gave me the phone – I’d been speaking to Miguel, my dead boyfriend’s brother. Checking on my family. Checking on my son. My family still thought I’d died nine years ago, shortly after I was brought to Los Angeles, and I needed to keep it that way. If they ever found out, my father would no doubt do something stupid and reckless and we’d all be dead inside a week.
Miguel was the only person I could think of who I knew would keep the secret for me, and, more importantly, keep tabs on the son Este and I had been forced to give up for adoption when we were teenagers. The family who’d adopted Luis were distant relatives of Esteban, and they lived in the same small village that Miguel had settled in after I left. Miguel was the only one in the world who knew where Luis was – but now Murphy had stripped that secret away and turned it into a liability.
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘This couldn’t wait. Something’s happened. A man told me my parents have been taken into witness protection. Is that true?’ I closed my eyes and leaned against the cool refrigerator door. My legs shook as I waited for Miguel’s response.
He let out a long sigh, and I immediately knew something was very wrong. ‘Bambina,’ he said, ‘I am so sorry.’
Oh God. ‘What?’ I whispered.
I heard the flick of a lighter and a sharp inhale as he smoked.
‘Miguel!’ I insisted.
‘They’re dead, bambina.’
I almost choked on my own tongue. ‘What?’
Not Luis. Not my baby, please God, not my baby. ‘Where is my son?’ I asked through gritted teeth, opening my eyes wide and praying like fuck. Not my boy. Not my boy.
Miguel coughed. ‘Luis is safe, Mariana. He’s alive. But your papa. Your mama. Karina and Pablo. They’re gone. Dead.’
I covered my mouth with a shaking hand and pressed my palm into my teeth to stifle the scream that was coming from my chest. I couldn’t stop it; the rage and the grief threatened to split me open. And the relief. Luis was alive. He mattered the most. He was just a child.
‘It’s worse. They’re looking for Luis. A man was here, a DEA agent. He offered the children at school pesos for his whereabouts. I’ve got him somewhere safe, but it’s only temporary, Ana. There is nothing left for you there. There is no reason for you to stay. You’re collateral for a debt that has been revoked.’
Even if Emilio did inform me of my family’s murder, he’d still never let me go. There are few things in life that are certainties, but this was one of them.
‘How?’ I asked, feeling like every piece of air had been sucked out of my body. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. This had to be some terrible fucking nightmare that I was going to wake up from any minute. I felt my breath coming faster and faster as panic rose in my chest, suffocating me from within.
I heard Miguel clear his throat. ‘Julian’s men stormed the house, tied them up and poured gasoline on them,’ he said quietly.
Julian’s men were Emilio’s men. Emilio’s younger brother oversaw the Colombian operations in his absence, but there was no disputing who the boss of the Il Sangue Cartel was.
‘And then?’
A long silence. ‘And then they lit a match, Ana.’
I retched once. Dropped the phone onto the kitchen counter and swallowed hard. Get your shit together. I took a deep breath, stood straight again. I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to drink something strong, something that would wash away the shock, or at least dull it.
‘Mariana!?’ Miguel’s voice sang up from the cellphone. I picked it up and held it to my ear again, not sure I wanted to hear anything else he had to say. They’d burned. They’d burned alive.
‘I’m here,’ I said, using my free hand to open the freezer and take out a bottle of vodka. I unscrewed the cap and tipped a good amount down my throat, the cold liquid punching my senses awake.
Murphy had been playing a cruel trick on me, and it had almost worked. I thought of my gentle brother and my beautiful sister, and imagined the flesh melting from their faces, their agonised screams, as fire consumed them.
