Valeria

“Forty-two crates,” I said, my voice was low as I counted the heavy wooden boxes in the storage shed at Valeria Vines. My hands were dusty from touching the rough wood, my mind spinning with rage and confusion.

Each crate was marked as wine, but I knew they hid cocaine and guns—Dante’s dirty work ruining my family’s vineyard. I remembered the women I’d seen yesterday, locked in a barn, their scared faces and quiet cries stuck in my head.

They were called “workers” ...