Camila

With Dante’s hand reassuringly in the small of my back, we descended the staircase. “You’re trembling,” he whispered.

I was. My hands were also ice cold. The aroma of food met us as we stepped onto the first floor, twisting my already-nervous stomach. The din of voices faded as if we’d walked onto a stage already filled with characters.

Sergio, Papá’s bodyguard, stood near the front door. I longed to ask him about Miguel. Instead, I stayed at my ...