I got out of the car, walked around to the SUV, and opened the door for him. Mateo got out slowly. The moment his feet touched the floor, he winced in pain, confirming what I already knew.
This hadn’t happened just once.
It had been going on for some time.
We went inside together. The marble in the entryway gleamed under the enormous chandelier. Everything smelled of fresh flowers and furniture polish. The perfect house. The perfect family. The perfect lie.
Claudia, the housekeeper, was the first to see us. She was a woman in her sixties, her hair always pulled back in a tight bun, wearing an immaculate apron, and with a strange habit: she never raised her voice, yet she saw everything.
She looked at Mateo. Then she looked at me.
She didn’t ask silly questions.
“What happened?” she asked quietly.
“I need to see Mr. Alejandro. Now.”
