Valeria changed her tone.
“Mateo, don’t make a scene.”
Then Claudia spoke, without moving from the doorway.
“Last week the boy’s shirt had blood on the collar.”
Valeria turned her head toward her with icy fury.
“Shut up.”
Claudia didn’t shut up.
“And three months ago I heard the boy crying in the east wing. You said they were nightmares.”
Something broke there.
Not in the house.
In Alejandro.
Mateo, trembling, lifted the back of his shirt.
That was all it took.
Alejandro took a step back as if he had been struck. He put a hand to his mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes off his son’s back.
“My God.”
Valeria placed her glass on the bar with excessive care. The kind of care people use when they’re already calculating their exit.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
Alejandro turned to her.
