My heart did up a beat.

“You wouldn’t,” I whispered.

“Try me,” Patricia said, her eyes flashing with triumph.

She knew she had found a weak spot.

She knew that we cared about Rosa’s dignity more than anything.

“A silver teapot, perhaps,” Patricia mused, tapping her chin with a manicured nail.

“Or maybe some of your mother’s old silver brushes.”

“The police love a clear-cut case of domestic theft.”

“It makes their jobs so much easier.”

Rosa began to sob quietly, her shoulders shaking.

“Please, Senorita Daniela,” Rosa pleaded, trying to gently pull her hand away from Martina.

“Let me go.”

“It is better this way.”

“My sister lives in the city.”

“I can stay with her.”

“No, Rosa,” I said, refusing to look back at her.

“If you leave now, she wins.”

“And she will never stop.”

“She will do this to the next person, and the next.”

I looked at Patricia, my voice cold and clear.

“You are a monster,” I said.

Patricia did not look insulted; she looked amused.

“I am a realist, Daniela,” she said.