The transition was so fast it was terrifying.

She smoothed her hair, her shoulders dropping as she took a deep breath.

I looked toward the dark archway of the hall, waiting to see who would emerge from the shadows.

The door swung open slowly.

My father stepped out of the darkness of the hallway and into the bright light of the kitchen transition room.

He wore his charcoal gray suit jacket, but his tie was slightly loosened at the collar.

His face was completely unreadable.

Patricia gasped softly, her hand flying to her throat in a gesture that looked entirely rehearsed.

“Emiliano,” she breathed, her voice instantly dropping an octave into a soft, trembling purr.

She took two quick steps toward him, her high heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor.

“Thank goodness you are down here,” she said, her eyes wide with a sudden, manufactured innocence.

I stayed right where I was, keeping my arm firmly around Martina’s trembling shoulders.

Behind us, Rosa drew in a sharp, ragged breath but did not speak.

My father did not look at Patricia right away.