Page 130 of The Last Call Home
“Mijita, me asustaste,” she whispers, rushing to my side.She hugs me as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
“I’m okay, Mami,” I say, even though I’m not sure I believe it.And of course, I have to ask, “Where did you get the gun?”
That stops her short.
“That’s what you’re going to ask?”Her eyes narrow.She clutches the bed rail like she might rattle it off its hinges.“The important thing is that we don’t have to leave Birchwood Springs.”
I blink.“I almost got trafficked to another country, and you’re glad we don’t have to pack up the bakery?”
The man who’d been with her at the docks steps into the room like a slow-moving shadow.He doesn’t speak.Doesn’t sit.Just stands there, awkward and tall and watchful.Something about him tugs at the edge of my memory—like I’ve seen his silhouette in a dream I forgot.
“And you are?”I ask, voice sharp but trembling.
He gazes at Mom.She sighs as if this were a sitcom and not the unraveling of my entire reality.
“She doesn’t know me?”he asks.
“Of course not,” Mom snaps.“I wasn’t going to tell my daughter that her father was a gang member—and died because of it.Your brother killed you.That’s toxic and gives the wrong message.”
He grimaces.“It wasn’t a gang.It was the Hollow Syndicate.And I wasn’t a member—I was the heir.My father was in charge.Desmond wanted the crown.”
“I thought he killed you,” she mutters, not looking at him.
“Yeah,” he breathes out.“We let you—and everyone else—think that.The FBI had a plan—go undercover, take the whole thing down.They failed.I had to stay dead.”
Mom’s jaw ticks.“I’m still mad at you.”
They’re bickering like old acquaintances.No, more like a couple, which is weird because Mom has been loyal to my father’s memory since he died.Or ...maybe not.She’s been dating this guy for a long time and never mentioned it to me?What other secrets does she have?
“You can yell at each other later,” I cut in, my voice a little thinner than intended.“Maybe in couples therapy or something.But seriously—who are you?”
“Your father, of course,” Mom says, like she’s offering me tea instead of a bombshell.“Didn’t I tell you I had been seeing him?I thought he was either a ghost or that Desmond looked lot like him.It turns out he was actually alive.”
I stare at him.Alive.Not buried.Not a figment of my mother’s imagination.
Alive.
“How?”I whisper.“You don’t even look like the pictures.”
He sheepishly glances at Mom, who shrugs.
“I bought the frames with the stock photos,” she says.“The model looked decent enough.”
I gape.“Mom.”
“Again—he was in a criminal empire,” she says, waving her hands.“I had to improvise.I thought he was dead.You needed something.”
The man—my father—clears his throat.“My brother did try to kill me so he could run the Syndicate.I didn’t want that life for you or for Rosi.”
“Don’t you ‘Rosi’ me,” she mutters.
I look at him like I’m trying to solve a puzzle without the box.“So you just let us grieve you?”
He flinches.“I made a deal to keep you both safe.Rosalinda agreed.”
“You said it was for the best.You’d come back to me,” Mom mutters.“You never did.”
I sit a little straighter.“Then explain why they kept calling me the heir.Why did they keep saying I was ‘the right one.’Like I was supposed to unlock something?”
