Chapter 19: Her Mother's Voice

My father had a gun on me, and thirty of his own people were watching.

They stood in a half circle on the orchard grass, black with smoke.

Brancato captains, Quintero captains, the burned bride and the burned groom, a priest with soot on his collar.

Behind them the chapel roared.

"Papa," I said.

"Get up, Serafina."

I stood.

I did it slowly, with my hands open.

I put myself between him and Tadeo, who was trying to rise on a shoulder that no longer worked.

"Don't," Tadeo said hoarsely.

"Stay down."

"Let her go," said the old captain with the singed mustache.

My father didn't turn his head.

"This is family business, old friend."

"Then say it in front of the family." The old man took a step forward. "You barred a church door on your own daughter."

"I barred it on a Quintero wedding, and your Serafina chose to be in it."

"There were children in there."

"There are always children," said my father, and I heard one of the young captains breathe in sharply behind him.

He lifted the gun a few inches higher.

"I gave you everything," he said to me. "Every dollar, every door. And you made me a fool in my own church."

"You killed her."

"I did what any husband would have done." His voice was almost gentle.

"She was going to walk out of my house with my daughters and hand them to a Quintero."

"Say that again."

"What?"

"Louder," I said. "Say it for them."

He frowned.

It was the smallest frown, the one he wore when a bill didn't add up.

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