“Then we’ll go to her little dinner on Sunday,” Doña Victoria announced, striking the table once with her palm.

“All thirty-two of us.”

Alejandro raised his head.

“Thirty-two people in five hired cars?

That’s absurd.”

“We’ll arrive in custom silk and designer linen,” Doña Victoria said, her eyes bright with cold energy.

“We’ll sit on her cheap rented lawn chairs, we’ll look at her tiny catered platters, and we’ll laugh in her face in front of the whole family.”

“She’ll crumble before the second course,” Paola added with a scoff, picking up her phone.