“Scared of who?”

“My father.”

There it was.

The truth beneath all the polish.

Matthew Rodriguez had not ruled his family with love.

He ruled them with debt, fear, shame, and the oldest weapon of all: blood.

Isabelle had grown up under that roof.

She had learned to smile while obeying, learned to perform grief, loyalty, and innocence, and learned that survival meant standing beside the cruelest person in the room and pretending he was right.