Papá Flores only spares a glance at our hands before directing his gaze to me. “I will tell you both this because Leo deserves to hear it from my lips. I regret ever allowing Gustavo Delgado to remain in my employ. It was my mistake, believing he was loyal to me. He never agreed with the shifts I made in the business, so clearly he sought to endear himself to a man who still does things the way I used to. That you had to get in the middle of it is unfortunate. That your brother was a casualty is regrettable. He will have a funeral worthy of the sacrifice he made, I promise you that, Leo.”
“You still owe me an explanation, Papá,” Celeste says. “You’ve never hidden the fact that you and Amador are enemies, but there has to be more to it than that. He acted strange when we met. Like he cared about me. I think he shot Gustavo because Gustavo nearly shot me. Why would he do that if he wanted to hurt you?”
The old man pushes out of his chair and leans against his desk, staring down at Celeste. “His interest in you or your mother is irrelevant, Celeste. Just a way for him to get to me.”
Celeste leaps to her feet. “Was it irrelevant to Mama before she died? Tell me why she wrote those checks.”
Arturo’s lips tighten into a thin line and his jaw spasms, but there’s the slightest flinch and a flash of pain in his eyes. “I will say again, it has nothing to do with Lola,” he says in a cold, even voice that barely covers his icy rage. I suddenly regret deciding I needed to be here, but I stand to show my solidarity with Celeste and hope her father recognizes it for what it is. I’m trying to stand by her, not defy him.
“I think you’re lying,” Celeste challenges. “I think it has everything to do with Mama, and I want to know why. Why did Amador want to see me?” She’s yelling now and leans onto his desk to face him. I blink in surprise. After all the time I’ve spent around her, not once have I seen her this passionate or angry. She’s always been all business—except for last night, anyway.
They’re mirror images of each other, both with piercing hazel eyes and set jaws, both stubbornly refusing to give. I’m too fuzzy from tequila, pot, and pain pills to do more than observe in fascination. She holds her ground, and I don’t expect the old man to crumble, but he does, though he doesn’t give in easily.
He lets out a yell of frustration and pivots away, stomping to the fireplace and raking fingers through his hair. He pauses there and stares up at the portrait that hangs above it of a beautiful woman in an evening gown who looks strikingly similar to Celeste. “Why are you so relentless? You are your mother’s daughter, I will give you that. Amador’s deal with your mother is not a topic that has any bearing on our other conversation. Please do not ask me again!”
“Why not? Just tell me the truth for once! Why was Mama writing checks to him? The dates were after you’d dissolved your joint businesses. Why would she still be paying him?” Her voice is loud, strident, and demanding answers.
Arturo turns around again, and I can’t help but take a step back at his angry stare and reddened face. “To keep him out of our lives, mija! He believes you are his daughter! Not mine. His!”
Celeste’s head jerks back as if he’s slapped her, and I’m just as stunned. Whatever comeback she had ready on her lips sputters and her mouth drops open. “Is it true?”
“No! You are my daughter, but he never believed the paternity tests. He insisted they were faked. Lola appeased him with money, but it was only a matter of time before he came after you. You mustn’t let down your guard again, Celeste.” He looks at me, and I straighten my spine when he raises a hand and points at me. “You are not to leave my daughter’s side. You will move in immediately. Take the room across from Celeste’s and stay as close to her as you can. This won’t be the last time Amador tests me. Our animosity runs deep.” He gives Celeste a piercing stare that I’m positive conveys something more he isn’t willing to say out loud.
Celeste is speechless, as am I. She collapses into her chair again, shaking her head. “Papá, I don’t understand . . . Did you know Mama was unfaithful?”
Arturo sinks down into his chair again and leans back with a heavy sigh. In a subdued voice, he says, “She was never unfaithful to me, mija. If anyone was unfaithful to our marriage, it was me. When I first met Lola, she was my best friend’s lover. Amador’s lover. I’d recently been rejected by another woman here in LA, so I escaped to Mexico to lick my wounds. Amador and I had just begun our business endeavors and were still very close. They invited me to stay with them to reclaim my manhood, so to speak.” He pauses, his gaze growing distant, then stands and crosses the large office to a wet bar. After pouring three glasses of amber liquor, he returns to us and hands Celeste and me each a glass. I inhale the rich scent of scotch and take a small sip. And here I was sure he was a loyal tequila man. Who knew?
“Mama and Amador were together first?” Celeste asks, shocked by the revelation. I must be too numb to be surprised, but the Flores family has always been full of surprises.
Her father settles back in his chair, the leather creaking as he leans back, his eyes shifting to the
