‘Then you will have an opportunity to explain the context.’
Elian reached toward Mara’s phone.
‘Give me that.’
The officer stepped between them.
‘Hands down, sir.’
Elian looked around the chapel, finally understanding that the witnesses were no longer his audience.
They were evidence.
He pointed at Mara.
‘She is lying.
She bruises easily.
She panics.
Ask anyone.
She was hysterical last night.’
The seamstress, still trembling, lifted her chin.
‘She was not hysterical in my shop,’ she said.
‘She was terrified.
There is a difference.’
Elian spun toward her.
‘You are a dressmaker.
Stay out of family business.’
‘She saw the marks,’ I said.
Victor’s eyes cut toward Elian.
For the first time, I saw fear there.
Not guilt.
Men like Victor feared consequence before they feared wrongdoing.
‘Elian,’ he said softly, ‘say nothing.’
That order came too late.
Elian laughed again, but there was no charm left in it.
‘Fine.
She had marks.
That proves nothing.
Couples fight.
She needed to understand what she was doing to us.’
The chapel went completely still.
Mara’s hand found mine.
The prosecutor looked up.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
Elian’s face changed.
‘I did not mean it like that.’
‘You never do,’ Mara whispered.
My father stood again, slower this time.
He looked at Victor, then at Elian, then at his youngest daughter.
‘You threatened her because of our company?’
Victor spread his hands.
‘Your daughter is emotional.
My son is young.
This can be handled privately.’
‘No,’ my mother said.
Her voice was small, but it landed harder than his.
Victor turned to her with the familiar smile he used at dinners.
‘Please do not make decisions while upset.’
My mother stepped into the aisle.
‘I sat across from you for six months,’ she said.
‘You asked about our business, our payroll, our loans, our suppliers.
I thought you were interested because our children were joining families.’
Victor said nothing.
