Page 44 of Ravaged Hearts

“No. Although it’s been many years since I was last here.” I adjusted the backpack on my shoulders. It contained only a few personal belongings, the bare minimum of what you’d expect a woman to carry if she were traveling through the country. “I need your help. I’m trying to find someone.”

“I’m happy to do whatever I can. Whom are you looking for?”

“My father. Carlos Espinoza Medina.”

He stared at me for a beat, probably considering whether the man I looked for had the unfortunate burden of sharing the same name as Mexico’s most violent and powerful cartel boss.

“Yes”—I dipped my chin but held his stare—“thatCarlos Espinoza Medina.”

Father Bernardo’s throat bobbed. “Don Carlos’s only daughter is dead.”

“Do you remember the last time you saw her?”

“I remember it clearly. What happened to her family was a tragedy.” His gaze turned distant, and I wondered if he was recalling the day the car bomb had exploded in our driveway. The news had rocked Acapulco and triggered the bloodiestcartel war the city had ever known. The first of many my father would be involved in.

“I remember the last time I saw you, too.”

Father Bernardo’s eyes cut to mine. Sensing he thought I was either a psych-ward escapee or a disgruntled illegitimate child, I offered further evidence. “When I was six years old, I sat there”—I pointed to the pew at the very front—“beside my father and listened to you lead mass at my mother and brother’s funeral. I wore a bright-red dress with white polka dots because Mamá hated black.”

It’d also been my first act of rebellion against Carlos, who’d ordered me to wear something traditional. Even then, I’d known my father was to blame for Mamá’s and Rafael’s deaths, and the loss of so many others.

Surprise flashed across Father Bernardo’s features.

He remembers that dress.

“You must be playing a cruel joke. Who are you?”

“You know who I am. Look at me.” I covered my burn scars with one hand, leaving only the undamaged portion of my face visible. “Reallylook. I have my mother’s nose and mouth and my father’s amber eyes. If nothing else, you must recognize those.”

The priest remained silent, staring at me like he’d seen a ghost. I supposed he thought I might be one.

“This…this isn’t possible.” Disbelieving eyes darted across my face, then his brows drew together, and it seemed as though, finally, his memory had caught up with the picture I’d painted. “Elena?” he asked softly.

I nodded. “Me showing up like this must come as quite the shock.”

“A miracle, I would say.” Father Bernardo beamed with joy, and I only hoped Carlos would greet me so warmly. “Everyone believes you are dead. Where have you been?”

“That’s a story for my father’s ears only. Can you help me find him?”

He shook his head, jowls wobbling. “I’m sorry. I haven’t spoken to Don Carlos in years. He hasn’t attended mass here since your mother and brother were buried.”

That was when Carlos’s paranoia about being assassinated had skyrocketed and he’d taken our personal security to the next level. It was also when his cruelty and depravity had kicked up a notch. He wanted his enemies to fear him, and each life he took, he did so fueled by the devastation of his murdered family. He sought vengeance for their deaths through brutality, but there was never enough to quench his thirst.

“I know you can’t call Carlos directly. If it were that simple, I’d have done it already. And I’ve been away from Acapulco for so long that I don’t have any friends or family to ask for help. What I need is for you to contact someone in the cartel—a senior member if you can reach one. Send them a photo of me and ask them to verify my story with my father. It’s important I get word to him that I’m alive.” I took hold of his hand and squeezed, conveying my genuine desperation. “Please, Father Bernardo. You can do that, can’t you?”

My request wasn’t a stretch. Father Bernardo would know influential people throughout the city, and cartel members made no secret about which criminal organization they belonged to. They waved that flag proudly, because what good was being a narco if you couldn’t use your status?

Father Bernardo mulled over my appeal before saying, “Yes. Of course. Let me make some calls.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. The plan was working.

19

HOPE

With Father Bernardo’s call made, I waited, then waited some more. A church volunteer had brought me food and water and offered a comfortable place to rest in another room, but I’d declined the last. It was wiser to remain on the main floor of the church, where the team could keep watch through the hidden cameras. I’d used the excuse that I wanted to pray and reflect so my decision didn’t seem strange.

As day turned to night and the colorful light of the stained glass windows gave way to flickering candles and low-lit wall sconces, I couldn’t help but use my time to overanalyze the cause of the delay.

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