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spine.”
    He had his hands on her breasts when a light flashed. The ground sensor had detected a vehicle approaching. His first thought was this girl Anna’s parents had come to address their daughter’s loss of virginity, but when he peered up at the monitor and saw the make of the car; he sighed and zipped his trousers. “Goddamn Sergio.”
    Ari said, “Hurry up and get rid of him so I can demonstrate what those kids were doing.”
    Nico’s mouth squeezed her cheek. “You bet.”
    When Nico allowed Sergio’s car through the gate, he opened the front door and leaned on the frame to await Sergio’s arrival. His nephew had driven out to the boondocks to visit. Nico surmised that meant he had love troubles.
    “Un k, I’m dealing with some bullshit,” Sergio announced the moment he exited the car. He slammed the door for extra measure and walked to stand in front of his Uncle. He was a young man in need of a wise elder. “Why didn’t anybody warn me about Lucia’s loony family…wipe your face…what the hell is that anyway…blood…ah that’s nasty…are you slurping on bloody coochie?”
    Obviously, h is nephew couldn’t distinguish tomato sauce from plasma. Nico wiped his mouth with his sleeve and murmured, “And so it begins.”
     
     
       
     
     
     
     
    C HAPTER THREE
     
     
     
     
    Th ere’s a time when low isn’t low enough. The face can burn from the sting of alcohol that seeps through pores, yet low hasn’t come. Drink more of the strong stuff as sips turn to gulps because drowning the pain of awareness was Selange’s goal. Losing people you love and having them fall like rows of dominoes isn’t easy to stomach. Keeping a straight face is hard when there is double grief heaped atop weary bones. But, for the sake of children a mother keeps marching when weary feet are blistered, yet there cannot be a fall. To do so may be too comforting.
    During her grief, she observed her man…her rock…her everything and noticed the coldness when anyone mentioned Domingo. He hadn’t mentioned his name or talked of finding the killer. Puzzling behavior from someone who loves family and Domingo had children.
    Then, to know how Domingo died by a violent stab to the heart, signified the killing was personal. Up close is how the murderer did the deed, and this had to be an acquaintance or someone Domingo knew. Domingo was street smart; he was also a fighter and he would have at least struggled had he seen the knife coming.
    Gosh, she loved Domingo, yeah, he smoked too much darn weed, but that didn’t matter, he was family.  Her heart ached for their family.
    Yet, another loss through violence.
    Piled on the weighted heart was a darker tragedy. A nagging suspicion that Alfonzo had knowledge about Domingo’s murder and wasn’t sharing. Something in her brain during a keyhole reprieve from mourning caused her to wonder, did her honey do it...did he kill his beloved cousin?
    Yep, those are the feelings of a tortured wife as she stares down the neck of a bottle to discover the comforting liquor gone.
    Selange's unsteady legs shuffled to the tall rack. It reached to the ceiling, rows upon rows of spirits to dull the hurt sapping energy and yet she couldn’t fall down. She held on to the side of the sturdy post, looking with blurry eyes for a bottle with a screw off cap. “Hell, where is it?” 
    Her body felt heavy but she didn’t want mass, she needed a total blackout to deal with the suspicion Alfonzo murdered Domingo. The pain of knowledge worsened when Maria visited this morning, convinced Alfonzo was doing everything in his power to find the person responsible, but he wasn’t doing shit…nada. Unless Alfonzo confessed his sin to that woman she wouldn’t believe he committed the heinous crime.
    Alfonzo never ratted, nor would he ever convict himself.
    Stolen.
    That’s the word Maria used to describe the death of her nephew, as if a robber absconded with his life and somehow Domingo's resurrection