Chapter 28: Shattered Glass
The house had finally settled into a tense afternoon quiet. Mina's crayon drawings were taped to the fridge, and the scent of cleaning spray still hung in the kitchen from the pan Mia had scrubbed to a shine.
Upstairs, the master bedroom was a different universe.
Golden hour light, thick and heavy as honey, poured through the slatted blinds, striping the crimson silk duvet and the dark wood floor. The room smelled like her—jasmine body oil and the faint, metallic hint of his cologne on a discarded shirt. It was their sanctuary, the air perpetually charged, the walls holding the echo of a thousand whispered secrets.
Catalina couldn’t sit. Her bare feet made no sound on the rug as she paced from the closet to the window and back. Her body was a coiled spring. Every nerve felt exposed, raw from the silent showdown in the office. The memory of Mia’s face, that awful, dawning comprehension, played on a loop behind her eyes.
Dominic stood with his back to her, leaning against the dresser, his hands braced on the edge, head bowed. He hadn't moved for five minutes. He was staring at the array of items on the dresser top: a set of antique silver hairbrushes that had been their mother’s, a small wooden box for watches, a leather strap. Ordinary things. His stillness was a pressure cooker, the silence between them building to something violent.
"She knows." Catalina’s voice was a low scrape in the quiet room. "She knows we're married. She saw the certificates."
No response. Just the steady, controlled rise and fall of his shoulders beneath his white t-shirt.
"She knows Mina is yours.Legally. On paper. She saw the whole damn trilogy, Dom." Her pacing quickened. "I saw her face. It wasn’t just shock. It was… calculation. She’s putting the pieces together now. The house.The cars. How we haven’t been dragged out by cops or social services. She’s figuring out that we’re not just two idiots driven by lust. We built a fortress."
He turned then, slowly. His face was in shadow, the light cutting across his jawline. "She was always gonna find out eventually." His voice was flat, drained of its usual rumble.
"Not like this! Not from rummaging in a fucking filing cabinet like she’s looking for a coupon! We were in control. We decided what people saw. Now she’s seen the foundation, and she knows it’s made of concrete, not sand." Catalina stopped pacing, facing him. "This changes everything with her. It’s not just about judging us anymore. It’s about being an accessory. She has knowledge now. Actual, legal, dangerous knowledge."
"She’s family."
"That’s what makes it dangerous!" she hissed, taking a step toward him. "Family is the only thing that can break us. She’s the only one who could walk into a courtroom and say those words with any credibility. ‘My brother married my sister. The child is theirs.’ They’d have to listen."
Dominic pushed off the dresser. The movement was sudden, fluid, predatory. He crossed the room in two strides, stopping inches from her. She could feel the heat coming off him, smell the motor oil and soap. "She won’t."
"You don’t know that. You saw her this morning. She’s disgusted. She’s fascinated. She’s…" Catalina searched for the word, the one that had been crawling under her skin since Mia’s confession at breakfast. "...aroused by the chaos of it. That’s a volatile mix. She’s a risk."
His hand came up, not to strike, but to cup her cheek. His thumb stroked the sharp line of her cheekbone, a gesture so tender it made her heart clench. "You’re scared."
"Damn right I’m scared.For us. For Mina. This isn’t a street race. We can’t outrun a paper trail."
His thumb stilled. His dark eyes bored into hers. "So what’s the play? You said to invite her in. So we’re inviting her in. The Stockton run."
"This is different. Before, she was just witnessing a sin. Now she’s witnessing a conspiracy. There’s a difference."
"You think I don’t know that?" His voice dropped, gaining a dangerous edge. "Every piece of paper in that drawer is a risk I took for you. For her.
The last two words hung there, a sacrificial offering that made her stomach turn. He meant it as a reassurance, a testament to his strength. To her, it felt like a cage being painted as a palace.
She slapped his hand away from her face, the sound crisp in the jasmine-scented air."For her?" Catalina’s voice cracked. "Don’t."
He blinked, rocked back a half-step by her venom.
"Don’t blame this just on me, Dom." Her words came fast, sharp as glass shards. "Don’t blame just me that we both couldn’t keep it in our pants." She took a step forward, forcing him to look down at her. "And don’t tell me you took the risk just for me and our daughter."
She was breathing hard now, tears of pure, incandescent fury blurring her vision. "Because if you say this, if you stand there and martyr yourself and put that weight on me and Mina, I am going to divorce you, Dominic."
The word divorce hit the room like a physical object. It seemed to suck the air out, leaving a vacuum. His face, always so controlled, fractured. A flicker of pure, animal panic in his eyes before the shutters slammed down.
"We don’t say that word," he growled, the sound low and wounded.
"We just did." She held her ground, her own panic rising to meet his. "You act like this was some noble sacrifice. Like you’re Atlas holding up our twisted little world for us. I was there, Dom. In that motel room. In that Vegas chapel. You didn’t do it for me. You did it with me. Because you wanted it just as bad. You wanted it all.Me. The baby. The family. The whole, fucking, forbidden thing. You wanted a claim. Don’t you dare make it my burden now."
He stared at her, his jaw working. The silence stretched, tight enough to snap. He turned suddenly, a violent pivot away from her. His gaze swept the dresser, landing not on the hairbrushes or the watch box, but on the small, plain silver frame partially hidden behind them.
It held a grainy black-and-white image. The first ultrasound of Mina, a ghostly bean floating in the static. His thumb had often traced that frame while he thought she was asleep.
His hand shot out. He snatched the frame. He didn’t look at it.
He hurled it sideways against the wall beside the closet door.
The crack of the glass was incredibly loud. A spiderweb of fractures exploded across the image of their daughter. Shards rained down on the floorboards, twinkling in the slatted light. The frame clattered, then fell.
The sound was a period at the end of her sentence. The fragile, carefully maintained illusion of anything resembling normalcy lay in glittering pieces on the wood.
Dominic stood staring at the wall, his back to her, his shoulders heaving. The room held its breath.
Catalina didn’t flinch this time. The shattering glass felt like a release. It matched the feeling inside her chest.
"I wanted it," he said to the wall. His voice was ragged, stripped raw. "You’re right."
He turned back to face her. His eyes were red-rimmed, his expression open in a way she hadn't seen since they were kids, scared of their own shadows. "I wanted you so much it felt like my skeleton was trying to crawl out of my skin to get to you. I wanted the baby. I wanted the paper that said you were mine in a way no one could argue with, ever."
He took a shuddering breath. "The risk wasn’t for you. The risk was the price of the ticket. And I paid it. Gladly."
He walked toward her, carefully avoiding the glittering debris. He stopped close, but didn't touch her. "So don’t you ever threaten to burn it down. Not to win a fight."
Her own anger drained away, leaving a hollow, shaky truth. The certificates in the filing cabinet weren't just a fortress. They were a tattoo. Permanent, painful, beautiful.
"I’m scared, Dom," she whispered, the fight gone from her voice.
"I know." He finally reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her damp cheek. "But she’s coming on the run. We see it through. We show her the business, not the bedroom. We show her the work."
Catalina nodded, leaning her forehead against his chest. She listened to the solid thump of his heart beneath her ear. It was a familiar rhythm, the first one she’d ever known.
Downstairs, a cabinet door closed. Mia was moving around, a mundane sound from another world. The glass on the floor caught the dying light, a field of tiny, dangerous stars.
Dominic rested his chin on the top of her head. "We clean this up," he murmured into her hair. "Then we go to work."
Dominic held her for another minute, his breathing steadying into its usual deep rhythm against her temple. The chaotic energy of their fight dissipated, leaving a weary solidarity in its place.
Outside, a car door slammed somewhere down the street, a mundane punctuation to their private earthquake.
“When is Carmen coming for Mina?” he asked, his voice softer now, practical.
Catalina checked the clock on the nightstand, its digital glow faint in the dimming room. “Twenty minutes. She texted. Stuck behind a train.”
He nodded, his hands rubbing slow circles on her back.“Come. We bring our daughter to bed before she gets here. She’s been waiting.”
“She’s probably coloring her encyclopedia of horse breeds,” Catalina said, a small, real smile touching her lips. “For the tenth time.”
They stepped apart, avoiding the scattered glass with a shared, unspoken care. Dominic fetched the small dustpan and brush from the ensuite bathroom. Catalina knelt, holding the pan steady as he swept up the silvery fragments. The grainy ultrasound image, now naked without its glass, stared up from the floorboards.
He picked it up carefully, brushing it off, and placed it back on the dresser, face down. A temporary reprieve.
They cleaned in silence, the task methodical. Each tiny piece of glass caught the light as it fell into the bin. When the last shard was gone, the room felt different. Lighter, but also marked. A secret scar on the floor.
They walked down the hall together, their footsteps a quiet syncopation.
Mina’s door was open a crack. A nightlight shaped like a crescent moon cast a soft blue glow over walls painted with faint, white clouds. She was, as predicted, on her stomach on the rug, surrounded by a sprawl of colored pencils and the horse book. The parrot puppet sat propped against her pillow, watching.
“Time’s up, artist,” Catalina said, leaning in the doorway.
Mina looked up, her face smudged with a single streak of green. “But Mama, the Palomino’s mane is complicated.”
“The Palomino can have a complicated mane tomorrow,” Dominic said, entering and scooping her up in one fluid motion. She squealed, a sound of pure delight, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He smelled of the glass-cleaning powder and his own familiar warmth. She nestled into him, her small body going limp with trust.
Catalina gathered the pencils, capping each one. The domestic ritual soothed something raw inside her. This was real. This room, this child, this quiet minute. The rest was just architecture built around it, necessary but secondary.
“Aunt Mia is going with me and Papa tonight,” she said, putting the book on the shelf.
Mina’s head popped up from Dominic’s shoulder. “On a work trip?”
“Just a long drive. Boring grown-up stuff. You get Carmen and two movies. You win.”
Mina considered this, then nodded sagely. “I do win.”
Dominic sat on the edge of her bed, keeping her in his lap. Catalina fetched a damp washcloth from the connected bathroom and gently wiped the green smudge from her cheek. Mina submitted to the ministrations with a dramatic sigh.
“Be good for Carmen.Listen. Bed by nine-thirty, not ten,” Dominic said, his voice a low rumble close to her ear.
“I always listen.”
“You never listen,” Catalina countered, smiling. She took Mina from him and settled her under the covers, tucking the duvet around her small shoulders. The parrot puppet was placed in the crook of her arm.
“Story?” Mina asked, her eyes already getting heavy.
“One short one,” Dominic said. He didn’t reach for a book. He began to speak, his voice softening into a rhythm she knew by heart. It was a story about a silver car that could talk and had to navigate a city of giant, confusing stoplights. It was absurd and meandering, and Mina loved it. Her eyelids fluttered closed before the talking car found its garage.
They watched her sleep for a moment, her chest rising and falling in the blue light. Her presence was an anchor, tying their volatile world to something innocent and profound.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang, a bright, two-tone chime that felt alien in the heavy silence.
Catalina pressed a final kiss to Mina’s forehead. Dominic lingered a second longer, his large hand covering her entire rib cage, feeling the breath move in and out. Then they left, pulling the door closed until only a sliver of blue light escaped.
Mia had been standing in the dark living room for several minutes, staring at the blank television screen. The echo of the shattered glass upstairs had been unmistakable, a brief, violent storm contained in the ceiling. She’d flinched at the sound. Now the doorbell sliced through the residual tension, a welcome intrusion.
She moved to answer it, her socks silent on the floorboards. Through the peephole, she saw a woman in her early twenties, her brown hair in a messy bun, a large woven bag slung over one shoulder. Mia unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
The warm, damp evening air rushed in. The woman offered a polite, slightly tired smile.
“Hi,” Mia said.
“Hey. I’m Carmen? The babysitter?” Her voice lifted at the end, a gentle question.
“Yeah, come in,” Mia said, stepping back. Carmen entered, wiping her feet on the mat. She dropped her bag by the couch, its contents rattling—likely crayons and puzzles and snacks. She looked immediately familiar with the space, glancing toward the kitchen. “They upstairs?”
“Putting Mina down. They’ll be right out.”
Carmen nodded, pulling a water bottle from her bag. She seemed comfortable, unassuming. A college student, probably. She glanced at Mia, her smile turning curious. “You’re the sister, right?Mia? Cat mentioned you were visiting.”
“That’s me.” Mia leaned against the doorframe to the living room, her arms crossed. Her heart began a slow, heavy drum against her ribs. The certificates in the filing cabinet seemed to pulse in her mind, a tangible secret now shared with this oblivious girl.
Dominic and Catalina’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, a unified descent. They appeared together, a solid front. Dominic had changed into a dark grey long-sleeve henley. Catalina wore black jeans and a leather jacket over her tank top. They both carried an aura of focused energy, the domestic scene upstairs neatly packed away.
“Hey, Carm,” Catalina said, her voice bright, normal. “Train delay?”
“Yeah, sorry. All good now.”
Dominic gave Carmen a brief nod, then headed for the garage door off the kitchen, jingling his keys. “Rules are on the fridge. Our numbers are top. Emergency is below. Bed by nine-thirty.”
“Got it, Mr. T.” Carmen said it easily, without any hint of fear or unusual deference. She called him ‘Mister.’ It was so ordinary it made Mia’s skin prickle.
Catalina squeezed Carmen’s shoulder. “There’s banana bread from yesterday. Help yourself. We’ll be back by one, two at the latest.”
“No worries. We’ve got a Frozen double-feature planned. She’s going to try to convince me to build a snowman in the living room.”
Catalina laughed, a genuine, light sound. “Good luck.” She turned to Mia. “You ready? Car’s out back.”
Mia nodded, pushing off the doorframe. She felt like she was moving through syrup. The normalcy of the exchange was a performance, and she was the only audience member who knew the script was fabricated. She followed Catalina toward the kitchen, then stopped.
She turned back. Carmen was already unpacking a coloring book onto the coffee table.
“Carmen?” Mia’s voice came out sharper than she intended.
The babysitter looked up, her expression open and friendly. “Yeah?”
Catalina stopped in the kitchen doorway, her back to them, but Mia saw her posture go perfectly still. Dominic had paused in the open garage door, a slice of shadow swallowing him. The hum of the refrigerator suddenly seemed very loud.
Mia took a step closer to the girl. The question was a lit match in her hand, fueled by the afternoon’s discoveries, by the shattering glass, by the terrifying solidity of it all. She needed to see if the fire would catch elsewhere, in the normal world.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” Carmen shrugged, uncapping a marker.
Mia kept her voice low, casual, as if asking about the weather. “Isn’t it weird? Working for an incest couple who has a daughter.”
The words hung in the still air of the living room. They were crude, blunt, stripped of all pretense.
Carmen’s hand froze. The marker tip hovered an inch above the paper. Her eyes, wide and confused, flicked from Mia’s face to Catalina’s rigid back in the kitchen doorway. A slow, deep red blush crept up from her neck, staining her cheeks.
Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked not horrified, but profoundly embarrassed, and utterly bewildered.
“I… what?” she finally managed, her voice a quiet squeak. She looked frantically toward Catalina for help, for clarification, for anything.
Catalina turned around slowly. Her face was a calm mask, but her eyes held a volcanic warning aimed solely at Mia. She didn’t address the question. She addressed the girl.
“Mia’s a novelist,” Catalina said, her tone smooth as polished stone. A lie so effortless it was breathtaking. “She’s always workshopping weird, dark premises. Thinks it’s funny to spring them on people.Occupational hazard. Right, Mia?”
The gaze she leveled at Mia was a command.A threat.
Mia felt the ground lurch beneath her. She had thrown the match, and Catalina had instantly doused it with a bucket of plausible deniability. She’d protected their secret, not by denying it, but by framing the truth as fiction. The move was so swift, so intelligent, it left Mia reeling.
“Right,” Mia echoed, the word hollow. “Sorry. Bad joke. Really bad.”
Carmen’s shoulders slumped in visible relief. The blush remained, but the confusion was melting into awkward discomfort. “Oh. Wow.Okay. Yeah, that’s… dark.” She forced a little laugh, shaking her head. “You writers.”
“We’re the worst,” Catalina agreed, her smile returning, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Ignore her. The banana bread’s in the tin.”
She turned and walked into the garage without another glance. The message was clear: Get in the car.
Mia stood for a second longer, her face burning with a shame deeper than any she’d felt listening at the wall.
Mia followed the rectangle of garage light, her ears ringing. The heavy door swung shut behind her with a soft, final thump, sealing out the warm, normal world and the babysitter whose reality had just been subtly, irrevocably poisoned. The air in the garage was cool and smelled of concrete, winter-grade oil, and rubber.
Dominic was already behind the wheel of the black Charger, its muscular silhouette crouched under the single hanging bulb. The engine wasn't running. Silence.
Catalina stood by the passenger door, one hand on the roof, her back to Mia. She turned slowly. The dim light carved harsh angles into her face. She didn't look angry. She looked lethal, a calm so deep it was terrifying. She stared at Mia, not blinking. "Get in the back."
It wasn't a request. Mia moved, her legs stiff. She opened the heavy rear door and slid into the cool leather. The interior smelled of citrus cleaner and, underneath, the ghost of Catalina's jasmine perfume. Dominic hadn't turned around. He was watching Catalina in the rearview, his reflection a pair of shadowed eyes above a stony jaw.
Catalina got in, closed her door with a soft, precise click, and buckled her seatbelt. The mechanical sound was loud. She adjusted her jacket, then rested her hands in her lap."Drive."
He started the car. The engine roared to life, a deep, vibrating growl that shuddered through the frame and up Mia's spine. He didn't gun it. He let it idle, the sound filling the enclosed space like a heartbeat.
"The novel thing was smart," Mia said, her voice small against the rumble.
"No," Catalina said, not looking back. "It was necessary. Because what you did was monumentally fucking stupid." Her tone was analytical, cold. "You took a private truth, a dangerous one, and you threw it at a stranger to see if it would stick. You used her like a litmus test for your own panic."
Dominic backed the Charger out of the garage with a smooth, quiet roll. The headlights swept across the empty driveway, the neighbor’s fence.
"I needed to know if the world saw it," Mia argued, a defensive heat rising in her chest. "If anyone else could possibly guess."
"The world doesn't look that hard, Mia. The world sees a handsome man, a beautiful woman, a cute kid. They see a family. They don't look for fractures in the foundation unless you start screaming about cracks." Catalina finally glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes were black in the dark cabin. "You just started screaming."
Dominic turned onto the main road. Streetlights strobed through the car, illuminating his knuckles, white on the steering wheel, then Catalina’s profile, then the empty leather of the front passenger seat beside him.
"He didn't correct you," Mia said suddenly, the realization hitting her. She was looking at Dominic’s reflection. "At breakfast. When I said it sounded like consolation. You two fucking to prove something. He didn't deny it."
A muscle ticked in Dominic’s jaw. His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, the suburban streets giving way to wider arterials leading toward the highway.
Catalina’s laugh was a short, dry puff of air. "You think I need his verbal confirmation on our sex life? I feel it. Every goddamn time." She shifted in her seat, facing forward again, speaking to the windshield. "You want psychoanalysis? Fine. Sometimes it's a fight. Sometimes it's a sacrament. Sometimes it's just the only way we know to say 'I'm still here' without words getting in the way. It's messy. It's ours. And it's not a topic for your personal study."
The car merged onto the freeway. Dominic dropped a gear and pressed the accelerator. The Charger surged forward, pinning them back into their seats. The city lights began to blur into ribbons of white and gold streaking past the windows. The vibration of the road hummed through the floorboards.
"Paperwork in a filing cabinet isn't messy," Mia pressed, the momentum of the car giving her a strange courage. "That's cold. That's calculated. You got legally married."
"We needed her to have my name," Dominic said, his voice cutting through the engine’s growl for the first time. It was a simple, brutal statement. "My health insurance.My benefits. If anything ever happened to Cat, there’d be no question. She stays with me. No court, no social worker could take her. The marriage made it cleaner."
It was the logic of a soldier, a general securing a perimeter. Mia leaned her head against the cool window, watching the darkness between the lights swallow the world. They were heading away from the city, toward the industrial flats. The framework of their lives, so bizarre to her, had its own ruthless internal logic. Protection, at any cost.
"For her," Mia echoed Catalina’s earlier, furious words from the bedroom.
"For her," Dominic confirmed, the words heavy in the enclosed space.
They drove in silence for twenty minutes, the landscape outside morphing into warehouses and freight yards. Chain-link fences and sodium-vapor lamps casting an orange-tinted gloom. Dominic took an off-ramp, then a series of quick turns down deserted service roads.
Finally, he pulled into the gravel lot of a sprawling, windowless warehouse complex. A faded sign read "Valley Pacific Supply & Logistics." A single trailer office, lights on, was attached to the main building. He killed the engine. The sudden silence was a physical relief, replaced by the distant hum of a refrigerator unit and the crunch of their doors opening.
Mia got out, the night air cool and smelling of diesel and sagebrush. Dominic and Catalina were already moving toward the office, their footsteps synchronized on the gravel. Catalina knocked twice, then opened the door without waiting.
Inside, the office was stark. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A bald man in a flannel shirt sat behind a cluttered metal desk, a computer monitor glowing with a parts diagram. He looked up, his expression neutral."Dom. Cat. Right on time."
"This is my sister, Mia," Catalina said, gesturing vaguely behind her. "She’s observing."
The man, whose name tag read "Roy," nodded once. No handshake. "Observation costs extra." He said it deadpan.
Dom slid a thick envelope across the desk. Roy didn't open it. He just weighed it in his hand for a second, then tucked it into a drawer.
"Bay four. Skids are by the door. Forklift’s charged."
"Appreciate it," Dom said. He turned and left, Catalina following. Mia trailed after them, feeling like a ghost.
Bay four was a cavernous space, corrugated metal walls echoing with the sounds of their footsteps. Two large wooden pallets, stacked with sealed cardboard boxes labeled with motor codes and serial numbers, sat near a rolling metal door.
"Chevy LS7 crate engines," Catalina said, her voice taking on a different, professional tone. She checked a manifest on a clipboard left on one skid. "Two long-blocks. Ancillary kits. All present."
Dominic was already rolling the heavy forklift out from its charging station. The electric whine cut through the warehouse air. He maneuvered with an efficient grace, the forks sliding precisely under the first pallet. He lifted, turned, and began carrying it toward the Charger, which he’d backed up to the open bay door. The car’s suspension sank visibly as he set the skid down.
This was the work. Methodical, quiet, heavy. No street-racing bravado, no whispered secrets. Just commerce. Mia leaned against a cold steel support beam, watching. The tension from the car, from the house, was still there, humming beneath the surface of their movements, but it was channeled now into physical task.
Catalina checked off items on the manifest. Dominic secured the first pallet in the trunk with heavy-duty straps, his movements economical and strong.
As he went back for the second, Catalina’s phone buzzed. She pulled it from her jacket, looked at the screen. Her brow furrowed. "It’s Carmen."
"She send a picture of the snowman?" Dominic asked, his voice echoing slightly as he repositioned the forklift.
"No." Catalina swiped to answer, putting the phone to her ear. "Hey, Carm. Everything okay?" A pause. Mia watched her sister’s face. The professional mask slipped, replaced by a cautious neutrality. "Yeah, we’re just loading up now." Another, longer pause. Catalina’s eyes flicked to Mia, then away. "Sure.Okay. Put her on."
Dominic had stopped the forklift, his attention now fully on Catalina. The warehouse was utterly still, save for the faint buzz of the lights.
Catalina listened, her expression softening into the warm, maternal tone she used with Mina. "Hey, baby girl. You’re supposed to be sleeping… I know you’re not tired. Did you brush your teeth? Okay. One more song with Carmen, then bed, promise? ...Love you too. So much. Pass me back."
The maternal warmth vanished. Her face went smooth again. "Yes, Carmen? What is it?" She listened. "Alone from who? Mia’s with us." A beat. Her eyes closed slowly. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay.Sure. I’ll call you back from the car in two minutes."
She ended the call and slid the phone back into her pocket. She looked at Dominic. "She wants to ask me a question.Alone."
"About?" His voice was flat.
"She didn’t say. But she made Mina get on the phone first. As a… prelude."
The seed Mia had planted was sprouting, fast and in an unexpected direction. Her stomach tightened.
Dominic finished securing the second pallet, his movements deliberate. He closed the Charger’s trunk with a solid thud."Handle it. We’ll be on the road."
They all got back into the car. The engines—the car’s and the crate motors in the trunk—seemed to hold a collective breath. Dominic started the Charger and pulled out of the warehouse lot, heading back toward the freeway.
Once they were moving, Catalina took out her phone. She took a visible breath, steeling herself, then dialed. She put it on speakerphone. The ringing filled the car.
It was answered on the second ring."Mrs. Toretto?" Carmen’s voice was small, hesitant.
"I’m here, Carmen. You’re on speaker. Dom and Mia are with me. What’s up?" Catalina’s tone was deliberately light, open."Oh." A pause, full of crackling discomfort. "I… um. Before you guys went too far… can I ask you a question? Alone?"
The request hung in the air of the moving car. Dominic’s grip on the wheel tightened.
"I told you, sweetie, we’re all here. You can ask anything. Is this about Mia’s weird novelist joke?" Catalina pressed, trying to steer it.
Another pause, longer this time. They could almost hear Carmen wrestling with it over the line. Then, her voice, rushed and trembling slightly, came through.
"Is it true?" Carmen blurted. "What your sister said? That you and Mr.T are siblings?"
There was no sound but the roar of the Charger’s engine and the hum of the tires on asphalt. The freeway lights streamed past, illuminating the frozen tableau inside: Dominic’s stone profile, Catalina’s hand gripping her knee, Mia’s own breath trapped in her throat.
Catalina didn’t look at the phone. She stared straight ahead at the rushing dark road. When she spoke, her voice was calm, clear, and carried a heartbreaking note of gentle puzzlement.
"Oh, Carmen. Oh, honey. No.God, no. Mia’s book is about twins who were separated at birth. It’s this whole twisted gothic thing. She’s been in research mode, she gets obsessed, she says outrageous stuff to get a reaction for her characters." A soft, concerned chuckle. "It’s completely fictional. I’m so sorry she upset you with that. We’re just… us. We’ve been together since high school. You know that."
The lie was perfect. It was seamless. It wove Mia’s own "novelist" identity, their obvious physical similarity, and the ordinary facade they presented into a plausible, comforting truth.