Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Mayté
Mayté fell on her hands and knees.
“Mayté!” Carlos slammed his fists against the mirror.
She and Lo sat, surrounded by reflective walls. They showed Mayté’s face, eyes bloodshot, hair falling out of its braid, and crusted blood staining her nightgown. Then it flickered into a smirking Lo. But that wasn’t the real Lo. No, the real Lo sat at her side, head down.
“Mayté … I’m so sorry …”
Misterioso put both hands on his hips. “El Angelito granted a chance for María Teresa to rescue anyone she wanted. Unfortunately”—he grinned widely—“it seems she has failed in her attempt.”
No. Was it really all over? Mayté slowly stood and looked around. There had to be a way, but all she saw was her own reflection and gaping darkness.
Carlos sank down to his knees in front of the mirror.
Lo curled into herself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she repeated.
A lump formed in Mayté’s throat. If her plan with Alejandro truly had guaranteed her death, then Lo really had saved her. She had done that awful thing, knowing it would shatter their friendship into pieces. Knowing that she would suffer for it.
Mayté knelt next to Lo. She hugged her tight, and Lo crumpled into her chest. “If I’m going to lose, I’d rather it be with you than alone.”
“I’m sorry,” Lo whispered again.
Tears raced down Mayté’s cheeks. “You can stop apologizing, because I forgive you.”
“Miguel.” Loretta’s voice brought her back to the game. “We cannot delay this round.”
With a frown, the Banker drew the next card and held it up for all to see. Unlike the others, it shimmered in the light as if dusted in starlight and diamonds. The card was mostly black, with golden sparkles in the center. “El Beso de la Fortuna.”