“We're in trouble, mi amor,” Father said the instant he burst through the doors, his hands shaking as he took out his empty wooden box from underneath the bed, and began stuffing some shirts and jeans in it. “I don't have time to explain. Get a few dresses. We're leaving.”

“Leaving to where?” I asked, my mouth hanging open.

“There's not time to explain,” he snapped. Just then a shadow appeared at the doorway, and I screamed when a large, solid hand struck him down. The box dropped from the bed to the floor with a full thud, while I had my back pressed to the wall. Father lay on...