THE MAID OF MADRID
"You want to go to the US? You will never get there on a maid’s salary. Come with me to the city tonight. Wear something tight."
That was the night Valeria died and Luna was born.
She took me to a place called Club Máscara. It was hidden in a basement, away from the prying eyes of the Alarcón family. The smell of the club was thick—a mix of cheap perfume, expensive cigars, and the metallic scent of money. I saw the girls on the poles. I saw the way the men looked at them.
"I can't do this," I whispered, my stomach turning.
"Do you want to scrub toilets for the rest of your life?" Lucia asked, her voice hard. "Or do you want to fly across the ocean? Choose now."
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