“It’s temporary,” Miguel said. “She was on the highway. Her puppies are sick.”
“My building is not a shelter.”
“I know.”
“You know everything, Miguel, but you still do whatever brings trouble to my door.”
Behind him, Canela gave another low growl, and Don Ernesto’s expression hardened with immediate disgust.
“Out,” he said. “Tonight.”
Lupita stood up slowly, still holding the pale puppy against her chest.
“Don Ernesto, please,” she said. “Give us until morning. They won’t survive outside.”
“That is not my problem.”
The sentence landed flatly, without cruelty in the voice, which somehow made it worse.
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