"I can't believe you said that to pop," Pepe nearly reprimanded.

"And I can't believe he would bring that God forsaken business of his to mom's funeral," Felicia replied relentlessly. Pepe sighed at his sister's stubbornness. She was truly relentless when it came to matters she believed strongly in. It was a definitive trait of their mother's, too. "He had no right, Pepe. He took away mom's right to a peaceful, clean funeral. He owed her that much." Pepe just looked at his sister before turning his attention back to cleaning his gun collection.

Felicia never minded watching him clean his gun collection. Somehow, no matter how much she hated what they were used for, she never looked at the guns for what they were really worth. Maybe this was because she grew up around them -- she knew them. Or maybe because she was smart enough to know that guns don't fire themselves, and she trusted her brother whole-heartedly.

"Pop, he doesn't know what he does," Pepe chimed in all of a sudden. "He loved mama as much as we did, maybe more. He didn't know." Felicia's eyes narrowed, but not at anyone in particular. She turned her gaze to the blinds covering the filth-tinted windows.

"How couldn't he have known, Pepe? He knew mom as well as any of us, how couldn't he have known how she hated it?" Pepe sighed and shrugged.

"You know pop. He doesn't think sometimes, you know?" Felicia looked at her brother and then nodded. It was true; her father wasn't necessarily on the smart side. And he did love her, he still does. Maybe he really didn't know. "Forgive him, Felicia." This time Pepe looked her straight in the eye. She knew what he was thinking without him having to utter a word. He didn't want her to make the same mistake with her father that she did with her mother. He didn't want her to go away to college on bad terms with her father and not talk to him again before he passed away. "Go see him tomorrow?" Felicia's eyes must've dodged to every object in the tiny room before finally settling on her own hands folded in her lap.

"We'll see." She sat and played with her hands in her lap for a few more moments until she rose from the chair and kissed her brother on the cheek. "Goodnight, brother."

"Buenos noche, hermana. Goodnight."

----------

Felicia awoke around noon the next day. She probably wouldn't have awoken that early if it hadn't been for the ear-splitting bangs of the shoot out going on outside her window.

Despite the chaos of the Little Havana streets, the sun shone down on her, unabated, through the tousled blinds over the windows and warmed her, though it was already about 90º in her room. The building her brother lived in was supposed to have air conditioning, but it was also supposed to have a pool and a great view. If you stood on the roof you could see a vague portion of the ocean, and there was an old, dirty children's wading pool out back with stagnate water in it. Felicia was beginning to assume the air conditioning meant you could leave your refrigerator door open and stand in front of it to cool off.

She mulled over all the thoughts that penetrated her mind since she'd gotten there for the first time since... well, since she'd gotten there. As she listened to the gunshots and screams outside she remembered why she hated it so bad in this hellish place.

After lying in bed for what seemed like a half an hour, she finally mustered up the energy to get up out of bed. She was up late the night before thinking about what she and her brother talked about. He was right -- she should apologize. She should have respect for her father, even if at times she felt he didn't deserve it. So she would, she decided.

Upon her arrival in the living room/dining room/kitchen area of the apartment, Felicia found a note pinned to the wooden exterior of the front door. It read as follows:

Felicia,

Poppa called, I had to leave early, too early to wake you. There's a little food in the icebox if you're hungry, but be careful with the stove. It

catches fire sometimes. It's old, you know? Adios, hermana.

Pepe

P.S. Think about what I said, Felicia. Pop, he loves you. He'll forgive you. You forgive him.

Putting aside wondering why her grandfather needed him; Felicia smiled at her brother's atrocious handwriting. She was grateful, however, for the warning about the stove. She found out later that afternoon that he was right, it did catch fire every once in a while.

----------

Hours later, around 5 in fact, Felicia found herself standing across the street from the Robina Cafe. She stared at the humble business. The sign was still there, same as always. She shifted her gaze a little higher to the blue apartment building above Robina's. Her father and grandfather occupied the one directly above the front of the café, while the rest occupied by numerous other Cuban residents. Before she left for college, she, her mother and her father lived in their own home right on the edge of Little Havana. But after she went to college, her mother and father moved in with her grandfather. Since Pepe had moved out to be on his own as well they had no reason to spend useful money for unnecessaries. Felicia smiled faintly at the memories of her family being together, when her father wasn't lost in his "business," of course.

"Nieta! You come in or you watch?" her grandfather called from across the street. Felicia laughed.

"Si, I'm coming Poppa."

"Bueno, I speak with you," he called back. His English wasn't great, but it was much better than when she left. Felicia walked across the street, dodging cars and hoping nobody's gun finger suddenly became itchy. Low and behold, she made it across safely -- or at least alive -- and entered the cafe.

"Sit, nieta. I speak with you." Felicia sat in the corner booth near the front of the cafe. This was the family's official seat and nobody sat in this booth unless they were invited to by the family or were an extremely close family friend. "What is this your Poppa hear?" Felicia furrowed her brow and shook her head.

"I don't know wh..."

"Your papa, he uh, he tell me what you say. Ayer, no?" Felicia sighed and put her head down.

"Poppa I was upset, it was mother's funeral and he was doing his business. I still don't know how he could do that to her, she deserved so much better than that. Why couldn't he just wait for a couple hours if he absolutely had to..." Her grandfather stopped her.

"Nieta, my English. Not so good, si?" Felicia smiled faintly, embarrassed that she had forgotten. "Lento." Felicia nodded and thought, trying to choose her words wisely.

"I was mad at him Poppa." Her grandfather thought for a moment before nodding.

"Si, continue."

"He was doing business," her grandfather nodded. "At mama's funeral, Poppa. He did business at mama's funeral." Her grandfather looked at her for a moment before finally nodding his head. "You know how mom hated his business." Her grandfather nodded again. He understood why she would be mad. If he had seen it himself he would have been mad, too.

"He your papa, you respect him. Entienda?" Felicia kept her eyes glued to the table, refusing to look at her grandfather. "Felicia... entienda?" he asked again, sternly this time. Felicia finally nodded reluctantly. "Bueno. Now, why you here?"

"I wanted to apologize to dad. Where is he anyway?"

"In the oficina, the back room. Busy with, uh, something or other," he replied. "I get him, si?" Felicia nodded. Moments later her father walked out. She immediately stood and faced him.

"Dad..."

"Felicia," he paused. "Lots of paperwork, you know?" Felicia nodded.

"Yeah." The both stood in silence momentarily until Felicia mustered up the nerve to apologize. "I'm, um..." Her father looked at her. "I apologize... for speaking disrespectfully to you." Her father nodded before charging over to her and hugging her. She had to admit, he wasn't the most graceful Cuban to treat the earth.

"You... you staying long?"

"I doubt it. Why do you ask?" He frowned and dropped his head slightly. Felicia could see in his face he was disappointed.

"Well if you are, I thought, maybe you need a job? Maybe... maybe you work for me? You know, here -- at the cafe." Felicia raised her eyebrows and twisted her features into her "thinking face."

"Well dad, I don't know..."

"Your brother, he need you here. And Papi, he misses you. He maybe don't have long, you know?" Felicia stared at her father. Through all the excuses and ways around it he threw at her, she knew it was him he spoke of, not her brother or her grandfather. "So, yes?" Felicia looked at him.

"Um... I'll think about it."

A/N: This chapter is kind of long, I didn't realize that when I was writing it. In fact, it would've been longer if I didn't cut it off here, but I thought this would be a bit of a cliff hanger to see what she decides. Again, I used a translator for the Spanish in this chapter, so hit up SmarterChild if you need help with it. If I messed up on any of it please let me know, I know very very little Spanish. This counts for all future chapters as well. And any other helpful criticism is much appreciated as well, but no flames please, I'm very sensitive about my babies LOL. :)

I also managed to get my game open today and worked up to the Cuban missions, I'm hoping to capture Umberto's character a little better.