Chapter 9: Practice To Deceive

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May 25th, 2006
11:58am - Estrabao Cartel Church, Coral Gables, Miami

[Song that is sung below:

She didn't know about anybody else, but God was Camila's heart and soul. And she sort of felt alone in this because, although everybody said they believed in God, actively worshipping him wasn't really okay. She would get laughed at and feel weird in public places for praying before meals, bringing him into conversation, talking to God and laughing when she thought he was playing jokes on her throughout the day etc. It was odd to her that people would swear by their religion but not follow its rules—or at least try to. It was odd that they rarely gave thanks to him or spoke to him other than when they needed him to do them favours. Camila wanted to be closer to him more than anything. After all, God kept her alive and sane throughout the years; he was her safety and her salvation. He was her promise, her reason—all she ever did was think of him and hope to make it to him one day. This was the only form of unconditional love she's ever had.

Every Sunday when Mass would take place, Camila would leave all else behind and dedicate those days to him. It was her favourite day of the entire week. With everything that went down yesterday, she really needed him. Too much pain and sadness, secrets and lies, she couldn't carry it all. And anytime Camila couldn't bear the weight, she'd hand it over to him and he'd carry it for her. As the 17-year old played the last song for her Church, she played it for him to express her thanks—her love. The sadness began to lift with every press of the piano keys and every note she'd hit. God gave her these lungs, these talents; Camila thought it'd be rude to never use them.

"Lord if I could buy you a gift to show you my love, tell you how I feel, it wouldn't matter what I'd have to give. I would find a way to get it for you. But, fortunately, that's not the case. And we both know I don't have bank anyway. But I won't let it affect my presentation to you, 'cause this is what I bring," Camila sang and tensed her shoulders. She stepped on the pedals while she played, leaning forward as she progressed into the chorus. "Here is my heart, my mind. Lord, here's my life. My everything. Take it. It's yours, oh Lord."

Luca sat all the way in the back row, admiring his little sister with tears in his eyes. Decked out in white from head to toe, clenching Santiago's rosary around his fist, Luca currently did his hardest to maintain a strong facade in front of his gang and those belonging to EC's communities. Word got out that Santiago was dead already (he wasn't yet but Estrabao Cartel didn't know that) and Luca took it the worst out of everybody else. He didn't know how many fires he would set to Los Carnales but he was assertive that they were going to pay big time. Luca felt like he had lost a major part of him—the amount of grief that took over him was incomparable. Santiago deserved a long and happy life, not the one he was given.

He deserved a happy life somewhere down the line with him. But that reality wasn't even a possible or acceptable one. It was a secret they'd take to their grave—a bunch of secrets Luca would never reveal to anyone and secrets Santiago stopped acknowledging a year ago.

The rest of the cartel were distraught as well. A bunch of them lost their homies, brothers, cousins—family. There were too many bodies to hold a funeral and visit each one, so this service was a tribute to them. All of them wore blue with white bandanas and writings of those no longer with them all over their shirts. Not a single soul sat down in the pews. All (except for Luca) rose to their feet and either fixtated on Santiago's large picture supported by a stand or Camila playing the piano. Her voice was like chicken soup for a cold broken soul—like Jesus absolving them of all for their sins right in front of their faces.

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