"Don’t," he said.
Bruno did not move. His voice was gravel scraped over bone. "Talking is for men with breath left to waste, Rafael." libro vaquero
Bruno’s eyes flickered. The woman. Elena. She had been his wife. Then she had been Don Rafael’s prize. They said she died of a fever. Bruno knew the fever had a name and a pearl-handled pistol. "Don’t," he said
The silence stretched for an eternity. Then Don Rafael’s hand fell to his side. libro vaquero