The crucifix on the wall cast a long shadow across the dining table, stretching like God's finger and pointing directly at Dante. Steam rose from his mother's homemade enchiladas, but the familiar comfort of family dinner had transformed into something completely unrecognizable. The scent of cumin and chili powder filled the air, it was once comforting but now it’s simply suffocating. “Bless us, O Lord," his father began in a voice rich with a gratitude that hadn't been present for years. Dant...