Amelia, Rosita recognizes, comes from a place where giving one's word actually still means something; where swearing some kind of oath means something, where there are clear sides and lines that cannot be crossed without consequence. If ever Rosita herself believed in that, though, the time is gone: promises need to be proven over time. The best Rosita can do is this conversation, where if she had reason to think Amelia would outright ignore her or otherwise cross her, there'd be no warning at all. She'd just handle it.

So she listens, and she studies the other woman, considering: is there anything further? She wants to argue that Carver doesn't belong to her, especially with the connotations here in the city, but if she does that then she'll have to admit to something in its place and she's not interested in that.

Is there anything further? Just the matter of reparations. The foot traffic starts moving, and most of the other people who had gathered to cross have gone on, the next group hasn't yet accumulated. Into this lull, Rosita - already squared up from their conversation so far - gives no warning and no explanation, but punches as hard as she can with a solid, swift right cross for wherever it will land on Amelia's face.

There is and will be no follow up. This isn't a fight, or not from where Rosita is standing. It's fair and square.