Constantino was in his office, a pleasant space with a large glass window that offered a panoramic view of the city. The silence of the place was broken only by the distant sound of traffic and the soft hum of the air conditioner. It was a space that reflected his personality: organized, sophisticated, and strategically located to oversee the urban landscape. He was a soldier, but he had a natural inclination for that job.
As he worked, the phone on his desk rang. He answered immediately because he recognized Anastácia's number; perhaps something had happened to Chon.
“Hello, Anastácia.”
“Constantino, Cicera was here. She was begging for Maya's phone number.”
“Did you give her the number?”
“No, and I didn't let her see Chon either. This time, she wanted to see the boy, but since every
