The storm had passed by morning, but the tension clung to Adriana’s skin like damp clothes. She stood in front of the fireplace in Marco’s study, the faint hiss of the embers the only sound in the room. The photo—that photo—lay on the table behind her, its edges curling slightly from moisture, but the image was burned into her mind. She had been there. She had seen those men. But she had no memory of hearing what they spoke about, no understanding of why her father had shoved her out of the room and locked the door behind her.
And now, years later, someone was making sure she remembered.
Marco entered the room, his expression unreadable, phone in hand. “We found him.”
Adriana turned sharply. “Who?”
“Delgado’s former associate. Rafael Mendez. He worked security and intel for Delgado bef
