A memory surfaced in Artemio's mind.
Years ago, deep inside a forest, he found Arnold Garces hiding in a cave.
And he found Lara there too. She was just a toddler back then.
The moment Artemio saw her, something inside him had jolted.
For one fleeting second, he had thought he was looking at Madeline.
The resemblance was startling—the delicate features, the shape of her eyes. But Lara was painfully thin, her face gaunt from hunger, her clothes soiled from days of living like a fugitive. Dirt streaked her skin, and tangled strands of hair clung to her face.
She looked nothing like her mother, the sweet and charming woman Artemio remembered.
But there had been something about her eyes. Something that had made him look twice.
At the time, however, his attention had been consumed by the man standing between them.
Arnold Garces.
The bastard responsible for the deaths of his wife and eldest son.
Artemio attacked him without hesitation.
