“How did you come to work here?” I give Rosa a curious look as we go down the curving staircase. “And learn to speak English so well?”

“Oh, I was born here, on the Esguerra estate,” she says breezily. “My father was one of the older Señor’s guards, and my mother and older brother also worked for him. Señor’s wife—she was American, you see—taught me English when I was a child. I think she was maybe a bit bored here, so she gave lessons to the entire household staff and anyone else who wanted to learn the language. Then she insisted that we speak only English in the house, even among ourselves, so we could practice.”

“I see.” Rosa seems chattier than Ana, so I ask her the same question I posed to the housekeeper earlier. “If you grew up here, did you know Julian back then?”

“No, not really.” She glances at me as we exit the house onto the front porch. “I was very young, only four years old when your husband left the country, so I don’t remember much from when he was a boy. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I saw him here for only a short time after . . .” She swallows, looking down at the ground. “After it all happened.”

“After his parents’ death?” I ask quietly. I remember Julian telling me that his parents were killed, but he never explained how it happened. He just said it was one of his father’s rivals.

“Yes,” Rosa says somberly, her bright smile nowhere in sight. “A few years after Julian left, one of the North Coast cartels tried to take over the Esguerra organization. They struck at many of its key operations and even came here, to the estate. A lot of people died that day. My father and brother, too.”

I stop in my tracks, staring at her. “Oh God, Rosa, I’m sorry . . .” I feel terrible that I brought up such a painful subject. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that people here might’ve been impacted by the same events that had shaped Julian. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” she says, her expression still strained. “It happened almost twelve years ago.”

“You must’ve been very young then,” I say softly. “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-one,” she replies as we begin walking down the porch steps. Then she shoots me a curious look, some of her somberness fading. “What about you, Nora, if you don’t mind me asking? You seem young as well.”

I grin at her. “Nineteen. Twenty in a few months.” I’m glad she feels comfortable enough with me to ask personal questions. I don’t want to be ‘Señora’ here, don’t want to be treated like some lady of the manor.

She grins back, her former zest for life apparently restored. “I thought so,” she says with evident satisfaction. “Ana thought you were even younger when she saw you last night, but she’s almost fifty and everyone our age looks like a baby to her. My guess this morning was twenty, and I was right.”

I laugh, charmed by her frankness. “You were, indeed.”

During the rest of the tour, Rosa peppers me with questions about me and my life back in the States. She’s apparently fascinated with America, having watched a number of American movies in an effort to improve her English. “I hope to go there someday,” she says wistfully. “See New York City, walk in Times Square among all the bright lights . . .”

“You should definitely go,” I tell her. “I only visited New York once, and it was great. Lots of things to do as a tourist.”

As we talk, she shows me around the estate, pointing out the guards’ barracks that Ana mentioned earlier, and the men’s training area on the far side of the compound. The training area consists of an indoor fighting gym, an outdoor shooting range, and what appears to be an obstacle course on a large, grass-covered field. “The guards like to keep in top shape,” Rosa explains as we pass by a group of hard-faced men practicing some type of martial arts. “Most of them are former military, and all are very good at what they do.”

“Julian trains with them too, right?” I ask, watching in fascination as one man knocks out his opponent with a powerful kick to the head. I know a little self-defense from the lessons I took back home, but it’s kid stuff compared to this.

“Oh, yes.” Rosa’s tone is somewhat reverential. “I’ve seen Señor Esguerra on the field, and he’s as good as any of his men.”

“Yes, I’m sure he is,” I say, remembering Julian rescuing me from the warehouse. He had been completely in his element, arriving in the night like some angel of death. For a moment, the dark memories threaten to swamp me again, but I push them away, determined not to dwell on the past. Turning away from the fighters, I ask Rosa, “Do you know where he is today, by any chance? Ana said he’s in a meeting.”

She shrugs in response. “He’s probably in his office, in that building over there.” She points toward a small modern-looking structure near the main house. “He had it remodeled as well, and he’s been spending a lot of time there since his return. I saw Lucas, Peter, and a few others go in there this morning, so I assume Julian is meeting with them.”

“Who’s Peter?” I ask. I already know Lucas, but I’m hearing Peter’s name for the first time.

“He’s one of Señor Esguerra’s employees,” Rosa replies as we walk back toward the house. “He came here a few weeks ago to oversee some of the security measures.”