Alejandro sighed, drawing his hand across his brow, then returned his face to press against the glass of the window.
It was there, out in the distance. If he squinted, the Don could just make out the flicker of the lantern's light.
He had returned to the graveyard again. Tonight-even tonight-Diego's own birthday-as he had every night since those cursed events at Devil's Fortress.
Luis Ramone was six months in his grave and yet still Diego lamented, attending this nightly, moroseful vigil for reasons beyond his father's comprehension.
Madre de Dios...the man had been evil. A tyrant, a bully and a cheat, how many lives had he tried to ruin and yet Diego despaired with an intensity that rivaled that even of his Mother's passing.
The light was growing larger, more steady now.
For tonight at least, his son's ritual had ended, and he would soon return, slouching and forlorn with the weight of the world within his eyes, but this-Alejandro promised himself-this would be the very last night.
He had tried-as a father should-to respect his son's wishes and allow him the privacy of his own actions and thoughts, but the Don had long suspected that some part of Diego's life was concealed from him.
Somehow, in some way, even beyond the grave, Luis Ramone had touched that part of his son's life and now threatened to destroy his sanity.