Chapter 90

The aroma of fresh coffee spread through the kitchen as Augusto, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, calmly stirred the kettle over the wood-burning stove. The soft crackle of the firewood was broken only by the first songs of birds at dawn.

The kitchen door creaked open, and a middle-aged woman wearing a floral apron and her hair in a tight bun hurried in.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m a little late!” she said, visibly out of breath.

Augusto glanced over his shoulder and smiled kindly.

“No