The aciapa blinked, confused that someone like him would ask her.
“Rosa…” she answered in a low voice. “Rosa Delgado…”
That name… was like a direct knife wound to a memory buried for decades.
Alejandro took a step back.
His face turned pale.
“It can’t be…” he murmured.
Camila squeezed her father’s hand.
“Dad…?”
Alejandro knelt down—in the middle of the dusty street, under the astonished gaze of everyone.
Uп mυltimillopario… arrodillado freпste a υпa meпdiga.
