“I don’t know what to say,” Cristiano says.
“I don’t fucking know either. Salvatore Ramírez isn’t my father. Sebastiano was. What the hell does that mean regarding El Diablo? Eduardo wouldn’t just have this in here for no reason. Other than to keep it from me.”
I wonder when he found out, and how. My parents died years ago.
Did he know then, or was this something he stumbled across?
There’s no fucking way of knowing.
“There are more letters. The box is full of them. Maybe we’ll get more answers when we go through them. I’m guessing they’re all addressed to your mother. In my opinion, though, that one kind of narrows things down in some way since Sebastiano, your father, and mother supposedly died on the same day in the same accident. Based on that letter, and if the rest of the letters are from your uncle, I think El Diablo is either him or Salvatore.”
It’s hard for me to imagine either being the devil because that would mean both want me dead.
My father—Salvatore—taught me everything I know and took the greatest care of me. Sebastiano was the same.
I knew whatever I found was going to be hard to accept. I just didn’t know I’d find something like this.
“What if—” My voice cuts when we hear something smash down to the ground outside the container.
“Someone’s outside.”
We both walk out carefully, gun in hand, to see who it is. I stuff the letter into my pocket and look down the aisleway just in time to see a man running around the corner.
There’s another on the roof of the container adjacent to us.
“Hey!” I call out, running forward.
I’m about to speed up when a loud explosion erupts behind me and suddenly, I’m flying through the air.
I come crashing down to the ground and hit my head so hard I see stars. It takes me a moment to steady my vision and the pain to subside.
When I roll onto my side, my gaze meets the infernal flames blazing from Eduardo’s container. But what’s worse is Cristiano lying motionless not far from me with blood seeping from a wound in his head.