Calil was tall and lean, with silver at the temples. He had an athletic build and wore an elegant dark suit—completely different from Fred’s style. His eyes were dark, and his gaze was kind.

When I turned to the woman—tall, slender, hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, emerald-green eyes, full lips that matched every perfect line of her face—a chill ran down my spine. Her stare was so cold it froze me in place.

“I’m Márcia,” she said curtly, not bothering with the same ...