Diane's POV
A few days had passed since my conversation with Guerrero at the café, and I found myself sitting across from his daughter, Natasha, in a quiet corner of another coffee shop across town. She was more beautiful in person than I had imagined—dark hair that caught the afternoon light, her father's intelligent eyes, but there was something fragile about her, like she was holding herself together through sheer force of will.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," I said gently, watching as she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup like it was an anchor.
"I know this must feel strange, having a complete stranger reach out to you about your father."
Natasha's smile was polite but guarded. "My father—he said you needed to talk to me." Her voice was soft, careful, as if she was testing each word before letting it out.
