He’d changed into blue shorts and an open, button-down shirt over
a tank top, with flip-flops on his feet, Carioca-style. He paced his private
rooftop. Bright sunlight reflected prisms from the water of his swimming pool.
Turning back, he stared down blindly at the scantily clad women on
Beach, to Leblon to the west, ending in the stark, sharp green mountain.
Jhon had been only 16 when he’d lost everything. His
parents. His brother. . His hands tightened on the rail. When he’d had
the chance to sell his family’s business the day after the funeral, Jhon had
taken it. He’d fled to New York, leaving his grief behind.
Except grief had followed him. Consumed him. Even as he created
an international company far larger than his father’s had ever been, the guilt of
what he’d done—causi
