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Seven
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
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