The Santana Heir. Elizabeth Lane

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      One

      Urubamba, Peru, January 21

      Emilio Santana stared at the folder on the massive mahogany desk—the desk that had served the head of the Santana family for seven generations. Until two weeks ago that desk had belonged to his brother. Now it was his.

      He was still reeling from Arturo’s death in a highway accident. But the vast Santana business holdings couldn’t wait for grief. Catapulted into place as the new jefe, Emilio had a world of things to learn—and barely enough time to learn them. He’d never wanted this responsibility. But now it was his—for life.

      Arturo had always been the one who took care of things. While Emilio jetted around the world, partying with rock stars and dating glamorous women, Arturo had managed the family estate in Urubamba, the corporate offices in Lima and the portfolio of global investments and properties that comprised the Santana fortune. Steady and competent, Arturo had always been there to bail his wild younger brother out of trouble. Now he was gone, the reality of his loss still sinking in.

      Since the funeral and the novena, Emilio had spent much of his time going through the files in Arturo’s home office. Invoices, contracts, business correspondence. It was all a lot to take in, but he’d found nothing out of the ordinary.

      Until now.

      The manila folder, marked “Personal,” had been tucked into the back of the file drawer. Inside, Emilio found a certified envelope, addressed to Arturo and mailed from Tucson, Arizona, ten months earlier. Inside was a folded letter, printed on plain white paper and signed in a strong but feminine hand.