Alejandro had generally thought himself a brave man. He'd faced battle and treacherous sea voyages. One particular passage had included storms so severe he was certain the ship would go down. He'd been injured and suffered illness. He'd grieved the deaths of his parents and three siblings that had never reached one year of age, but how was he, newly widowed, going to tell his young son that his mother was dead?

How would he face each day without his partner, friend, and lover and raise the child that had primarily been in her care?

He was terrified.

His neighbors had been free with the unsolicited comfort and advice. They stopped by almost unceasingly with plates of food and pokiness. That was how he'd come to think of it.

"You must miss her very much." Poke.

"And now with a boy to raise what will you do?" Poke.

"You might want to think of sending him away to school." Jab.

"When's he coming back from visiting his friend?" Poke.

Alejandro was wondering that himself. Diego should be back any moment now. He longed for his son's company, but also dreaded telling him. He wanted to avoid it, all of it. Families of their class typically allowed for their children to be raised by nurses and tutors. He'd be no worse than his own parents if he continued to leave Diego's care to servants or send him away to school.

Alejandro could send him away and wrap himself in his grief. That was what he wanted to do. He'd suddenly realized he was a stranger to his own son and that terrified feeling overcame him again. He'd thought of himself as brave. He now chuckled bitterly at the thought.

"Is it true?" his son stood tensely at the door looking in.

Alejandro was sitting in the library his face in his hands. He looked up at Diego. The boy was tall for his age and gangly, but he stood straight and tried so hard to look brave. In that moment, Alejandro knew he couldn't send his son away. Not any time soon. Alejandro wanted to make up for the lost time between them.

He needed family and structure. He didn't know if he meant himself or his son, but it didn't matter. It was true for both of them. They needed each other.

Diego had always had his father's love and support. After his mother died, the two of them clung to each other and even Diego's secret couldn't destroy that special bond. But his father's death could.

Now, he was a man without an anchor. His father was dead. Felipe was thousands of miles away and so was Victoria.
Victoria. The thought of her, the memory of her seemed now like a painful dream. He felt like pain was all there was now. Pain and desire for revenge.

Every night he rode as Zorro intent on finding the men Theresa had described. She and her child had survived the incident, though she had been badly beaten. She told Diego that there had been three men, two French and one English. All he had to go on was her physical description of the Englishman, because she hadn't seen the Frenchmen.

No one of their description had arrived in the pueblo, but there was talk among the thieves and bandits of the area of two ruthless Frenchmen and Zorro was hot on their trail.

He'd sent a challenge to the men and he was close to finding their hideout. When he did, he wasn't yet sure what he would do.