Yara's weather could only be put into one word: hot. It was practically scorching out, but luckily for Diego, his father's villa was near the clear, blue water.

The dictator often sent his son there to develop himself and stay away from the revolutionary rebel group.

"Oh, it's so damn hot," Diego mumbled, flipping the page of his book. He looked focused, but it was too hot for any concentration to be real.