Granada, Spain, 1975 The moon screamed over the central courtyard of the Martínez estate. The Alhambra, perched jealously on the mountain, lamented the lunar glow of her companion. The yellows of her skin dimmed the beauty of the candles. Everything whispered romantic mystery that night. High above the city, too far to hear the bustle of the crowds. Deep inside the Martínez house, on an ordinary Saturday. The wooden boards seemed ready to break under the rhythm of the guitar and the sharp str...