DANTE's POV
The cigarette burns too fast between my fingers.
Trevor Jones' face stares back at me from the file on the table. Smiling. Clean-cut. Respectable.
Philanthropist of the year.
Protector of the community.
If I press hard enough, I swear I can still see blood on his hands. The cruel smile on his lips.
I take a long drag and exhale slowly, watching the smoke blur his image.
Matteo pours himself a glass of whiskey behind me. "Careful. You're looking at that file like you're trying to burn through it."
"I am," I mutter.
Alessio leans against the pool table, rolling a cue stick lazily between his palms. "You could just put a bullet in his head."
I flick ash into the tray. "That would be too easy."
Matteo lifts his glass. "Since when do you avoid easy?"
"Since he killed my family."
Silence settles heavy across the room.
Trevor didn't just pull the trigger.
He laughed when my sister cried. When my mom pleaded for her life, when my dad begged for mercy.
