He’s an arrogant bastard. I add him to my mental kill list, picturing him in his office, his thin lips going blue and his scrawny hands scrabbling for purchase as I choke the life out of him. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Or rather, not correctly introduced. My name is Peyton Totti.”
I get it now. I get all of it. He’s Roberto Totti’s son? Nephew? Close family, anyway. A bastard with spaghetti sauce in his veins and my father’s blood on his hands.
He laughs. Smug son of a b***h. “Of course it’s been me all along. You knew it. And then you forgave me, enlisted me for help in exchange for your protection. Gave me access to all your family secrets. You made it so easy to hurt you, Tomas.”
His bragging grates. His voice makes my ears bleed.
“I wanted to make you feel secu
