But we don’t have weeks; we have hours. Minutes, maybe. Mere fragments of safety before the next storm comes f*****g plowing in to upend everything.
“Just… goddammit, Vince, just come back to us,” she says finally. “That’s all I ask.”
I lean forward and kiss her softly, breathing in the scent of her—milk and soap, velvet and purity.
As I drive toward my father’s estate, I try to organize the chaos in my head. Every cell in my body screams for retribution. Blood on white marble, but this time, it will be his, and there will be rivers of it, oceans of it, enough to drown him and every man who ever helped carry out his bidding.
But the rage is tempered with something I’m far less familiar with.
I owe things to people now. I have promises to uphold. And that complicates everything.
Becau
