Logan's pov

The casino reeked of smoke and regret. Dust hung in the air like ghosts of gamblers past, and the slot machines stood silent, their blinking lights long dead. I sat across from Rafa Moretti at a cracked poker table, the green felt stained with old whiskey and blood.

"You're serious about this?" he asked, swirling the amber liquor in his glass. "Taking down your old man?"

I nodded. "Every inch of him. His empire. His lies. I want it all gone."

He leaned back, ...