DOMINIC

I sat in my dimly lit office, leaning back in my leather chair, my fingers tapping against the armrest. The whiskey glass sat untouched on the table beside me, the amber liquid catching the faint glow of the lamp. I was too pissed to drink, too irritated to enjoy it.

Vincenzo Falcone, that old bastard, actually had the audacity to call me.

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head at the absurdity of it. What the fuck had he been thinking? That we were on some kind of friendly, ...