Breakfast is terrible. Not because of the food, it actually tastes good but because of the silence. The awkward, heavy silence that fills the room like smoke. Every bite I take feels loud. The only sounds are the faint clink of silverware and the low hum of the AC. I stared at my plate the whole time, avoiding Santino’s eyes after he came back to the table.

He eats like he’s at a business meeting, calm and expressionless, his every move careful and controlled.

I can’t even finish half ...