Vittorio’s POV On His Way To Pick Katarina
“Turn left,” I snapped.
Ghost gripped the wheel tighter. “Don, that’s not the road to the club.”
I turned my head slowly. “I said left, didn’t I?”
That was all it took.
He swerved hard onto the gravel road, tires screeching. The smell of rubber burned into the air. I leaned my elbow on the window frame and stared at the wind slicing past.
I wasn’t going to the damn club.
Not yet.
Not before her.
We passed a rusted gate. A busted stone angel. Then the trees. Dry ones. Dead ones. And finally—Fiorella Gardens. Peaceful. Quiet. Paid for by blood money.
Most people thought I built this cemetery out of guilt.
I didn’t.
I built it for her.
We pulled up to the hill near the back. Away from the fresh graves. Away from the families. Where the
