Lana
Fuck my life.
How did it end like this?
I stare at my father. My eyes burn. I do not blink because I know the tears will fall if I do. Across the table, three men in black suits stand in a neat line. Each one wears a red pocket square, folded the same way. It feels planned. Rehearsed.
The tallest man stands in the center. His name is Rocco. He slides a thick stack of papers across the table toward my father. The sound is soft, but it lands heavy.
Behind me, another man stands close. Too close. He is the one holding the key. I can feel the handcuffs cutting into my wrists every time I move. The metal is cold. The chain is short. The keyring hangs in his pocket, and every small shift makes it jingle. The sound crawls under my skin.
He pulls the keys out. The metal clangs together
