Chapter 16Two hours since he’d heard the deafening blast of the bullet, Jimmy could still feel the impact of its wound. Luckily it wasn’t a physical one, at least not for him. It went deeper than that. It meant his wound was psychological, the emotional damage had been done. Those feelings, he knew, took longer to heal, if they ever did.
He shuddered at the thought of what had happened. His finger on steel. The pressure of the trigger. His life or his death in the balance. He’d caused a gun to go off.
Its recoil more powerful than its echo.
Rocco Sarducci was dead. Bled out as fast as Jimmy’s father had. This man he hadn’t held.
Alone in the interrogation room at the 123rd Precinct, Jimmy wondered why his life seemed to always take him back to the NYPD, to the memory and pain of the lo
