Vincenzo Dante Volvok:
The day started as peacefully as a mobster’s life could—emails, vodka, and occasionally wondering why I hadn’t burned my enemies to ash yet. I decided to work from my study, avoiding the circus that is the office. My peace was interrupted, however, by the thought of Venom.
Venom. My ever-reliable right-hand man had asked for one day off. Reasonable. What wasn’t reasonable? The fact that one day turned into three, without so much as a call, text, or smoke signal.
The knock on my door dragged me from my thoughts. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Venom entered, looking like he’d lost a fight to a garbage truck. Bruises painted his face, and his suit looked like it had been crumpled under a drunk elephant.
“Well, well,” I drawled, leaning back in my chair. “I
