“I want the boy put down like the dog he is, nipote,” Alessandro spat. “This boy and his father stole from our family, after all the comforts we provided to the Rinaldi’s. He deserves no mercy.”
I watched the room carefully. Christian Rinaldi sat quietly beside Deadleg, his face battered and bruised, no doubt a result of his training. Sometimes it felt like this f*****g day was never going to end, and I’d had enough of it.
“Uncle,” I said calmly, emotionlessly. “I have had a very long f*****g day, and my patience is running out.”
“Just tell me the meaning of this, nephew,” Enzo pleaded. “Tell me why you have shown mercy to a traitor.”
“You think this is f*****g mercy?” I snapped. My voice rose several decibels, and I was officially pissed off. “Do I need to remind you how Peter joine
