The sun is too high when I finally open my eyes. It already seems like the kind of morning that will feel like punishment. Sleep was its own kind of torture after the club, after what I f*****g saw. I roll out of bed, still tasting bourbon and regret, still seeing her pressed against that prick like she was born to ruin me. Cold water does nothing; it doesn’t wash her off, and it definitely doesn’t help with the storm under my skin. By the time I make it downstairs, I know I will be running on caffeine and rage today.
Silvio’s half-empty cup is still on the counter from this morning. I pour my own coffee, light a cigar, and sit at the far end of the kitchen table where I can see the terrace. The light pouring in through the windows is blinding, too happy for my mood.
I hear bare footst
