(Liam Romano's POV)
The cell smelled of cheap disinfectant, stale sweat, and a kind of bureaucratic defeat. It was a stench I knew intimately, even if it had been years since I’d had to inhale it directly. This wasn't a five-star suite or my penthouse with its glass that swallowed the horizon. It was a concrete cubicle that pretended at equality. A grave mistake. Some men simply do not belong on the same level as others, even when the bars pretend otherwise.
Parker had locked me up with the clumsy satisfaction of a dog that finally catches a car. He looked pleased because he had something in his teeth; he had no idea what to do with it. His "high-security detention center" was theater: solid bars, a heavy lock, and guards who moved like props. People are always the weakest link.
They le
