VINCENT MOREAU
It would take years before I found another worthy catch.
By then, my little circle and I had long gone apart, each deciding that it was time for them to do something worthwhile with what they had earned. I gave them all my blessings-did they not call me Father, anyway-and watched them build empires with what they owned.
We paid good memory to Marco, a friend who was our favourite when he wasn't injecting himself with h****n. I never forgot that each time I looked at him, I saw nothing but a man who could have flown over the world but who found himself pulled down by his own weight. He could have escaped the night of Ricci's attack if he wasn't so laden with his addiction that he could do nothing to save himself. We knew it was why he truly died.
It was why the words w
