41- Already Whipped
Marcello I stood in the gravel parking lot in front of the doors of my main city warehouse, the cool night air doing nothing to cut through the heavy, suffocating grit coating the back of my throat. Behind the reinforced metal doors of the facility, the low, mechanical hum of the forklift engines was finally grinding to a halt. We had just closed a major, high-stakes supply deal with the Irish syndicate. The work for the night was done. I had no logical reason to still be standing out here in the dark, watching the exhaust fumes from the transport trucks slowly dissipate into the hazy city sky. But I stayed. I leaned my hip back against the cold hood of my sedan, staring blankly at the cracked asphalt beneath my boots, unable to understand why the thought of turning the key in the i
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