~NICO~
My father used to bring us to the lake when he wanted to talk about men who needed to be removed from the board. He would sit on the old wooden bench, light a cigarette, and explain in calm detail why certain people deserved to be destroyed. There was never anger in his voice. Just certainty.
He hated weed. Said it dulled instinct and softened discipline.
Enzo and I only ever smoke weed here.
Today we brought OG Kush. Strong enough to settle the nerves without fogging the mind. We do not come here to get high. We come here to think.
Enzo leaned against the car while I stood near the water. The air was cool and steady. There was no wind and no noise beyond the lake shifting against the rocks.
“Adriano is not finished,” Enzo said.
“I know.”
“He took yesterday personally.”
“
