Seven years ago
Salvatore
A hammer comes down onto my hand, its metal head burying into flesh that’s already a swollen mess, and a fine spray of blood splatters across the table.
I wait until the worst of the pain recedes, then lift my chin and glare at the man looming above me.
“No.” I bite out.
Marcello, one of the capos, watches me for a couple of seconds before he throws a glance over his shoulder at the don who is leaning against the wall to the right. It’s dim in the room, no buzz or glare from the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling. The only illumination seeps from an old lamp on the corner of the table, but when the don lights his cigar, his face glows red from the flame as he nods.
Marcello turns back to me and tightens his hold around my wrist. “I think you should reconsider,
