I sat back in my chair, a cold chill running down my spine. I hadn’t been there that night, but Lorenzo told me all about it—a reckless ambush outside one of Vincenzo’s clubs. A car screeched to a stop, guns flared, and Stefano had been caught in the crossfire. He was lucky to walk away with his life. But “lucky” didn’t mean unscathed.
Vincenzo spoke again, his voice strained. “It was too close. Too f*****g close. One bullet grazed his shoulder. Another shattered the glass right by his head.” His hand tightened as though he were straining the neck of an enemy unseen, knuckles turning white. “It reminded him of... her.”
I didn’t need him to say her name. Their mother. She’d been killed in a similar drive-by years ago, her life snuffed out by a bullet meant for their father. Stefano had be
