He hadn't expected the head to come in a designer box. But Antonio always liked theatrics.
Seated at the corner of a private club, a place where power brokers, corrupt elites, and old money figures conduct business far from the prying eyes—is Shawn. He sat across from the man, tight-lipped, watching his words sink deeper into him, while his head replayed the head sent to him.
Antonio had killed his assassin. Sent him the head to let him know who has the power. Even though the assassin was a known s*x offender, it still made his blood boil.
He clenched his fist against his lap.
Antonio seems to have forgotten, that he isn't a man to be underestimated.
The room was a partially enclosed VIP section, with dim lighting painting the room in gold and shadows. The air smelled of rich cigars,
