Ottavio’s P.O.V
I walked into my house a not-so-large mansion, cozy but unsettling. A front, nothing more. A disguise for a man living two lives. Bought under a false name.
Thankful my help was in her quarters by now.
I slammed the door shut behind me, the echo bouncing off the quiet walls. My hands curled into fists. Every muscle in my body burned with restrained rage.
That damn woman.
Those words.
"What makes you any better than Brown?"
I saw red.
Her voice replayed in my head, sharper each time, cutting deeper than any bullet ever could.
I stormed up the stairs, my boots heavy on the hardwood floor. Every step is fueled by that insult. That comparison. She had no idea what the hell she was talking about. None.
Brown.
That filthy bastard who had laughed while my sister bled to
