Leone
“Leone, enough!” my father shouts, grabbing my shoulder. I shrug him off without taking my eyes off Dante.
“No, he is going to remember this, every f*****g time he sees his reflection,” I hiss, my voice trembling with fury. “Every time you open your f*****g mouth, you’ll think of me.” My father paces clutching his hair, he knows this has been a long time coming. Dante has pushed me too far this time.
“Not his face Leone, if you need blood take it just leave his f*****g face,” my father pleads.
Dante sobs beneath me, his hands clawing at my arms like a pathetic animal. I shift the blade to his other cheek, and for a moment, I hesitate—not because I feel any guilt, but because I want this to last. So I carve an M in his cheek so he never forgets why I branded him. “That one is for
