Dante sat forward on the couch. Hands clasped together. Not looking at me. Looking at the floor.
"It was April fifteenth. Two years ago. I was twenty nine. My father called me to his study. Said there was something I needed to see. Something I needed to learn."
His voice was flat. Emotionless. Like he was reciting facts instead of reliving trauma.
"I didn't know what he meant. Thought maybe it was a business meeting. A negotiation. Something legitimate. But when I got to the warehouse in Brooklyn, I knew it was something else."
"How did you know?"
"Because Tony was there. And Tony only shows up when things get violent. When someone needs to be handled." He finally looked at me. "Your partner was tied to a chair in the middle of the warehouse. Already beaten. Blood on his face. Broken
