THE PHOTO
~SILAS'S POV~
The scotch in my glass was fifty years old. It was Supposed to be the best in the world. Tonight it tasted like expensive dirt.
I sat in the leather chair of my home office. The room dark except for the glow of the city behind the floor-to-ceiling glass. Two nights ago, I had sat here replaying that phone call, her voice.
The sounds she made. The way she said my name.
'Daddy.'
I had listened to it on repeat in my head. Over and over. Driving myself insane. She was mine. Even trying to move on, she was still mine.
A knock at the door. Two sharp raps.
"Yeah," I said. My voice was rough. I hadn't slept, not really. Just twenty-minute blackouts where I had wake up reaching for her.
The door opened and Russo walked in. He looked tired. He was holding a manila e
