“Guess I’m not a good don then,” I fire back hotly.
“You’re being childish.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I say.
I hate how much I’m forced to repeat myself any time I talk to my father. He makes me feel like I’m thirteen again.
“You’ve been saying that for five years now.”
“Ozol is a slippery motherfucker. But he can’t escape me for long.”
“You’re antagonizing a viper,” he says calmly. “Sooner or later, he’ll strike.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
“You’re trying to draw him out?” Mama cuts in before my father can say anything. “You’re trying to goad him into an open war with you?”
I know how it sounds.
Reckless.
Short-sighted.
Stupid.
To which I say: f**k all that.
I’m strong enough to take a few hits to my reputation. I’m strong enough not to care.
“If I keep attacking him, h
