CASSIAN
The room was too quiet.
Don Aldo sat behind the heavy oak desk, looking like a man who had seen too many sunsets and didn't care for the next one.
Beside him, Emilio stood with his chest puffed out, looking like a kid who'd just set a fire and was waiting for the praise.
His eyes were full of a frantic, shaky heat. It was the look of someone who had never been told no and didn't know how to handle the taste of his own blood.
Julian was held between two of Vincenti's men. They weren't being gentle. They had his arms cranked back, forcing him to stand, though his legs looked like they were thinking about giving out.
Don Aldo looked at his son and nodded. It was the patient gesture of a father who had spent thirty years cleaning up broken glass and was finally getting tired of the broom.
Emilio didn't wait. He spoke with the total confidence of a man whose last name had always done the heavy lifting for him.
