Chapter 11

"HARDER."

Gresso glared at the little twerp over his shoulder massaging his back. "You ain't tickling ivories there, Tinkerbell. Didn't you suck enough milk from your momma?"

The kid massaging his back didn't say a word, just applied more pressure. He was used to Gresso's harsh words. For as long as he'd known the big man, he'd always spoken this way. He didn't have what the French called… finesse. 

The Boss relaxed, and his muscles settled as the kid continued to roll his thumbs into the man's shoulder blades. They were in the corner where their rag-tag crew usually hung out when the sun was out. Some of the inmates were shooting hoops, while the others pumped iron like it was their job. This was the life for them, Frodo supposed, but it bored him. Really bored him. 

"Hallå, Chefen! Don't you have a schedule today?" teased one of his guys, a skinny Lithuanian who was trying to learn Swedish. He was talking about Gresso's visits to the clinic to see