40. (DANE POV)

(DANE POV)

In a basement warehouse in New York, I was evading slivers of sunlight that dared to intrude through the cracks in the doors and windows. Each beam reminded me of the time ticking away, exacerbating my frustration with the situation.

The day's task had dragged on far longer than anticipated, and the need to dodge these rays of light only fueled my growing irritation.

Before me sat a family cousin stirring up trouble, slumped in a chair in the old, dingy room.

Drawing upon the thick New York accent I once shared with Jo, a memory that now brought her smiling face unsolicited to my mind each time I used it, I addressed him. "Gregory... you know this isn't going anywhere fast. And I'm not one to back down, so why don't we speed this up? I'm sure there are places you'd rather be than here, losing blood in my company.

Gregory's response was laced with defiance. "Fuck you. We're not under your thumb anymore." Technically, he was right. His family, the only human mafia that per