49. NIGHTMARES KEPT HIDDEN

Callan’s POV

THE COLD WAS SEEPING THROUGH the back of my neck and to my hands as I stared at my father gasping the hair of some man. Blood was running from the wounded side of his head. He was shivering in fear and growling in pain.

A 12-year-old me stood right behind my father. I was feeling the same but without the blood running down my head. Instead, I was shivering and my hands were just grasping the ends of my shirt. We were in the underground portion of our mansion; the hall was dark with only a light hanging in the middle right above the head of the man being tortured. I could not understand why my father was hurting him. He was shouting the words “I’m sorry… I apologize, Don Thoron. I stole the money from the capo. I gave it to the Cato clan. Did you tell them about us—the ravij?”

There was no response.

“You are well aware of the code of silence,” my father’s voice was stern and another punch landed on the man’s stomach.

“Arghhh!” a shout escaped the man’s lips. He was limping