HER BABY
Apollo, flanked by two bulky men in suits, kept his face blank as his eyes swept over the scene; guns piled like scrap metal, stacks of cash scattered across a table, the reek of oil and sweat clogging the air.
He forced himself to look away when the boys nearby made eye contact. This was a world he had abandoned. A world he had no wish to return to.
Still, he bit his tongue as he entered the back office.
The room wasn’t an office at all; it was a den of sharks. Around a poker table sat the heads of five syndicates, laughing as cards slapped down and coins clinked.
At the head sat Marco Vitale, better known as ‘El Falco’. In this world, nothing escaped this hawk’s gaze.