Signed To The Mafia King
And there he was.
Alvez.
He looked almost casual, leaning against the table, thick arms folded across his chest. His head was shaved, his beard trimmed close, his eyes hard as knives.
He looked up as if he’d been expecting me, a slow grin pulling across his face.
“Well, well,” he said, smooth and dangerous, walking across the room. “The prodigal son returns.”
I stepped forward, gun leveled
Marco’s face had no expression. His eyes were flat as he stared at me like we were strangers. And just behind him, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets, was Riot.
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