Taken by my stepfathers
Standing in front of me were the three remaining Moretti brothers, the cousins of the Don I had buried in the Bronx.
They looked like a darker, crueler mirror image of the men I left behind. Marco, the oldest, was dressed in a pristine charcoal suit, his dark hair slicked back. Next to him stood Sandro, lean and restless, his fingers nervously playing with a heavy gold lighter. And then there was Enzo, the youngest, whose chest was bare beneath an unbuttoned silk shirt, his eyes locked onto me with a predatory hunger that made my skin crawl.
Enzo took a step toward me, his hand reaching down to unbuckle his belt. "Franco said she’s the one holding the majority shares. Let me break her in fir
Sikat na Kabanata