Until I Wrote Him
The engines roared, and the plane accelerated sharply, pinning me back.
I closed my eyes, holding Guillermo against my chest, feeling the terrifying surge of the plane lifting off the ground and tearing us away from New York, away from Roman, and toward the uncertain darkness of the East.
An old friend.
A debt of honor.
I silently hoped that whatever Roman and Fabiano had orchestrated, this desperate, final roll of the dice would prove fruitful.
It had to.
For Roman.
For Guillermo.
For us all.