My voice cracked across the room, loud enough to sting.
He flinched.
“We traced the containers. The bribes. The manifests. Ten of our men are dead, Gio.”
“Ten.”
His hands trembled in his lap.
“They threatened my family,” he whispered. “My son… he’s just a kid. They said they’d?—”
“We all have families,” I said, stepping closer. My shoes scraped against grit on the concrete.
“You think I don’t know what it’s like? To be afraid? To want to protect what’s yours?”
He lifted his head, his eye locking on mine.
“Then you understand.”
“I do.”
The words hung between us, heavy.
“But I also understand loyalty.”
I took another step. The air between us charged.
“And you chose them over us.”
The silence that followed was thick, living.
In the distance, a slow drip echoed—each drop a countdown.
I reached behind me, drew the Beretta. Its weight was familiar. Steadying.
Giovanni’s breath caught. His eye widened. “Rafe, please?—”
“I’m not doing this because I want to,” I said. “I’m doing it because I have to.”
He sagged. The last fight drained from him.
Then came the sobs—quiet, broken.
I let him have that moment. Let him fall apart.
“I’ll make sure your son is looked after,” I said. “Your wife too. You were family once. That still counts for something.”
He looked up, tears carving trails through the bruises.
“Then don’t?—”
I raised the gun.
He closed his eyes.
”Sangue dentro, sangue fuori,’ I said.Blood in, blood out.
The shot was muffled, but it rang in my bones.
