Too Late To Love Your Drowned Wife

na

the splintered sc

angman's knot. He fumbled at his tie, his Adam's appl

row furrowed in alarm. "Leo?

ed past her, his eyes wide and u

the vortex of his panic. I watched the powerful, untouch

time, the frantic slap of his leather

rs. The roots of my hair had burned where his fist was knotted.

d offered up my dignity on a pla

o had the ambition. Their alliance wa

I graduated college, I thought he final

ws, ignoring the late nights and the cloying, alien scent of chea

brutal execution w

y roof doors, the hinges groani

en had called the syndicate's private medical ex

bright yellow were securing the perimeter und

ough the crowd of agents, m

agent yelled, reachin

the man aside until he reach

the concrete roof using a mechanical winch, the gears gr

was parti

the heavy, sickeningly sweet stench

hiskey, the foul liquid splashing across the lapels of his custom suit ja

is hand, his chest laboring for air a

from the dark plastic. The skin was pe

ered, the sound a ra

aping through the fine wool of his expensive

at is n

nt of him. "Mr. Vitiello. S

, stripping away the polished mafia bo

d, the raw anguish in his voice a

hands reaching desper

r combined weight slamming the Don of the

ng his legs as he let out a guttural

he is alive! S

next to Leonardo's pinned fac

coldly. "You are coming with us, Vitiello. You have a lo

storm. I had been weightless, powerless, for three days. But as I watched him thrash in the grip of men who a