If I'm not careful, my self-loathing is going to shine through my carefully crafted demeanor. There's still time to back out, I tell myself. But one look to my right, at my wife, and I know that the only way out of this situation is with a bullet between my ears. "Roll up the window, Carlo," Esmeralda says. Her voice is tinged with an irritation I almost never hear. I give it a minute before complying, letting the drops of rain hit my forehead and cheeks, bathing me in a kind of clarity I'm sorely lacking. My wife--my dear, sweet, quiet Esmeralda--refuses to use my preferred name. "Mike" isn't a boss's name, in her opinion. "Carlo" commands respect, and I'm the son of the boss, so I better be fucking respected. Not that it matters. If my men knew what I'm about to do, they wouldn't respect me. They might fear me as their capo, and they might do as they're told, but that's not respect. Fear doesn't buy loyalty--only respect does that. Esmeralda clears her throat, and because I can't handle a disagreement about getting rain on the fucking leather of a car she didn't work to buy and doesn't even drive, I press the button, effectively cutting myself off from the outside world.
What do You think about Cease (Bayonet Scars Book 7)?
