METANOIA 1 CHAPTER

The name of a woman proved that can rule the mafia. My name.

Reunification

Life, filled with perpetual opposition to hegemony, slowly turns into a rejection of any norms and authorities imposed by society ─ this realisation came to me as a child, when, as a child with an angelic pale face on which glassy blue eyes resembled two of the rarest sapphires, looking up timidly through strands of blond hair, I stayed behind the strong wooden doors, behind which men discussed important issues. My father had taught me to ignore the words of the men around me, constantly rebuking and condemning ─ his cruel words became lessons to me, every tear I shed after his shouts like a hammer hitting the young iron, forming a sword. He was from sunny Naples and, having fled to misty London with his family after a police investigation, had become a hostage to greyness and primness, melting inside a rotten hatred of all that was legal and right. A genetic predisposition towards Italy eventually caught up with me on the day I entered university in my father's homeland, the same day I got a tattoo on my right wrist ─ the sign of Mars¹ as the planet of masculine energy, strength and assertiveness, which they tried to eradicate, to beat it out of me. Growing up in a conservative and traditional family, even before I was born, I was destined to marry, have children and spend the rest of my life pleasing my husband, hiding the bruises of his beatings ─ this was fundamentally different from my nature: the submission, indulgence and unconditional consent inherent in the women in my life were signs of the weakness and victimhood that my father hated so much. Having chosen a side, I became Mars (or Ares), who destroyed in a bloody battle all those who opposed me, I turned them into the horror of war, the likeness of my cruel father. (¹ ─ ♂)
Returning home had always been difficult for me. In the last years that I lived in Italy, I managed to adapt there and create something more than I was allowed to do here, in London, where I spent all my childhood and youth. I lifted my head, noticing my deputy's intent gaze on the folder of documents he took with him on the plane. A few strands of his blond hair fell over his eyes, making it difficult for him to read. I turned my head to the left, looking out the window: a private jet was approaching the London airport, which means it brought me closer to my family. The faint smell of sandalwood mixed with leather created the familiar work atmosphere that I am always in ─ old offices in mansions, luxury car showrooms drowning in piles of documents.
"The Empire was set on fire yesterday," Thomas said, sipping his coffee. I furrowed my brows, turning sharply to the man, eyes wide. He slowly lifted his gaze from the papers and continued: "The third and fourth gambling halls burned down completely," Thomas held out the papers to me, and my eyes began to run between the lines. The insurance company's damage report showed that one-fifth of my restaurant had been seriously damaged by an unforeseen fire. Photographs confirming these words were attached below, in colour, though the rooms had turned into huge black patches of ash, resembling the cauldrons of hell. My fingers crumpled the edge of the sheet and my jaw clenched harder ─ I knew it was arson. It would take a huge toll on me, knowing that the insurance agency would not pay compensation, or would demand such a bribe for it that it would be cheaper to rebuild at my own expense.
"This," my finger pointed at the papers, "will attract the police," I said, pursing my lips. This had already attracted a lot of the noise the patrons of my establishment dislike so much. "This is the second fire in the restaurant in the last two months." I put the papers down and pinched the bridge of my nose as Thomas went back to studying the insurance.
"So be it," the man replied, gathering all the papers into one stack and pushing them aside. He pulled a cigarette case and lighter from his jacket pocket, then took a sip of espresso, "if the insurance company confirms it's arson, then their expertise will be useful to us."
I felt anger creep up my throat like nausea, which made me swallow. My legs crossed under the table and began to shake, which I tried to hide by putting my cold palms on my knees. It felt like the blood in my system had turned to hot lava, burning me from the inside out; I tried to breathe slower, to make my heart stop beating so fast, and to make the anger pass as quickly as possible. Closing my eyes, I slowly exhaled, listening to the sounds around me, then took a deep breath, remembering why I was on the plane. Bad news like the second casino arson in a month was a frightening omen before my little brother's wedding.
I could take a legitimate weekend off and spend a happy holiday with my family without thinking about work, if I lived by the rules in this world. To stay alive, I had to be constantly aware of what was happening to my possessions, to my people ─ otherwise I could easily become a victim. However, I didn't want to ruin my brother's idyll with his newlywed wife ─ I didn't have time for the marriage registration as I was so busy explaining powers to my partner, so I only got to attend the celebration. My brother is very reverent about the event, this was clear from the soft and protective tone with which he informed me of his decision, from which any mention of business would have made him upset and angry. I had been sceptical about his intentions to tie his fate to a girl I did not know, as I thought he would shun Mafia tradition, but my brother had convinced me that she knew nothing about our business.
It was quiet in the beige leather cabin of the private jet; Thomas had asked the stewardesses in advance not to disturb us during the conversation, from which the silence after his words was diluted only by quiet jazz. I stared at my empty cup of espresso, beside which stood an ashtray with two smoked cigarettes.
"You know," I began gloomily, pulling away from my thoughts and looking into the grey eyes of my companion, whose face had well-disguised apprehension on it. I understood him ─ my reactions were unpredictable, more often than not, even to myself, which made Thomas ready for anything. It was moments like this that made me feel sorry for the people closest to me, as if they were communicating with a bomb, so the severity of my self-control increased manifold, "I bought this plane for work, but so far I haven't heard any good news here," I shook my head disappointedly, feeling my legs stop shaking under the table and the blood rush to my palms. "Does Antonio know about the restaurant?" I asked slowly, touching my long dark hair.
Antonio Pelegatti was my business partner in Italy (our regions bordered — the territory of Napes was under his control), but also an Italian man who always obeyed his mother. Our ideas about the management of the provinces were fundamentally different, Antonio could cornily cause irreparable harm to my business, although he'd be sure that he did everything right. This was the main difference in our ideas about management: while Antonio was devoted to his Italian blood, I recognised the leadership of Japan's achievements and put the knowledge I had gained at university into practice. The differences were minimal ─ instead of organisation, I had the entire province under my authority. I genuinely believed that the Japanese management model adapted to Italian mores was more sustainable than the ones I had encountered in my experience: relations based on respect and cooperation, focus on quality, reduction of bureaucracy. Although the risk I took in leaving the province for another manager was a deliberate one, I had my doubts about the staff's reaction to the situation. Nevertheless, I didn't have anything business-related planned for the next few days in Amalfi, from which I was able to attend my brother's wedding. Nevertheless, I needed my deputy here, in London.
"No," the man said, "and I'm not sure he should. I nodded silently ─ he was right. I respected Antonio with all my care and devotion to Italy in my blood, though I realised that this man could turn my misfortune to his advantage ─ that was how my world worked. Pelegatti was the first people I worked with in Naples (Thomas was the second), we were on an equal footing then and we both worked for his father, and years later we maintained our friendship which has ensured a warm partnership over the years; he was the one who helped to keep my province under control when I could not.
Thomas sighed heavily taking another sip of coffee, "I'll work until the end of the flight. You can sleep," I told my deputy, to which he nodded, going to the other end of the plane. He took off his black jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his tattoos. I knew he'd had them done while he was still at the police academy, some of them even drunk ─ I'd forgotten in the last few months of uninterrupted work how swaggering Thomas could be. Exhaling disdainfully, I took my laptop from the next chair and opened it, immediately taking up the work I had left.
Among a lot of unnecessary information, I found several letters from the police that my father worked with, they wrote about "suspicious missing luxury cars", impudently hinting at an increase in my donations to the personal lives of each of the employees.
I was surprised by the news of the burning of restaurant in London; it had already burned before, without causing much damage as now. However, my people still didn't find anyone who could be involved in this case — it was clear that the work was done by a professional, so it wasn't easy to catch him. The Empire has always been full of guards and the security system was top notch. It was very delicate work to avoid it. I knew that this man, who was behind all this, could do much more than an innocent arson of the . The text scattered before my eyes, I couldn't concentrate on work, no matter how much I wanted to. Out of anger, I slammed the laptop lid shut, fingers squeezing the septum of my nose. Thoughts could not be structured in my head, as if each part was thinking about its own: about a brother and his hated bride, about an expensive gift that was supposed to make amends for such a long absence, although I was sure that it would only make Jensen angrier about work. I bit my lower lip, throwing my head back against the back of the chair and closing my eyes.

I opened them in a car, while Thomas was driving me to the castle, where my brother decided to have a wedding. It was not safe at all: outside the city, an open aria, everything could end with a bloody wedding, which nobody wanted to, so I hired a few dozen more security men who would keep aloof and not appear in front of the guests, so as not to frighten them away. I did not know my brother's bride personally but I had found some information about her. Lynette Carbyn was a twenty-year-old science student at a university in London. She comes from a poor family, as after her parents died, she was left with her sister in the care of her grandmother. In her final year, she created a chemistry-related project, for which she won a grant to attend a prestigious university. Lynette has not been seen in the police or the courts, moreover, she is not connected in any way to the illegal world.
"Is my present ready?" I asked Thomas, touching up my black tight floor-length dress that I'd worn on the plane before I left; I didn't have enough time to fully think through my outfit, so I left my hair loose, tucked back and the casual makeup I'd done at five this morning. At the thought of seeing my brother's wedding as just another meeting, I needed to show up for, I felt a prick of guilt in my heart ─ it was important to Jensen. But another part of me insisted that they would be divorced soon ─ the bright crush that had followed the proposal would fade as quickly as it had ignited.
"Yes, Alana," the man gave me car keys, "exactly the same model you've asked."
I left the car, when Thomas, as a gentleman, opened a door, and I walked on the high heels to the castle. I stopped for a moment, looking at the building my brother rented: a stone two storied building in the Gothic style with several dark pinnacles, as well as four gargoyles that looked at me as if with animal interest, even though they were cold and unreal. The doors of the castle were open, and I could see they had done the same with the doors to the backyard, the guards had already informed me that a table had been set in the garden, at which the guests had gathered. Taking a deep breath and frowning, I entered the building, knocking thin heels on the stone floor, with a brisk step I covered the distance between the entrances, again went outside. Stopping a step away from the bend behind which my brother's wedding was hidden, I listened to the conversations at the table, which were difficult to make out because of the music in the background.
I did not want to undermine my older sister's authority, but despite my affection for my brother, I desperately avoided this meeting. It was easy to guess that the new woman changed him: he began to work less, taking over the entire economic part of the business in the Empire and his small bar, but thankfully, as Thomas informed me, Jensen had not told his fiancée about the Wollstonecraft family business. My wedding was not as beautiful as this one, I was forced to hide and conceal my marriage from my father ─ I had no dress, no hair or make-up like Lynette, on whom the white silk fabric flowed like moonlight on a watery surface; my clothes were more suited to the long and painful road and, having registered the marriage in the United States, we went straight to Georgia, while Antonio and Thomas covered for me. Though I could now afford to buy myself jewellery at any price, stones the size of my head and red diamonds in unlimited quantities, the rings my husband had bought on his teaching assistant's salary still seemed the most beautiful ─ white gold with a fine line of cubic zirconia in the centre. My breathing slowed and my chest heaved heavier, an unpleasant weight pressing down on my stomach; lowering my eyes to my pointy-toe shoes, I frowned, blinking rapidly to get rid of the uninvited tears. Suddenly I felt a burning sensation on my right shoulder, and turning my gaze to the inside of my elbow, I stopped at a wide stripe, a scar that, though over a year old, hurt as much as it had that day. I exhaled, shaking my limbs, and taking a step forward with a confident grin. All those present immediately paid me attention and only after a few seconds Jensen realised who was standing in front of him.
The melodies of our souls sounded similar, but had so many differences that it was hard to believe we were siblings. We both had blue eyes, only mine were dimmer, the darker colour of his skin, the deadly blue patches under his lower eyelids, and the smoky dark shadows. His irises were literally illuminated by the short blond hair, becoming so bright that they could replace streetlights, his smile was radiant and kind, and the freckles that he disliked so much made him look younger than his twenty-four. But he didn't have a bright mole on his upper lip like me. This pure, unconditional and eternal feeling that lives in my heart and allows it to beat faster at the mention of his name, this strong and unbreakable soul bond, this oasis, this trust in his blue eyes. The care Jensen showed in his every word, action, touch ─ that security I was deprived of in the world around me. His smell was the most beautiful thing in the world, the most intimate; his voice the most melodious; his touch the most loving.
"I thought you wouldn't come at all," he said derisively to the top of my head, squeezing his palms tightly around my shoulders.
"I can't help but be with you in this day," I replied, slowly pulling back and making eye contact with the man.
"But you are late," he raised his eyebrows as if scolding me, but he also quickly broke into a smile, placing his hand on my lower back and pushing me to the table, "Lynette is looking forward to see you," he whispered, bending down to my ear, to which the smile immediately disappeared from my face, and the hand immediately rested on his torso.
I look up at him, "Are you sure? The last time we spoke you mentioned that she's afraid of me," but Jensen quickly walked over to the table, introducing me to the guests. The idea that Jensen kept his wife in the dark about our business on the one hand ensured the safety of not only my secrets, but also the girl herself from detractors who can use as profit, and on the other hand it was the appearance of disrespect ─ it would be better if she knew what she was going for. With an appraising glance, I walked over all those present, noticing the talking sisters of Carbyn, a man unknown to me and people whom I never wanted to see in my life again.
"Inessa," I stretched out my hand in a cold greeting to this woman, whom she also quickly shook and looked away at my brother behind me. Her short, thin build made her look even more pathetic than she really seemed; her face was riddled with wrinkles that not even a beautician could help, her blue eyes and soft smile were the same as Jensen's, and her short blond hair with untrimmed ends was the reason for my dyeing it dark brown ─ I did everything I could not to be like this woman. Contrary to my aspirations and stubbornness, Inessa was subservient to the traditions of conservative families and had insisted on my early marriage, my destiny as a decent mother and housewife, a trophy wife, all through my childhood. With all my heart I hated her and wished her a sincere death, I wished her what I went through, “Mark Lorenzo,” he was her boyfriend. They were lovers during my father's life, officially got together in a few months after his death, he moved to our family mansion and behaves as if he was the owner there. The old Italian man, who was known for marrying rich widows, was a few years younger than Inessa, though he looked worse than my father on his deathbed - the medium-length dark hair with which he covered the baldness at the top of his head, the elongated body hidden by tailored suits, the wrinkled fingers and tired eyes were totally at odds with his lifelong idleness and, even less so, the demands he made on women. I had to keep my work and personal life separate, but I saw this couple as full-fledged enemies, despite the fact that Jensen respected this woman and her man. She was his mother and I couldn’t change it.
"Your sit," brother pointed with his palm on a chair near his one and I sat down raising my head on an unknown man with thick and curly dark hair. The nighttime abyss that surrounded the castle was illuminated by small bulbs around the perimeter, from which emanated a warm and muted light that cast glares across the relaxed man's face. His confident chocolate eyes, full of mystery, struggled invisibly with mine and probably my expression was languid and sleepy, if not deadly, while the stranger radiated silent confidence. His face was symmetrical and well-proportioned — a high forehead, expressive eyebrows, a straight nose, cheekbones and short stubble gave the impression of shrewdness and intelligence.
"Alana Wollstonecraft," I nodded in greeting, without smiling, but with the respect I was accustomed to.
"Dante De Rosso," he responded in the same manner. His voice was deep and confident, combining gruffness and firmness with softness and expressiveness.
"We met a few months ago in my bar," my brother said taking a glass of white wine and smiled a little, "Dante helped me sort out the logistics of beer, now it costs 15% less to ship," Jensen looked at me. The pensive look on my face didn't go unnoticed by my brother, but still, a wedding, as it had been drummed into my head all my childhood, was a family affair, and inviting a stranger was not traditional (though there were no guests at my wedding at all). I felt anger coursing through my veins at the thought of Jensen giving this man access to the financial records of the bar through which I'd laundered money from The Empire Casino. Clutching my fingers tighter around the knobs of the chair, I tried to calm myself, trusting my brother ─ he wouldn't take such a step unnecessarily, he was no longer a child to rely recklessly on a stranger's word; if Dante was immersed in the family business, then Jensen was bound to let me know about it. Thomas pulled back a chair to my right and sat at the table, distracting me from the flow of thoughts ─ I'd talk to my brother later.
Finally, I turned my attention to Lynette, she was sitting to Jensen's left, whispering quietly to her sister. Her big green eyes on her round, doll-like face raised and lowered their gaze timidly to her intertwined fingers in her lap. Her frail shoulders, wrapped in white silk, were stiffened, giving away her discomfort, embarrassment or fear. The dossier Thomas had assembled contained characteristics of Lynette from her classmates, classmates, even teachers ─ according to this information, the girl was often withdrawn and taciturn, while having an excellent academic record (which allowed her to win a tuition grant). As if sensing my gaze on her skin, she glanced quickly in my direction, but, trembling, also turned briskly towards her sister.
I saw how Dante was looking the burn scar on my shoulder from afar, "Car accident," I lied. A crash would have been the best outcome, especially if I hadn't survived it, "Let's drink to the newlyweds," I said loudly, raising my glass full of orange juice up and without waiting, taking a long sip of the drink. I would love to get drunk right now.
The further celebration proceeded quietly, as I expected, because . The music in the background gradually increased its volume, the bride, who continued to be afraid of me and didn't dare to say an extra word in my company, left with her sister to dance, then Inessa and her man left. Their presence increased the atmosphere, because I did not want to spoil, even such, a wedding for my brother because of my aggression and quarrels with this woman, who had long ceased to be dear to me.
I was too busy with thoughts in my head to notice how Dante periodically throws his glance at me. Biting my lip, I glanced out of the corner of my eyes at the man who was drinking whiskey measuredly and watching the party like me. Throwing my hair back, I opened my neck and the protruding collarbone.
"You don't look interested in this wedding," Dante said with his seductive voice. He slightly compressed his lips and turned his amazing eyes to me. I quickly pressed my fingers on the scar on my shoulder to calm down so he wouldn't notice it.
"Same as you," I answered confidently, grinning. He was more relaxed now than he'd been at the beginning. I smiled from the corner of my lips, lowering my gaze to the red on my short nails.
"You aren't like your brother," he said more quietly, looking into my eyes.
"I'm like my father," I replied politely, although I was smiling softly inside. The thought of Jensen has always made me feel warm. In response, he again impudently grinned at my answer, getting up from the table.
"Yes," Dante said, resting his palms on a wood, leaning closer to me and riveting my eyes to him, "I wish you not to die of boredom tonight. Perhaps you should get some drink," He nodded slightly to me, got up from the table with a glass of whiskey in his hands, banging on it with a fork. I took a deep breath. Dante narrowed his eyebrows as everyone gathered around and took their places.
"Today Jensen and Lynette have become a family, sealed the knot," his gaze was directed at my brother, "despite the fact that we have known only a few months, and I only met your rest of the family today, "his gaze slid over my face, and then returned to my brother's wife, who had shy smile on her face, "may this union bring you one happiness and so that you don't know sorrow." At the last words, the man raised his brown eyes to mine, then raised his glass of whiskey and finished the contents in one gulp. We continued to maintain eye contact, when everyone around began to applaud, when the brother began to calm his wife, who was ready to cry at any moment, after which I lowered my eyes, and Dante left.
In hours, sighing heavily, I rolled my eyes out of boredom and got up from the table, heading towards the fountain, which was a few meters from the dance floor. Taking out a cigarette from my clutch, I immediately went in and breathed in the tart smoke, from which my lungs hurt a little from deep breaths, and a mint taste formed in my mouth. The mind became a little stupefied, the movement ceased to be as clear as it was before, it was the usual effect of any nicotine on the nervous system, so I just continued to smoke aside and observe the guests, studying the actions of each.
"Is Thomas already tired?" my brother asked, appearing in front of me with a glass of wine.
"He is full of work," I made another cigarette puff. Thomas will obviously be busy with business, dealing with the consequences of Jensen turning a blind eye to his bar for a long time and trusting the unknown.
"You may not have fully understood this," his courtesy evaporated on the spot. He came closer forcing me to look into his eyes, "but this is my wedding, not another deal of stealing cars."
"You know I am not interested in something that doesn't benefit me," I replied measuredly, feeling family feelings and meeting, after the long-awaited separation, evaporated from thin air. We became work partners again.
"You didn't even give her a chance to show herself," he said calmly, but I detected echoes of concern and injustice in his words.
I exhaled the smoke from a cigarette in his face, showing my dislike for this dialogue, "She's afraid to raise her head and tell me her name, what can we talk about?"
I didn't like people like her. She seemed miserable to me.
"Your own mother is afraid of you, how can you expect confidence from a person who just met you?"
My face was still unshakable; in such situations, it seemed easier to gouge out my eyes with my high heels than to show emotions. Those words would hurt me if I had a mother.
"I don't give up on words I said that evening, " I remembered every insult and threat thrown at this woman.
Conversations about Inessa and his pleas to forgive her never ended well. Like this time, so Jensen decided to change the subject:
"I want you to answer one question as honestly as possible," he said seriously, thrusting his palms into his trouser pockets, "Thomas told me about the Empire."
For Jensen, this night was more than just important, and like his infatuation, he wanted the rest of us to respect his wedding. Even though most of me thought his behavior tended toward childishness and sensitivity, I realized that the crush that had acted like an intoxicating gas had penetrated to his heart, like a puppeteer pulling his strings.
"Did you come to London because of my wedding or because of the casino?" stubbing out my cigarette on the stone fountain, I raised my blue eyes to his face, "Of course, Alana Wollstonecraft doesn't think about anything other than how to steal expensive cars, kill some bad guy and make a lot of money."
"Don't make me angry, Jensen," I warned in a cold tone, so that his face turned neutral in an instant, "You're right, I have a deal here, but this appointment was made before you met your sweetheart. London is still my motherland. I came to this wedding, despite my dislike for Inessa and your fiancée. And remember, I had to take on a lot more work, including money laundering, while you were apparently handling the logistics of the fucking beer."
"Since when you're caring about family?" he exhaled heavily, dropping his head down. Jensen had cut his workload in three, putting all the responsibility on me.
"I don't judge you for the wedding or your feelings for this woman, but remember that you have responsibilities to fulfil. I hope Lynette won't interfere with your work, otherwise you'll have to make a choice," my voice sounded firm, not tolerating objections, my brother just nodded at all I said, looking straight into my eyes. Putting the car keys in his palm, I mentioned that it was my present for his wedding, and returned to the guests, "Happy wedding."

The night was long, but I could not sleep at all. I opened my laptop and tried to work again, answering to all email I got and planning my deals on tomorrow. Jensen was right, I needed to visit an even related to car I was going to steal and, in addition, a meeting with insurance agency about The Empire. After working on the computer for several hours, I noticed that the time was approaching dawn, but I still did not feel like sleeping. The quick knock of the buttons while typing was already beginning to squeeze the head unpleasantly, bringing pain. Deciding to take a break, I quietly opened the door and went downstairs to the kitchen. Finding a coffee machine, I quickly made myself a bitter espresso.
"A long night," a voice I heard a rough voice behind me, which made me turn sharply.
"Thinking about work," I replied, walking closer to the bar, where Thomas was already sitting, arms folded, "want some coffee?" I asked, surprising my interlocutor a little. Perhaps at nights I was less aggressive than during the day.
"No, I've drunken already three cups," Thomas answered modestly, "I'm trying to find who set Empire in fire."
"How is the situation around?" I asked, biting my lip. I had to think about work while Jensen was having fun with his wife in bed.
"Everything is calm. You have nothing to worry about, Alana" my deputy nodded.
Sighing heavily, I studied Thomas's face: his disheveled hair and heavy eyelids, which now and then wanted to close his grey eyes, indicated that the man needed rest, but his hyper-responsibility never allowed him to leave a case unfinished ─ he would not rest until the culprit was found.
"Tomorrow I'll go to the restaurant," I said in a cold tone, wanting to focus the deputy's attention on my words, "I don't like the games like this," without saying the last word, I was interrupted by a sound indicating that the coffee is ready.
"I'll be ready by eight," he replied, nodding. I calculated that I had less than five hours to sleep, but the cup of espresso in my hand meant that I wouldn't fall asleep for the next hour. On the plane I never managed to sleep a wink; before that, in Amalfi, I had slept another two hours a night, drowning out my urges with coffee and cigarettes. Sleep was a luxury I could not afford.
Having poured myself a small cup of a bitter drink, I turned around and headed upstairs, having previously warned Thomas about the necessary rest and a possible change of bodyguards for that night. However, the guy resisted, saying that the responsibility for my life lied only with him. Passing the rooms on the first floor, I noticed one door ajar. Behind it stood a new acquaintance, Dante De Rosso, whose name I remembered distinctly. His torso was naked and at night, in the moonlight, he was talking quietly and engrossedly on the phone, completely oblivious to me. Dante's broad shoulders, powerful arms, pecs, and mountain-like biceps gave the impression of a sturdy man, but as I turned away, I noticed deep scars of various sizes on his back, which made me hold my breath. The skin, studded with long cuts and large burns, gave me genuine consternation and revulsion-the unevenness at his shoulder blades and lower back, the red and purple hues at the massive scars. Frowning, I clutched the cup harder in my hands, turning on my heels and heading back to the kitchen. I was completely uncomfortable with this state of affairs ─ an unknown man with an unknown background and a lot of unusual scars all over his back has been in close contact with my brother for months and has access to his bar's accounting department. The deputy met me in the same place with a surprised expression on his face, apparently intimidated by my brooding.
"Thomas," he was adjusting his weapon on his belt, "I need all information about Dante De Rosso."