Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“You’re better than me.” Rocco grinned. “I told my three girlfriends to keep their legs closed and their minds on me until I got out.”
I quirked my brows. “Three?”
“One could never please me, but they don’t know about each other.” Rocco shrugged. “Anyway, still go enjoy yourself for a few days, then Dad will want the Crimson Mob taken out as soon as you’ve gotten comfortable.”
“There won’t be any need for me to get comfortable—”
“Okay. However, there’s no need to shed blood during Christmas Eve or even Christmas.” Rocco traced the holy cross in front of him. “It’s the Holy Father’s birthday and all. Spend the holidays with family.”
“I never knew my father, and my mom died a long time ago, well before I came to this prison.”
Rocco widened his eyes.
“My only focus will be revenge. Tell your dad that he’ll get all of Crimson Mob’s heads on Christmas morning wrapped in bows and resting on his doorstep.”
“Hey, man. Just bury them. No need for the delivery of heads.” Rocco laughed. “And I get your energy, but with revenge you must be careful. Don’t let it consume you.”
“Consume me?” I unfisted my hands. “Revenge is the only reason why I’m alive right now. This is my chance to right the wrongs, to make them pay for what they did.”
He shook his head. “I’ve seen it, Dante. Men walking on the path of revenge, forgetting themselves. They become monsters, lose everything they ever loved.”
I frowned. “I lost everything the day Francesca betrayed me. I have nothing else to lose. Revenge is not a fucking path. It’s my destiny.”
With that, I turned back to my pipe with my mind focused.
Next week. It all begins.
“Thanks, Rocco.” I jumped up and gripped the cold metal, feeling its unyielding strength under my hands.
91.
Rocco walked to the side of the cell and watched me.
92.
The pain was there, a dull ache that spread through my arms and shoulders.
But it was a good pain, a righteous pain.
93.
One of the guards approached my cell and tapped the door. “Dante.”
Rocco grinned. “There we go. That should be the lawyer.”
“Eh!” The guard yelled out, “You’ve got a visitor.”
I did one last pull up.
94.
I dropped from the bar and readied myself to carry out the rest of my plan.
Chapter 3
Freedom
In the dimly lit visitor’s room, the Viper’s new attorney—his gaze as cold and calculating as the legal strategies he unfurled—presented me with an array of legal arguments that I had never encountered—Ineffective Assistance of Counsel, Prosecutorial Misconduct, Judicial Misconduct, and Improper Jury Instructions.
The next day, my attorney notified me that new evidence had emerged. It placed me in a church confessional on the night of those murders. An honorable priest vouched for my presence for a full three hours. Apparently, I had spent all of that time confessing my sins.
Forget about the fact it was on the record that the police arrived to me standing next to dead bodies.
With the Viper Mob’s deep-rooted political connections, such inconvenient truths were easily brushed aside.
Therefore, on the frosty morning before Christmas Eve, as the first light of dawn cut through the icy fog, the prison gates creaked open, and. . .
I stepped out into the world, a free man.
The cold air bit into my face, the first reminder that the world outside these walls was just as harsh and unforgiving as prison.
My hair, grown longer during my incarceration, was now slicked back into a neat ponytail.
Draped over my body was a new suit—a parting gift from the Whisper. And, this was no ordinary suit; it was a designer masterpiece, tailored to accentuate the transformation my body had undergone.
The fabric, black as the darkest night, was soft under my fingertips.
Tucked under my arm, I carried a large envelope that held the relics of a life lost—photographs of Zuri, her smiles frozen in time, and the stack of her letters, their seals unbroken.
I approached the prison’s exit and scanned the space, reacquainting myself with a world I hadn’t seen in years.
To my shock, my heart pounded with uncertainty.
How much has everything changed? Will the plan still work in this new world?
A heavy fog blanketed the parking lot.
It must.
There, by the curb, sat a car. Its engine purred quietly while the headlights cut through the fog, casting long, ghostly beams in front of the vehicle.
Is this the ride Rocco arranged?
I continued forward and studied the car.
And amidst the monochrome dreariness, something absurdly out of place caught my eye.
What the fuck?
At the back of the car, a comical Christmas decoration clung to the edge of the trunk. It was Santa Claus, but not as one would expect in the cheerful window displays or on festive greeting cards.
This Santa was half out of the trunk, his plump, red-suited figure dangling precariously, as if trying to escape from a bizarre kidnapping. His jolly, bearded face twisted in shock.