I sat alone behind the mahogany desk in my fathers’ old office. I suppose it’s my office now. Rubbing my temples to ward off yet another piercing migraine, I lifted my gaze from the mountains of paperwork to peruse my new workspace. Whoever said running the mafia was all fun and murder did not know what they were talking about.
Leaning back into my plush leather chair, I ran my gaze along the floor to ceiling bookcases filled with precious and one of a kind texts. The side of my m...