There was something in the way he spoke. Soft, humble, but impressionable. Never did Angelo Parisi raise his voice. Never did he shout, nor laugh. It was as if those were irrelevant to his goals. Yet every word that left his lips sent shivers to the person on the receiving end of his conversations. His deep voice commanded his men and bargained for the best. There was nothing that couldn’t be done when he was the one talking.

That day, boring as it may have been, was like no other. Angelo went about his everyday meetings and chores. Nothing out of ordinary, unless you’d count the fact that he felt eyes on him, even when he was alone. Everywhere he went, Angelo felt a pair of eyes burning into the back of his head, but no matter where he searched, there was no trace of hidden cameras or wires. Which could only mean one thing.

Someone was following him.

If Angelo was stupid, he would’ve gone straight home, leading the potential stalker to his home. But he was anything but foolish. Instead, he stepped into the local cemetery, where his countless failures resided, trapped six feet under. He stood before the gravestone of the old leader, his father. Flowers rested atop the smooth marble, probably from his mistresses and wives that were years younger than him.

Finally, Angelo spoke up, voice calm and leveled. “Come out.”