I went to the gym every day, making the rest of my body as strong as possible. Packing 30 lbs of muscle onto a formerly lean frame.

But it was all for nothing. I got rid of the limp, but the speed never came back. During the time I should have been getting faster and more accurate, I couldn’t even get back to where I used to be. I was swimming against the current, while slowly drifting downstream.

And now I live in this strange alternate reality where the Griffins are our closest allies. My sister Aida is married to the man who ordered his bodyguard to smash my knee.

The funny thing is, I don’t hate Callum. He’s been good to my sister. They’re wildly in love, and they have a little boy together. The Griffins have upheld their end of the marriage pact. They’ve been loyal allies.

But I’m still so fucking angry.

It’s this churning, boiling fury inside of me, every single day.

I’ve always known what my family did for a living. It’s as much a part of the Gallos as our blood and our bones. We’re mafiosos.

I never questioned it.

But I thought I had a choice.

I thought I could skirt around the edges of the business, while still unfettered, able to pursue anything else I wanted in life.

I didn’t realize how much that life had already wrapped its chains around me. There was never any choice. I was bound to be pulled into it one way or another.

Sure enough, after my knee was fucked and I lost my place on the team, my brothers started calling me more and more often for jobs.

When Nessa Griffin was kidnapped, we joined the Griffins in their vendetta against the Polish mafia. That night I shot a man in the head for the very first time.

I don’t know how to describe that moment. I had a gun in my hand, but I didn’t expect to actually use it. I thought I was there for backup. As a lookout at most. Then I saw one of the Polish soldiers pull his gun on my brother, and instinct took over. My hand floated up, the gun pointed right between the man’s eyes. I pulled the trigger without a thought.

He went tumbling backward, and I expected to feel something: shock, horror, guilt.

Instead I felt...absolutely nothing. It seemed inevitable. Like I’d always been destined to kill someone. Like it had always been in my nature.

That’s when I realized that I’m not actually a good person.

I always assumed that I was. I think everyone does.

I thought, I’m warmer than my brother Dante. Less psychopathic than Nero. More responsible than Aida. I considered myself kind, hardworking, a good man.

In that moment I realized I have violence inside of me. And selfishness, too. I wasn’t going to sacrifice my brother for somebody else. And I certainly wouldn’t sacrifice myself. I was willing to hurt or to kill. Or a whole lot worse.