I had no clue how to survive on the street or on my own. But Remo knew. He had been born a fighter. It was in his blood, and he’d showed me how to fight, how to survive, how to kill. Remo had let me live in the shabby apartment he shared with his three brothers. He’d put food on our table with money he won in the fighting cages, and I paid him back with loyalty and the fierce determination to become the soldier he needed at his side to help him kill the fuckers laying claim on a territory that was rightfully his.
