An image of me wrapping my hands around his throat flashes before my eyes. I’m not a violent person, but something about Rafael always brings out the worst in me. His eyes narrow. “Are you picturing my murder again?” “In graphic detail.” “Poison?” “Asphyxiation.” His eyes have a rare glimmer to them. “Switching it up?” “Nico suggested it.” “My son is giving murder advice now?” “Are you seriously surprised? His favorite comic book is about a villain.”
