Dom needed to leave me alone with all his concern and wise words. “You’re not my consigliere. You’re the son of—” His face morphed from weariness to pure anger. “Don’t fucking say it, Montanari.” He pointed an accusing finger at me. “I get it, you’re hurt, you hate yourself, but don’t make me hate you too, and if you say it—there won’t be any turning back.”
