“You’ll regret pulling a gun on me, friend.” The level tone of my voice is practiced. Honed. Intentional. “Au contraire, Cous’. You da one who should feel regret right now.” The air inside of me deflates. Whatever defenses I put up a second ago crumble around me like a Roman monument. Cold shock spirals through me, and I shake my head, not believing it. The gun-toting man in front of me lifts his mask to reveal my cousin. Luc.
