“You’re not a made man, anymore. Remember?” I spit. “You’re just dressed like one.” His gaze blisters my back as I walk up the stairs and slip into the bedroom. Plunged into darkness, I press my back against the cold door and breathe. He let me go. Of course he did. He’s no better than them—he told me that himself at his parents’ memorial service. I’m as disposable to him as I am to his uncle.
