The blood-stained sheet spanned between the two as they turned to the crowd. I glanced at the Falcones. Nevio stood slowly, pulled his knife while Massimo poured liquid from a flask on a cloth napkin, which Nevio pierced with the blade, and Alessio lit it up with a lighter. Greta followed my gaze and so did a few others, like my dad, Matteo and Remo. Nobody did anything. Nevio hurtled the knife with practiced precision through the room so it cut through the sheet and let it burst into flames.
literally cannot wait for nevs book
