Lysandra:
The fire crackled low in the corner of the room, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. I sat in the armchair furthest from it, arms folded over my chest, trying to contain the storm that had been brewing inside me for weeks now.
A storm that refused to be tamed, no matter how hard I tried to tame it, no matter how hard I tried to control it, no matter how hard I did my best to stand calm, to stand tall, and to stand away from all the trouble that was brewing around me.
And he was sitting there.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Smug.
As always.
Giovanni.
Father.
He sipped on his whiskey slowly, like we had all the time in the world, like the plan hadn’t failed miserably, like he didn’t just get shot on pack land for the sake of a stunt he pulled without thinking of the con
