Cole was in the mafia. The motherfucking mafia.
The sun had begun to creep in. It was probably around seven in the morning, and I lay there, wide awake, as he slept next to me. The sheet trailed down, resting a little higher than his waist, giving me a good eyeful.
I knew his chest and back were contoured with muscles, but I didn’t know about the scars. I saw them clearly now, scattered all over him. There were two holes in his chest: one by his shoulder and another lower on his side. I leaned over and touched the latter. It was bigger than the other and had been stitched up, leaving a little ridge where the stitches healed.
This man—I studied his face again. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed, and he looked peaceful. I realized how little I knew about this man. He was the head of h
