Dead Men Don't Owe Debts
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I survived 100 underground death matches just to keep my brother alive.
My reward? A rusted coffee can holding his ashes.
When I knelt in the pouring rain, desperately scraping his ash out of the black mud, Cassian—the mafia boss I'd bled for ten years—kicked the can away.
He pulled a gun and pressed it to my head. All because his innocent fiancée felt "scared" by my look.
"Apologize to her," he...
My reward? A rusted coffee can holding his ashes.
When I knelt in the pouring rain, desperately scraping his ash out of the black mud, Cassian—the mafia boss I'd bled for ten years—kicked the can away.
He pulled a gun and pressed it to my head. All because his innocent fiancée felt "scared" by my look.
"Apologize to her," he...




















