Vincent sits quietly, and I take a second to appreciate the lack of expectation or pity on his face. But then, emotion isn’t high on my best friend’s list of distinguishing traits. He grew up similarly to me. Only where my father was the boss, his was an enforcer. A ruthless soldier who had more kills at the touch of his hands before his demise than any other. He created both his sons in his image—men thirsty for the need to kill, seek revenge, and avenge any wrongdoing against the family. He succeeded with Vincent, but the jury is still out on his weasel of a younger brother