“Let him die. the line is weak. don’t stain my italian driveway,” my father said coldly while his 6-year-old grandson bled on the ground after a vip’s ferrari struck him. he shoved my phone aside to stop me calling 911 because sirens would ruin the party. he assumed i was a poor nobody driving an old honda, never knowing the mansion he lived in belonged to me…
My father’s voice didn’t shake when he said it. “Let him perish. The stock is weak. Don’t stain my Italian…