#Chapter42
Where did a man's sins end and his son's begin?
The question had haunted his adolescent years. He'd grown up in the kind of place where folk kept long memories, and it had been its own kind of Hell.
It lived in the way they watched him. In the way they watched his brother. The way whispered had a way of following them around like a constant rain cloud hanging above their head. And their mama had tried so hard to keep them on the straight and narrow. And their Vòvò had dedicated her entire life to making sure her precious grandbabies didn't end up like her only child.
He hated to let his old ladies down; he'd let them down.
He was a blunt instrument of destruction. He was made for havoc and ruin and corruption, and he had succumbed to the allure of power and wealth the first time opportunity had come a-knocking.
He was his father's boy through and through.
