He killed her father. He made the appointment anyway.
Junie Marchetti runs the tattoo shop her father left her, along with his hand tools and a debt to the Marchetti Bratva that she pays in instalments she can't afford.
Salvatore Marchetti is sixty-two, capo of the family, and the man who put her father in the ground. He walks in on a Tuesday with his sleeve rolled up and a fifteen-year-old scar on his forearm that was, he tells her, her father's handiwork.
Eight sessions. Eight hours of skin contact. The debt gets smaller every time.
Somewhere in the third session she stops pretending she's only doing this for the money. Somewhere in the sixth he stops pretending the scar is the reason.
Then a rival crew tries to burn the shop down and Salvatore puts the deed in her name alone.
He never asked for forgiveness. He asked for ink.
