I Won't Let You Go, Even In Death

When I was eighteen, Niccolo stormed into my house and stabbed my father eighteen times.

As the police dragged him away, he looked straight into the cameras and smiled.

"Why should I regret it? From now on, no beast will ever hide behind the name of family to hurt her. From this day forward, Maureen is free."

Years later, when he got out of prison, I had nothing—no money in my pockets, no job offers.

He stubbed out his cigarette, threw himself into the ruthless circles of the capital, and clawed his way up until everyone called him President Morales.