Six months after a bullet left me paralyzed, my fiancée secretly ordered the staff to stop my afternoon therapy because she believed helping me was pointless, but the exhausted aide earning twenty-five dollars an hour refused to treat me like a lost cause. I had spent my life surrounded by men terrified of my name, yet it took one brutally honest woman washing my back to make me realize the person wearing my engagement ring had already abandoned me.
My name is Vincent Corvino.
Before the shooting, people stood when I entered a room.
Not because I asked them to.
Because somewhere along the way, my name had become the kind of thing that arrived before I did.
Corvino Maritime controlled shipping routes along half the eastern seaboard. Corvino Construction poured foundations beneath towers whose penthouses sold for more than most families earned in a lifetime. Harbor contracts. Warehouses. Freight terminals. Hotels. Land.
