Jimmy Castellanos arrived at 6:00 a.m. sharp.
His white pickup rumbled into Marcus’s driveway like it owned the morning, engine low and steady. At fifty-eight, Jimmy was built like a fire hydrant—short, thick, immovable. The kind of man who didn’t waste words and didn’t bluff.
He’d been Marcus’s mentor back when Marcus was a young foreman trying to prove he …
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