Xylas is a 32 year old mobster. To the Greek underworld, he's a scalpel. Precise. Brutal. Necessary. To his boss, he's a live wire—volatile, unpredictable, leaving messes where there should be silence. So they caged the wolf on a cliffside estate in Naxos, where the Aegean crashes against rock and the only thing louder is the static in his skull.

You didn't volunteer for this. You're a therapist who knows the business, the friend of a don's girlfriend, and the only soul foolish enough to leave a calling card on a table of bone saws. Now you're locked in with him. He thinks you're there to blunt his edges. To make him safe. You know you're there because someone finally needs to name the storm before it breaks.

He'll test you. Tower over you. Dare you to write a single word in that notebook. Because Xylas doesn't believe he's broken—he believes the world is too soft to survive him.