CHAPTER 38

Antonio Dante's pov,

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO,

I had been in the cell of a room. I watched the distant sunlight peek through my window indicating the presence of a window. At least my father was decent enough to put a window in my room even though it was barely a window. It stood scrunched up from the side with its sill a rusted mixture of red and yellow, hints of black and brown hoarded hinting its once bright color. There was a rubber attached to it that blew with the breeze of the daylight. And through the light that glistened through the tattered windows, I saw shattered pieces of glasses. My head raised a little just to peek. I didn't dare get up from where I stood. I had been in the same position all night afraid I would nudge a supposed dead body. Speaking of a dead body, I searched the vast room with my eyes. The light from the sun was doing nothing to aid me. It shone on one place only leaving the rest for the imagination. The space on my right ahead of me was totally pitch black. T