Sins of the Father

Carmela

The cold is seeping through the soles of my boots, numbing my toes at first, and then traveling up my legs with icy fingers intent on reaching my warmth. The walls are made of stone, with no furnishings or decorations, and the sort of smell that tends toward mold and desperation, the sort of cell meant to remind one just how small they are, and unnecessary. The only source of light is a di