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Summary
There have always been whispers behind his back. Oddly comforting in their persistence over the years—a grudging concession of respect.
"Rob Lucci, that's him. The monster."
A ripple of fear wherever he sets foot.
"A heartless beast."Wrath curls inside him like the dark swirls of his awakened zoan. It pulls at his mind and at his skin until he makes space for it, bares his teeth, and growls. The violence in him is buried only skin-deep, and when it erupts, it is black and vicious.
