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that smelled like rust and old violence.
I was not there, but Sandro told me everything.
Lorenzo Marchetti arrived sleek, handsome, cold, with men of his own. He smiled when he saw Sandro.
“Vitale. You look well for a dead man.”
“Thanks to good rescue and better luck,” Sandro said. “Talk.”
Lorenzo wanted him to suffer the way his family had suffered.
Then continue reading …
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