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three more photographs beside the Polaroid.
Vivian with Roberto Russo in Boston.
Vivian with Frank Marino on a yacht.
Vivian with Antonio Greco at a gala.
All dead.
All followed by widows.
The silence did the work.
Finally, Vivian’s mask softened into something almost amused.
“You think you’re so different from them, Lorenzo?” she asked. “You’re not. Every continue reading …
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