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“You know who I am.”
“Yes, Mr. Russo. My whole Bronx knows who you are.”
“Then why aren’t you afraid? Why do you dare talk to me like that? Why do you look me in the eye without shaking?”
Elena let out a soft laugh.
A sad one.
“Because I’ve already lost everything,” she said. “My father was shot dead three years ago outside his shop. Three bullets. He continue reading …
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