etta
gged me into the main l
d against his chest, her posture a study in delicate sorrow. Her eyes were red. She was cr
er voice a fragile whisper that threatened to break with a guilt she did not feel. She whispered that Bianca
distant safehouse across the frost-covered grounds. He was waiting for my mother to storm in a
. The muscles in his neck strained against the starched linen of his collar
to the safehouse. He wanted to freeze my mot
umb as I opened my wooden drawer and dug out my mother's copy of the mafia marriage certificate. I tore the he
Gabriel could not erase her. He could rage and scream and tear the house apart, but he could not
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