By Monday morning, an ominous, suffocating silence had descended over the limestone canyons of the Upper East Side. The autumn nor'easter had passed, leaving behind a sky the color of dull pewter and a biting Atlantic wind that whistled through the iron balconies along Fifth Avenue. Inside the grand dining room of the Fifth Avenue townhouse, Gianni Falco sat at the head of the long mahogany table, surrounded by empty…
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