The private master suite of the Bellini brownstone was warm and tranquil once more. Downstairs, Lorenzo Russo’s cleanup crews were already boarding up the shattered conservatory windows and removing the mercenary vehicles from the driveway under the discreet supervision of sympathetic precinct captains. Elena sat on the edge of the large clawfoot soaking tub in the adjoining marble bathroom, wearing a soft white linen robe. On her left upper arm,…
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