Don Vittorio Valenti was a man who carried the heavy, menacing bulk of an old-school mobster, wrapped in an eight-thousand-dollar Brioni tuxedo that failed to disguise the brutal street fighter beneath. His silver hair was slicked back, his small, piggish eyes darting between Luca's impassive face and the dazzling emerald necklace resting on Sofia's collarbone. 'Luca, my boy,' Valenti rumbled, his voice thick with false warmth and the gravelly rasp…
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