The silence in the master bedchamber of Castello di San Corvo following the sniper attack was thick with the scent of burnt cordite, rain-damp limestone, and the electric, suffocating charge of desire. Santino had brought Elena inside with the protective fury of an ancient warlord securing his most precious treasure from the battlefield. He stood by the massive hearth of black Nero Marquina marble, his breath coming in deep, ragged…
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