I stood outside the glass. Inside, Damiano was on his knees, staring at me with feverish devotion. Slowly, I raised my hand and let my fingertips hover level with his eyes.For him, this was the first response I had given him in over six months, a mercy granted from above. Like a fanatic at prayer, he pressed himself to the glass, kissing the spot where my fingers rested, over and over.The sight of it made my stomach churn."Damiano," I called out, fighting the nausea. "Do you want me to open the door? Or to stop thinking you're filthy?"He nodded frantically."Then, go clean house," I said, pointing at the phone outside the isolation window. "Who was it that said the family rules mattered more than my life?"Damiano froze. Memory snapped back into place, and the indifferent faces of his uncles flashed through his mind—men who had watched him grow up, blood relatives.His hesitation lasted only a second before he grabbed the phone and dialed. "Send Marco, Luca, and Uncle Antoni
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