"Chiara, I'm back." Dante Costello pushed the door open, bringing in the sharp chill of snow and wind. He pulled me into his arms.The familiar scent of cedar wrapped around me in an instant, but I went rigid like stone in his embrace.Something was wrong. The smell was wrong. Beneath the cool cedar, there was another faint but unmistakable scent of gunpowder and blood.I shoved him away and lifted my head, staring hard at his face. His face was still the impossibly handsome one I knew—he had a high, straight nose, thin lips, and focused and tender eyes that glinted behind gold-rimmed glasses. He looked every bit the refined scholar, not the Underboss in his mafia family."What's wrong, Chiara?" Dante reached out to touch my face, but I turned my head to dodge him.His hand froze in midair. I got a good look at his long, clean, well-shaped fingers. But on the back of his right hand, near the thumb, there was a fresh, thin wound that had just begun to scab over.My blood turned to
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