The silence in the small waiting room is absolute.Aureliano is backed against the door, his chest heaving, his eyes wide. He looks at me like I have just pulled a live grenade from my pocket and pulled the pin with my teeth.In a way, I have."Show me," he whispers.It is a command, but it lacks the usual steel. It is brittle. He is a man standing on a cracking frozen lake, asking to see the depth of the water below.I reach into the waistband of my jeans. My fingers brush the cold plastic of the burner phone.I pull it out.It is a cheap, disposable thing. A drug dealer’s phone. It looks ridiculous in this sterile, white room, held by a girl covered in dried blood.But it holds the end of his world.I unlock the screen. The light flares, harsh and blue.I navigate to the gallery.I step forward. I hold the phone up to his face."Look," I say.The first image is a blueprint. It is the floor plan of the Villa Igiea—the wedding venue.Red X's mark the exits. Red lines trace the perimet
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