GABRIELE’S POVThree months, two weeks, and five days since Elena died.I'd stopped counting the hours. Time flew without me noticing.My study had become a tomb. Empty whiskey bottles lined the shelf, files on the Russians covered every surface, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept in our—my—bedroom. The sheets still smelled like her perfume. I couldn't face that yet.The Russians had been making moves, testing boundaries. If they had any hand in Elena's death, they wouldn't get the chance to take anyone else from me.A knock interrupted my thoughts—sharp, authoritative. Giovanni.Giovanni walked in, his calm yet menacing presence trailing behind him. He was the best man for the consigliere role.“Buongiorno, Don Gabriele.”I waved a hand lazily, gesturing for him to sit. I went to the small dark table close to the wall and poured some whiskey. The sharp burn came immediately, followed by a warm spread that settled in my chest. And then, the bitter taste slapped hard like
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