280 Days With The Mafia King
I made a silent vow then, looking at the crucifix above the altar, that I would build a wall of secrets so high that the world could never touch them.
“The sequence is the first five bars of your Requiem,” I whispered into her hair. “Followed by the G-Minor chord you played when I first told you I loved you.”
“I can't believe you still remember that,” she chuckled, leaning her head on my shoulder. “It's a beautiful secret, though. Tragic, sure. But still beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” I teased.
“Shut up,” she hit me, both of us laughing. We knelt there in silence for about five minutes. Then—
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