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Courting trouble (1)

My father probably had enough enemies to fill a city the size of Silverwood. Anyone could have done this to him but I had a strong feeling it was related to a mafia family. He had poked more than enough trouble with those. Besides, the gruesome torture wasn’t about killing him. If they wanted him dead, we would be hearing from a mortician instead of a hospital—if he didn’t mysteriously disappear, that is.

His condition was worse than Giancarlo described it. We quickly realized the culprit had specifically taken away all his means of communication. He couldn’t talk and neither could he write down whatever he wanted to say. They had broken the fingers of his right hand beyond restoration.

“Why does this MO feel so familiar?” I glanced over at Giancarlo, who was leaning against the ward’s door with his arms folded over his chest.

“A hundred bucks say it’s the Angel of Death.”

That wasn’t quite right. The Angel of Death would leave a message inscribed on his body and kill him. “He pro
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