ELENA I toss and turn on the bed, unable to shake the weight of the Mafia elders’ threat. Their last words before I walked out of the room echo in my mind, cold and threatening."Then you force our hand."Only a fool would take such words lightly—and I’m no fool. But now, I’m at a crossroads."Lorenzo, I need your help. I know you can hear me," I whisper, my eyes fixed on a framed picture hanging on the wall—a snapshot from our trip to Paris, celebrating our second anniversary.I rise from the bed and take the frame down, settling back as I run my fingers along the sharp lines of his face. His dark, slicked hair contrasts with the soft twilight glow of the Eiffel Tower behind us."If you can hear me… please, show me what to do," I breathe, my voice breaking as tears slip down my cheeks, landing on the glass. My sobs fill the quiet room, mingling with the hollow ache of his absence.When it feels like there are no tears left, I drag myself back to the bed. Exhaustion settles over me a
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