She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Death belongs to God, young man. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. Pretend to weep both of you as loudly as you can. I would be the kidnapper, of course, but we would forge ransom notes and exchange monies so that it appeared you were taken by brigands or plotters against the Iovelli family.
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