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The study was in the east wing, behind a heavy, closed walnut door. Dante was out for the day, dealing with business at the docks.
Maria opened the door with a spare key. I stepped inside.
The room was massive. Three walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The fourth was a wall of glass overlooking the estate gardens.
A huge oak desk sat immaculately clean, holding a laptop, a few files, a crystal ashtray, and—my heart clenched—a picture frame.
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