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Life went on when we returned to New York.
Dante was still the formidable Godfather, and I was still the occasionally troublemaking Mrs. Costello. The estate was now filled with the sound of my piano, the kitchen with my failed baking experiments, and our bed with the messy aftermath of our lovemaking.
The Volkov family was completely wiped out a month later. Dante didn't go himself. He sat in his study, listening to the reports over a radio, his fingers tapping on the desk. When it was over, he came to the bedroom and just held me all night, saying nothing.
I knew some darkness could never be washed away.
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