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“What?”
His eyes sweep the room behind me, wary and wild. When he speaks again, it’s only a fraction louder.
“I said, have you been in a mental institution for the last three years?”
I blink. “Er, no? Why?”
He glances in the direction my mark went. “Because only a crazy person would have the nerve to pull a con on Raphael Visconti.”
Visconti.
RaphaelVisconti.
Well, shit.
