The Faded Road
Who was Enzo Rinaldi, really, beneath the leather and the steel? The question hung in the air of the harvest hall, heavy with roasted pork and stale beer, while the elders clapped their rough hands over the table. Enzo sat at the head of the bench, his forty years of service etched into the creases of his face, feeling the cold weight of the magistrate’s gaze like a stone in his stomach. The...
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