The Golden Maze
Could a building hold a debt? Concetta Rinaldi stood before the facade of the Palazzo Aureo, her hand pressed against the limestone where the mortar had crumbled to dust. She was fifty-two, her knees stiff with the damp that seeped from the Tuscan hills, and the air smelled of thawing earth and the sharp, metallic bite of diesel from the distant mine. The structure hummed. It was a low...
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