The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-25 17:53:05 -

The Pale Bridge

Chapter One Salvatore Lombardi wiped the grime from the rosary with a rag that smelled of turpentine and wet wool. The beads were worn smooth by decades of anxious prayer, a relic from the closed parish on the lagoon’s edge, and they sat heavy in his palm like stones from a dried-up river. He was thirty years old, an archivist in the lower halls of the Doge’s Palace, a job that paid enough to...

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