Chapter 25 RUNNING THROUGH THE KITCHENS

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound was dull, rhythmic, and muffled, exactly as if someone were punching heavy sandbags on the ground floor of the hotel. But my brain, after a few days of mingling with organized crime, already knew how to differentiate a hammer from a silenced firearm.

Lorenzo didn'...

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