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... irens cutting through Manhattan’s restless night. Anatoly stood frozen, his heart pounding as he glanced at the thug beside him, clutching a bleeding ear and howling in pain. Blood trickled between the man’s fingers, staining his black mask a gruesome red. Anatoly’s breath hitched, his chest tight with the realization that if Vladimir hadn’t yanked him back from the railing, that bullet would’ve torn through his skull instead.
He clapped a shaky hand against his chest, his voice tremblin ...
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