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71 "Facing the Truth"

Andrew DeLuca

Emma was unconscious; I carried her in my arms and descended the stairs quickly. There was no time to wait for the elevator, and it was my fault she had passed out. Guilt was a feeling I despised.

When I reached the first floor, the nosy receptionist approached us, asking what had happened. I simply stared at her and walked away. The driver was already waiting in the car; I placed Emma in the back seat, and we rushed to the hospital. I had various important contacts, including trusted doctors who received money to take care of the health of my "associates" and me without asking questions.

But this time, I would go to the best, the best obstetrician in New York, Dr. Ravier. He was Italian and a close friend of the family. He would care for Emma, and I didn't care how much it would cost. Money was not the issue; I just wanted her to be okay.

"Drive, move quickly," I told the driver.

"Don't ask me to be calm; she's unconscious, and worse, it's my fault."

Lorenzo, my consig
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