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91: On Silver Platter

I heard her soft gasp, and as she turned to face me, her expression contorted with pain. "What?" she whispered, her voice filled with concern.

I clenched my fist, desperately trying to control my anger. "My brother, Stefan. He's in a coma, and the doctors don't think he'll make it. He wasn't involved in our family's business, he was innocent. He took the bullet meant for me. It should have been me lying in that hospital bed, not him. He was the only good part of our family, and now he's fighting for his life."

Her hand reached out, her fingers gently touching my face. "You never told me about your brother," she said softly.

"Yeah, well, he's been away for a while, working with the Peace Corps. He's a good man, an honest man. And now he's clinging to life because of that damn bastard."

"I'm so sorry, Rafael. So sorry. But you are a good man. You have to start believing it," she said, her voice filled with compassion.

But believing in my own goodness seemed impossible. I leaned into
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