One of the rooms grabs my attention, though. It’s a study of sorts, but the desk is completely bare. I check to be sure I’m alone and then walk in for a proper look around.
My eyes are drawn to a large photograph hanging on the wall. It’s black and white, professionally taken, with the grain and blur and angle of a film photographer who loves their craft.
The man in the picture has been shot from a bit of a distance. He’s wearing a black sweater and a silver Rolex, looking off to the side and smiling at something I can’t see. Handsome, certainly. And not just that, but handsome in a way I could swear I recognize.
But not exactly like him. The man in the frame is skinnier—not scrawny, but not built the way Leo is—and his features run a little longer, a little more somber and sad. His eye
