Chapter 13
If there hadn’t been pictures of the man hanging on the wall, shaking Italy's ex-Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi's hand, or sitting behind his desk, posing with a manila file in his grasp, I would have had absolutely no idea what he had looked like.
His face lay in a pool of blood, the largest concentrations in the middle and to the sides, where a good amount had crusted over skin and hair, leaving a gory mess. A piece of balled-up cloth was stuffed in his mouth, and his expression, his eyes open in horror, screaming in agony as life drained from him … slowly. Excruciatingly.
Here was a sight I’d find hard to forget. Impossible to forget.
After averting my gaze for a moment and bracing myself, I swallowed hard and squinted, second-guessing what I was seeing. I pushed past m
