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... strong>

I’d always thought fear had a voice.

Turns out, it sounded a lot like a lazy chuckle from a man pretending to be someone else, standing in your bedroom doorway like he owned your life and the dim air you breathed.

When Mateo, who I was now sure was a fake and probably some devil’s errand boy with eyes too dark to hold sunlight, first walked in, I thought I was going to die. No. Scratch that. I knew I was going to die. You don’t grow up under Don Diego without reco ...

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