hair combed back, and sharp, piercing black eyes. This man is gaunt. His tailored suit nearly hangs off his frame. And his eyes have dulled and appear almost lifeless. “Hello, Father.” “Emilio.” This is not the larger-than-life king from my childhood. The one who rules an entire syndicate. I stand, awkwardly, unsure how to greet this new man. We’ve never been close, but seeing him as he’s become, a handshake seems impersonal, a hug too intimate. As with my decision at the front door, the choice is taken from me. My father strides forward, closing the distance between us, and envelops me in his
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