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"Pelletier must have...told me...or...perhaps I glanced at a page, but that was all."
"I see," the man said, lips pulling back to reveal tobacco- stained teeth. He slipped the card into his pocket. "And you will not speak of my visit, not to this Guggliermo, not to anyone."
"No, signore. No. Not even to Pelletier. I would never say a word."
"Of course not," the man said.
Bianchi was still trying to recover his breath and balance when the man thrust a fist into his chest. Bianchi stumbled back, arms flailing, knocking over another stack of books before he fell.
The man lifted him up, hands around his neck, tightening and squeezing.
Bianchi tried to speak, to plead, but managed only a few strangled squawks, the room going in and out of focus.
"No. Not a word," the man said as he felt the bookseller's larynx snap.
Excerpted from The Last Mona Lisa by Jonathan Santlofer. Copyright © 2021 by Jonathan Santlofer. Excerpted by permission of Sourcebooks Landmark. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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