Half-step Purgatory

Durin stroked the black cat on the armrest of his chair, sitting on the black leather sofa. Through the glasses perched on his nose, his gaze passed over the long table in front of him and settled on the man kneeling on the carpet:
"I understand, you've made money in Naples, your business has been very successful, and you've led a happy life. You've had those secret police, friends in both the law and the underground, and even the Royal Family speaking on your behalf."
"You don't need a friend like me, I know that. You're afraid of owing me a favor, and you don't want to get involved in troubles."
"But now you come to me and say, 'I beg you, Mr. Durin of the Corleon family, please help me seek justice, so that my life and my family will not suffer and sink into despair.'
Yet, in your eyes, I was nothing more than a second-rate artist involved in movies and music. Even at the brink of death, you still show me such disrespect, not even willing to call me by my title... Keeper of Secrets."

Durin's Diary

Joseph sat at the corner of the street. As spring arrived in Nice, being a southern port of Sidney, it carried the warmth of the season.


However, as evening descended, the warmth from the sun gradually retreated.


The death of the Crown Prince was sensational, but the clues were meticulously erased. Nobody could find that several young men had once entered through the sewer exit next to the Bell Tower. They walked three kilometers and eventually left through a seaside exit.


At this moment, Miss Vladimir came over in a wheelchair, holding a bunch of fresh flowers in her lap.


She was the backbone for the military orphans of Nice. Everyone had their conflicts, some thought others too conservative, others too radical, but everyone agreed that there would be fewer conflicts if Miss Vladimir were in charge.


"You're still the same, liking to sit here," she observed Joseph, smiling freely and easily.


Chapter 136: The Dimming Sun