*****

The scent of stale tobacco and expensive liquor clung to the walls of the study, a heavy perfume that did little to mask the underlying stench of old blood and older rivalries. Kael sat at the far end of the long glass table, his expression a mask of bored indifference. Beneath the surface, however, every nerve was on high alert. His right hand rested near the waistband of his trousers, the familiar weight of his revolver providing a cold comfort.

Across the table sat Vittorio De Luca. ...