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"Well," Valentina says. "Since you're awake…" She motions to the nearby dining table and we all sit. "We know who shot you."

My stomach tightens ever so slightly. "Who?"

"The bullet we pulled from your leg had engravings on it from guns that are only used by the Italian Visconti family. They're an older family, mostly in Italy, but they have a small faction over here in the States."

"I know them," I say with a nod.

"You do?" Bradley locks eyes with me.

"Well, know of them. I'm pretty sure they had dealings with my family in the past. But that was a long time ago. They were into drugs, right? Not guns."

"Exactly," Valentina murmurs and she sips her coffee. "So this switch to guns is… interesting."

"Or suspicious," I add.

"If they're changing their trade, that's their business," Bradley murmurs. "But it's my business when they shoot one of mine." He gulps down his coffee quickly. "So, we're going to pay them a visit and find out what the hell is going on."

6

CASSIAN

"Are you sure you got the all clear?" Bradley side-eyes me as I ease out of the car with a long, low groan.

"Don't trust me?" I ask with a smirk.

"I trust you. Doesn't stop me worrying about you, though."

"Careful. Admitting that out loud might have serious consequences."

"Like?" Bradley glances back at the car and nods to his driver, Frank, then he falls into step beside me.

"An extra personal birthday gift."

"Hmm."

"In all seriousness, yes, I got the all clear yesterday. Doc just warned me not to engage in any strenuous activity and not to sprint anywhere for at least a week."

Bradley scoffs. "I bet that sucked. I don't recall a single day when you haven't spent at least an hour in the gym."

"I can focus on my upper body if I need to. But if it comes down to it and this goes badly?" I tilt my head toward the Visconti Manor as we approach the door. "You might need to carry me."

An amused grunt slips past Bradley's lips and then his face becomes utterly stoic as we reach the door and two armed guards make a show of placing their hands on their guns.

"Sorry," one says flatly. "House is empty."

Bradley merely reaches into his coat shirt pocket and pulls out his Suit card, then he flashes it at the man who spoke. "Are you sure about that?"

The guard pales slightly and his throat bobs as he swallows, then he lifts his hand to his ear. "Boss? Sorry to disturb you, but there are members of the Suit here." He pauses and glances at me, so I dig into my jeans pocket and show him my own card. "The King and the Jack." Another pause and then he nods quickly. "Yes, sir."

I glance at Bradley. He's staring hard at the other guard who looks seconds away from pissing himself.

"Right this way, King, uh… sir." The first guard trips over himself as he opens the door and leads the way inside.

It's only after we cross the threshold that Bradley glances at me with a slight smirk, then his face returns to impassive. We follow the guard through a neat house that shows little sign of life. It reminds me of show homes that pop up in my social feed while I'm scrolling on the toilet.

The walls are bare, none of the rooms we pass look lived in, and only a handful of guards stand between us and the conservatory we're led into. Two men are seated near the open doors, but they both stand the moment we enter.

Given how this faction of the Visconti family is relatively small, maybe the lack of life in these rooms makes sense. The majority of the family refused to give up their roots in Italy and their business suffers for it. No one wants to make deals with a family that has barely any standing in the States.