Page 25

Finally, the gates slowly swing open just as a small golf cart comes into view. It trundles down the winding path, driven by a man dressed in white with black sunglasses balanced on a red nose. Behind him sits an elderly gentleman dressed in a light blue shirt that strains around a potbelly. Neat, white hair streaks back from his shining forehead and a thick, white mustache quivers over his upper lip.

He looks exactly like I remember.

"Grandpa?"

The elderly man eases himself from the parked golf cart with a grunt and he stands a full head shorter than me. After a moment, he looks up with a squint and stares at me. I stare back. After a pause of silence, he suddenly smiles and his lips vanish up under his mustache while he throws his short arms outward.

"Cassian! Ragazzo mio! It is so good to see you!" His hands land on my upper arms and with surprising strength, he drags me down to his level and presses frantic kisses on each of my cheeks. "I cannot believe this! What are you doing here? You were only this high when I saw you last!" He steps away and indicates with his hand. "How long has it been?"

"Twenty years." I grin. "Maybe more. I wasn't sure you would recognize me."

"Nonsense. Tu sei di famiglia! I would recognize my grandson even if you were the same age as me!" He laughs loudly and then coughs. "Come. Come! Sit with me." He motions toward the gold cart and together, we sit while the driver begins the journey back up toward the manor.

"Now." He slaps a wrinkly hand down on my thigh. "Tell me what brings you out here? The last I heard, you were joining a little club?"

I can almost hear Valentina's indignant scoff from here. "Not a club, Grandpa. I joined an organization. The Suit. You've heard of them, correct?"

He waves one hand. "A club is a club," he mutters. "It is all the same to me. Everyone thinks they can lay down the rules. Does this mean you are a good boy now?" He looks at me. "You have not called me to bail you out in a long time."

"That was one time and I was nine years old." I laugh. "I can't believe you remember that."

"Of course I do. Your father was alive back then." His expression sours slightly. "But no matter. Tell me, why have you come? Are you sick?" He looks me up and down while we wobble up the path. "I will get you a doctor."

"No, I'm not sick."

"Then you are dying? You don't write. You don't call. You just turn up!" He snaps his fingers. "Why?"

I bite back the urge to point out that he never came to my parents' funerals or seemed to care about me at all after that. Before I can respond, he snaps his fingers again.

"It's work, isn't it? I knew it. My blood runs through you, and all we care about is work. Tell me what you need and if I can help, I shall."

For someone who hasn't seen me in twenty years, he's surprisingly eager to help me. Either he's grateful I'm here or he wants to get me to leave as quickly as possible. We park at the manor, and he leads the way into his home, where the air is thankfully much cooler.

"I am here on business. I'm tracking a friend who was smuggled out of America and into Italy. The last time I saw them was when they were unloaded from a plane here in Sicily. Given that you always had your ear to the ground here, I thought you would be the best person to ask."

"Your friend?" His eyes widen. "Of course I can help. Sicily gets many traffickers from all over. I don't look, you see. Not my business. Not my money. But your friend, if they were here, then I can definitely find them. Now tell me, what⁠—”

"Mr. Russo!"

Before he can finish what he's saying, a black-haired woman rushes into the lounge we've ended up in, clutching a hand to her chest.

"What is it?" Grandpa snaps.

"Illyana has taken a turn! We have to take her to the hospital but the ambulance is stuck in traffic!"

"No ambulance," he snaps. "We will take her!" He turns to me and before I can ask anything about this mysterious Illyana, he takes my hand. "My home is your home. Stay here, I will be back as soon as I can."

And just like that, he's gone. I'm left alone in a wide lounge with more ornate vases than I care to count. Walking out of the lounge, a couple of guards linger in the hall while my grandpa seems to have truly vanished. He's fast for his age. Pulling out my phone, I text Raven to let her know I've made contact and then I wander the estate.

It's far more lavish than I expected. Everything is laced with gold. Even the kitchen counters have it woven into the marble. Countless paintings and exquisite statues line long hallways, leading all the way out to the garden where more than one intricate fountain bubbles away merrily.

He's clearly doing well for himself. Then again, even if he never worked since the last day I saw him, my family's old wealth would keep him happy and comfortable until he drew his last breath.

I wander out into the garden and breathe in the fresh, sharp sea air mingling with the flowers and trees surrounding me. Nature in New York definitely doesn't smell this good. There's no smog catching in my lungs, no passing smoke or exhaust to cling to my clothes. Everything here really is bright and fresh and⁠—

"Cassian?"

I freeze in the middle of the stone patch and quickly scan the gardens for the source of a voice that's alarmingly familiar.