MATTEO POV The tinted glass of the rear window rolled down exactly three inches. I stood under the shadow of the concrete portico, my hands buried in my pockets as the black SUV idled near the main steps. Julian was a few paces behind me, his hand resting casually but firmly on the butt of his hidden firearm. After the breakfast conversation about pancakes and the brief, strange moment of quiet on the lawn, the weight of the city came rushing right back the second that vehicle cleared the iron gates. "Matteo," a voice spoke from the darkness inside the car. It was old, dry, and entirely devoid of warmth. Marcus Corvo didn't get out of his vehicle for anyone under the age of sixty. "I hear your house has a ventilation problem. Too many holes in the walls." "The holes have been patched, Marcus," I said, my voice flat and even. "And the men who made them are currently at the bottom of the river. Why are you here?" Corvo let out a dry, rattling cough that sounded like stones scr
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