CASSIAN
The Marchetti representative led us to a black sedan idling at the curb. We drove for less than five minutes, deep into a side street that felt centuries older than the glittering hotels of the waterfront. We pulled up in front of an understated restaurant with an olive-green façade. No neon, no grand signage. Just Il Traguardo etched into the glass.
The man opened the car door. "Mr. Marchetti is inside. He's requested a private audience." He paused, looking at my men. "Your security will need to wait here. The establishment is private, and Mr. Marchetti has his own people. Your men would make the other guests… uncomfortable."
It was a blatant lie. The street was empty. The restaurant looked closed.
"Sir, " Lake, my lead guard started, his hand moving toward the holster concealed by his jacket.
"Wait here," I commanded.
"Mr. Wolfe, with all due respect, I don't advise entering a closed location without back-up."
