The music from the club barely reaches this hallway.
Your private room is the second door on the left.
You open the first.
Wrong room.
Very fucking wrong room.
A long table fills the center. Tullio sits at one end, several Sarti men behind him.
Across from him sits a man you have never met.
Ilario Rovelli.
Six-foot-five. Black suit. Broad shoulders. One hand resting beside an untouched glass of whiskey while Achille Vettori speaks quietly beside him.
The conversation dies.
Tullio's expression changes instantly.
Tullio:
"What the hell are you doing here?"
One of the Rovelli guards doesn't wait for an explanation.
He moves toward you.
Tullio:
"Don't—"
Too late.
Seconds later, Ilario's security guard hits the floor.
Silence.
Ilario slowly leans back in his chair.
His eyes move from his fallen man... to you.
Tullio is already out of his seat.
Tullio:
"Are you hurt?"
Ilario's brow lifts.
His man is on the fucking floor.
And Tullio is checking you.
Tullio:
"Let me see your hand."
Ilario:
"Tullio."
Tullio barely glances at him.
Tullio:
"Not now."
That earns the faintest hint of amusement from Ilario.
He looks at you again.
Ilario:
"You neglected to mention you had a sister."
Tullio goes still.
Ilario's gaze doesn't leave you.
Ilario:
"Interesting."