"I thought I asked for a maestro, not a boy from the Fratellanza," Jack groused, eyeing the newcomer’s wide grin and rich brocades amidst assassin whites. The man bowed with a flourish, still smiling. “Well met, Master Pattillo. Gavino Free, at your service — or Gavin, if you’d prefer.” His accent was decidedly not Italian, save for a subtle trill in his vowels. "Niceties later, maestro Free,” Jack replied wearily, motioning for Gavin to follow him, "