I tried not to grin at Angelo’s pained expression. The fan page had popped up not long after Angelo and I were hitting the nightly news. It was a site calledCute Crims, where people listed mug shots or photos of wanted criminals they considered objectively “hot.” Both Angelo and I had made the cut, although he had a whole page dedicated to him, and the comments on his photographs outran mine three to one. Some of those comments had actually made himblush. He’d made me promise never to read them out loud to him again.
“I’ve spent my life in the shadows,” he’d complained, in a manner as close to petulant as I’d ever seen in him. “And now my face is all over the internet thanks to these—these—”
“Fangirls?” I’d suggested. “Although a lot of them are fanboys, if that helps.”
“It doesn’t,” he’d snapped.
“We’re aware ofCute Crims,” I told Castellani now. “But once we get hold of Greco and clear our names, I assume we’ll fall out of favor with them. Can’t be cute crims if we’re not, well, crims.”
Castellani raised his eyebrows in amusement, as though he found me naïve. “Perhaps. In any case, I wanted to let you know—that’s where the recorded sighting in Santa Monica came from. My son let me know.”
Which son, he didn’t say, but it wasn’t important. We’d have to be more careful, I decided. Less touristy.
One of the house guards came forward with a large envelope and handed it to Castellani with a low murmur. Castellani nodded, then turned back to us with a smile. “One of my men can drive you to your hotel to pick up your belongings, and then take you to the safe house,” Castellani said. “I’m confident it will help you stay off the radar.”
“I already called an Uber,” I said, holding up my phone. It was my turn to smile then, as Castellani’s expression flickered. He really had hoped to keep closer tabs on us.
In the back of that Uber, once we were at least two miles away, I glanced at Angelo. “What the fuck,” I asked in a low voice, “was that nude dude all about?”
Angelo ducked his head with a chuckle. “Don’t remind me,” he said, but it was too late. We were both laughing. The Uber driver gave us a bemused glance in the rearview mirror.
“Still,” Angelo said when we got back into our hotel room, “it was a heavy-handed play on Castellani’s part.”
I stopped as I realized what he meant and contempt for the man rose up in me. “You think Julian was supposed to be adistractionfor us? That Castellani thought throwing a naked guy in front of ‘the gays’”—I made air quotes—“would pull us into line?”
Angelo considered that. “I don’t know Castellani’s feelings about the LGBTQ community,” he said, pulling out both our bags from the closet, “but I do know something about growing up gay in the Family. It’s not easy. As for Julian, I think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”
“Uh, there wasn’t much hidden about him this afternoon,” I countered. “I wonder who holds the key to that padlock?”
Angelo, who had been chuckling at my first comment, stopped and tipped his head to one side at my second, giving me an appreciative look. “Nowthat,” he said, “is a very good question.”
We began packing straight away. Not to move to the safe house, of course—any safe house offered by Castellani would be bugged and have cameras everywhere—but to move to a new motel. “Why make it easy for him to track us?” Angelo had said in the Uber on the way back, and I’d agreed. Ciro Castellani might not have been an enemy, but he also wasn’t an ally.
Yet.
Castellani was on Luca D’Amato’s list as apotentialally, though. Things were looking good for an alliance, so we had to play the game. Thinking of D’Amato made me frown as I rolled up my underwear.
“What is it?” Angelo asked, rubbing my back absently as he passed me on the way to collect his toiletries from the bathroom.
I didn’t want to bring up the Morellis again, not right then. “I’m wondering where Jacopo fits into all this. Is he the one who left the Santa Monica tip onCute Crims? He’s the one who told us about that restaurant.”
“Ah,” Angelo said, nodding as he came back out with his hands full of shaving and hair products. “That was a more subtle play on Castellani’s part, whatever it was. I’m not sure I’ve worked it out yet. You?”
I shrugged. “Same as you. Can’t quite figure it. Did Vitali’s background intel come through?”
“I’ll check once we’re at the new motel.”
* * *
The new motelout in Eagle Rock was only a little better than the old one, but the WiFi was decent, and there was an Italian steakhouse across the road that, according to the sign out front, had live jazz “most nights.” Angelo’s face had brightened when he saw it.
“Vitali’s got limited information,” he said now with a frown as I unpacked a few things from my bag—just enough to feel at home, but nothing that I’d miss if we had to bolt again. “Mostly backstory on Castellani, but nothing we didn’t know already. Two wives, both dead. Two sons. But here’s something about one of them: Alessandro Castellani was almost killed a few years back. Jacopo was demoted within the Family soon after that.”
“Any Bernardi connections anywhere?” I asked, thinking about the meat popsicle we’d found in the desert.
“Castellani’s done business with the Bernardis now and then, but only where their business overlaps. Bernardi territory covers the docks, which means—”
“They control drugs coming in via maritime means,” I said.
