“That’s a disgusting habit, brother dear,” said another voice from the doorway. “You want to make sure Ciro doesn’t see you doing that. He’d make you get on your knees and scrub the tiles clean.”
Alessandro didn’t even glance over, but Angelo and I did. It was Julian, fully dressed this time in a simple white silk shirt and black pants, looking like a million bucks. My eyes drifted down of their own accord, wondering—
I pulled them back up to his face, but he’d noticed already, giving me a glittering smile. “We meet again, Baxter Flynn,” he said.
“Why are you here?” Alessandro asked coldly.
“This is where Ilive, Sandro. Where else would I be?”
Baring his teeth, Alessandro growled: “Anywhereelse.”
I’d had a brother of my own, once. We’d teased, argued, fought sometimes. But we’d always loved each other, even in bad times.
I sensed no love at all between Alessandro and Julian Castellani.
Julian’s guileless gaze flew over to Angelo. “How delightful to seeyouagain, Angelo,” he said, a smile playing around his mouth. “I hope you’re enjoying our City of Angels.”
The butler came back with a second beer for Alessandro, and then moved to the side table, where there were various bottles and shakers set up. He began to make some kind of cocktail without a word. Moments later, we were joined by Ciro Castellani, who greeted Alessandro with a restrained nod. He was more effulgent with Angelo and me, smiling broadly, shaking our hands with vigor.
“I hear you’ve had success!” he said. “I’m so glad.”
Heard, I wondered, or seen with his own eyes? Angelo and I assumed he had cameras throughout the safe house. We’d taken a chance in that sense, keeping Greco in there, but the place was a fortress. The only way someone could get in—or out—was with the code. And right then, technically, the only people who knew the code were Angelo, me, and Castellani.
If any harm came to Donnie Greco, we knew on whose orders it would be.
Chapter Fourteen
Dinner was awkward, to put it mildly. If it weren’t for Angelo’s flawless manners, it would have been much worse; he was able to smooth over even the tensest interactions between the three Castellanis, and at one stage he told us all a story about Don Tino Morelli that made everyone laugh.
But I couldn’t help but be hyperaware of the way that both Alessandro and Julian fixed their attention on Angelo the whole night. What was going on in their heads. Admiration? Or something darker?
After dinner I thought we’d be freed, but we went through to the smoking room to, literally, smoke cigars. I turned it down. “Actually, I could use a little fresh air, if you don’t mind,” I said.
“I’ll come with you,” Julian said at once, jumping up from his seat. “God knows I loathe the stink of cigars. Gets into my skin, my hair.” He gave a melodramatic shudder, and linked arms with me. “Why don’t you come for a turn in the garden?” he said, leading me away toward the French doors.
I glanced back at Angelo, who smiled, but also curled the fingers of his right hand in and out. In and out.
Stay flexible.
I could do that. I could take care of Julian Castellani if I needed to; he was tall but slender, certainly with much less muscle mass than me. As for Angelo, I knew without a doubt that he could defend himself if I left him alone.
I also knew that he wouldn’t let me go off on my own if he had even the slightest misgivings. And so I let Julian take me out onto the patio and then down into the gardens, over a stone path. The moon was only a quarter full, but the reflected floodlights from the house behind us made it easy enough to see, along with the small solar lights set along the pathway.
“He’s very interesting, your Angelo,” Julian said after we’d walked a few moments in silence. He still had his arm linked through mine, cuddling it close.
“Yes.”
“He thinks theworldof you. Did you know?”
“I do know,” I acknowledged, “although I’m wondering how you’re so sure of it.”
Julian gave a tinkling laugh as we reached an enormous fishpond, the sides raised up high enough that we could sit on it. In the middle of it was a statue of Mars, the Roman God of war, his helmet overlaid with what looked like real bronze, though I couldn’t be certain in the moonlight.
“One only has to look at Angelo looking at you to see it,” Julian said, trailing a finger along the still water. “Where do you think fish go when they sleep?”
I noted the change of subject. Should I play along, or force the subject back to Angelo? “I don’t know much about fish,” I said.
“When I was a child, I used to feed the koi that lived in this pond. Gorgeous, glistening things they were. My mother used to leave me out here while she and Ciro enjoyed themselves in the bedroom, you see. This was before they were married. Before the first wife died. I wasn’t allowed to wait in the house, because Sandro was in there, and we were never supposed to meet. He hated me then just as much as he hates me now.” He stroked the water with all four fingers now, caressing it with all the attention of a lover. “And then one day when I came here to feed those fish, they were all floating, belly up. I looked over there—” he pointed with his other hand to a tall hedge nearby, and I stared, almost as though I could see the scene myself “—and there was Sandro, watching me. He smiled when he saw how upset I was. Imagine that; a child of ten, destroying all those poor defenseless animals just to makemean unhappy five-year-old.”
