“This is a very fine house,” I said, by way of starting a conversation. I wasn’t interested in small talk, but I had an opportunity here to investigate the Castellani scion, and I wasn’t going to waste it. For all I knew, Angelo had gotten the father out of the room precisely so I could interrogate the son.
But Alessandro ignored my opening gambit completely. I could waste time prodding here and there or I could go for what I suspected would be the nuclear option. “Your brother Julian is very charming.”
It got a reaction, alright. Alessandro leaped up from his seat and stalked across the room to the bar, where he helped himself to a straight bourbon. “That diseased little shit? You should be careful of him. He’s a snake.”
“What makes you say that?”
He turned to me with bitter amusement. “Everything he says is a lie. Now you can answer a question of mine, Fed. Why are you and Messina really here?”
Alessandro Castellani was not like his brother. He was aggressive and forthright—or wanted to appear that way. “We’re here to collect Donnie Greco. That’s all. Tomorrow we’ll be on our way.”
He stared hard at me, searching for a lie in my eyes, and then poured himself another bourbon.
“So now it’s my turn, right?” I asked. He glanced over at me, eyebrows cocked. “To ask a question. So here it is: what was your father so angry about the other day?”
I saw his shoulders relax as he barked out a laugh. “Which day?”
“You were in the garden with him. He was shouting at you.”
“Shouting at each other is how my father and I always communicate. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“He said you were making trouble for your Family.”
Alessandro’s smile became more guarded. He flicked his fingers as though he could bat away my question in midair. “I fuck men. He doesn’t like it. Can’t stand the idea of having two queer sons. Thinks it reflects on him.”
It didn’t ring true. Ciro Castellani was a very unpleasant man in many ways, but heterosexuality didn’t seem high on his list of priorities from what I’d seen—and from what my research suggested. That afternoon I’d looked into his Hollywood history. Castellani had bankrolled multiple queer theatre productions, and funded a college scholarship in his late second wife’s name, specifically for LGBTQI+ theatre students. Caroline Castellani had been a theatre actor before her marriage.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “And obviously, you don’t have to tell me. But I thought we were being honest with each other.”
“Honest?” Alessandro gave a genuine laugh. “You look like some meathead, and maybe my father thinks you are. But I’ve heard about you, Flynn. A dirty Fed who plays mind games. That’s what they say—and they’re right.”
It stung. It really did. But if he was lashing out defensively, it meant I was on the right track. “What was the argument about?” I persisted.
Alessandro gave me a look that chilled me. “You really want to know? I told my father that I was going to gut Donnie Greco like a fish and leave him there in that safe house as a goodbye present to you and Messina.”
It was a lie. I didn’t doubt that hewantedto do just as he said. But his argument with his father had occurred before we’d even found Greco, before we’d put him in the safe house. Still, I could see I’d reached a dead end as far as the argument between Castellani and son.
“Speaking of fish,” I said instead, seeing another opportunity, “Julian told me you once poisoned all the fish in the pond out there.”
“As I said, that malignant little asshole is a liar. Don’t believe anything that he says.”
“So you never poisoned them? He was pretty convincing.”
Alessandro picked up the bourbon bottle again, looked at it, and reconsidered. He set it down with a look of regret. “I’ve had enough tonight,” he said, and I didn’t think he meant the bourbon. “Listen, Fed, the only thing that ever died in that pond was Julian’s mother. I’m sure he would blame me for that too, if he could, but I was in Italy when it happened. She drowned herself out there. Very dramatic, but shewasan actress, after all. So you see,” he finished, setting down his drink, “no fish were harmed in the making of this Family.”
“Then why—”
Alessandro held up a hand. “No, Fed. It’s my turn. What the hell do you think is going to happen to you and Messina once you return Greco to the loving arms of the law? You don’tseemlike a fool. You can’t possibly think it will make any difference, turning him in?”
I felt my face twitch despite my best efforts to keep it immobile. “What do you mean?”
Alessandro stared at me before shrugging. “You’re just collateral damage. They’ve been after Messina fordecadesin New York, and they finally got what they wanted: the Monster of the Morellis left town. Don’t you understand that? They’re not going to let him come back, no matter what song Greco sings. They’ll never drop the charges against you both. You and Messina will be running for the rest of your lives.”
Maybe Iwasa fool, because it really had never occurred to me. Of course I knew the NYPD were glad to have made a major blow against the Morelli Family by putting so much heat on Angelo that he’d had to leave New York. But I’d never really considered the idea that they’dignoreGreco’s testimony just to keep it that way.
I’d never thought they’d turn away from the truth just because it might be moreconvenientto them.
I couldn’t believe it. Iwouldn’t. I trusted that Gina Garcia would press the case—and notonlybecause she wanted to get noticed. She believed in justice, just like I did. “Greco will talk,” I said stubbornly, “and the task force will listen. As for Angelo and me…” But I had no further response.
