I had my gun to the back of Castellani’s head. He was still sitting there in the chair, facing the video, his hand trembling where it was poised over the mouse.
Julian looked around with a frown. “What’s going on?” he asked plaintively.
“What’s going on? You tell us. You’re the one who’s been killing people on your father’s orders,” I said, trying to stay calm. My finger was aching on the trigger. I had not been this angry since a drunk-driving mobster had wiped out my family.
Everything Angelo and I had worked toward—all of it—gone in an instant, on the whims of some Los Angeles asshole. I thrust the gun hard at the back of Castellani’s head, pressing it into his skull.
“Not on my orders,” he said, still facing the video. His voice was stronger than I expected. “Will you allow me to turn around? If you’re going to shoot me, Flynn, show me the respect of looking at me while you do it.”
I pushed harder into the back of his head, gritting my teeth, and then I did what I always did. I looked to Angelo.
He gave me a quick nod, and I stepped back from Castellani. “Turn around,” I snarled, “and fucking explain yourself.”
Julian had finished his cookies, and was dusting down his front. “Good golly, Miss Molly,” he said to no one in particular, “if you’d told me outside what you were doing, like I asked, we could have saved a little time.”
Ciro Castellani, who had swiveled around slowly in his chair, and shook his head at his son. “You stupid little fuck,” he sighed. He looked at Angelo. “I did not order Greco’s death. On my honor, Messina.”
“Bullshit,” I spat, but Angelo said nothing. He was still looking at Julian with a severity in his eyes that worried me.
Julian, having cleaned himself of cookie crumbs, was half-sitting on one of the desks, legs wide so that his golden cock gleamed in the overhead light. He was watching the proceedings with interest, but no wariness.
Angelo, as always, was perfectly controlled. “Julian,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Explain what we just saw on the video.”
Julian gave Angelo a look as though he wasn’t sure whether Angelo were joking or not. “I mean,” he said, spreading his hands a little, “isn’t it obvious? I went in and poisoned the coffee.”
“Yes,” Angelo said patiently, even as I contemplated turning my gun onto Julian and putting an end to that flirtatious smile on his face, “but why?”
Julian crossed his arms, frowning. “Well, that’s kind of a longer story.”
“We have time,” Angelo assured him. “Explain it to us.”
A sudden banging on the door made me jump. “Papa!” called a voice from outside.
“Can’t heeverfollow orders?” Castellani muttered under his breath. Raising his voice, he shouted, “Stay outside, Alessandro!”
We could hear muttering outside, and I recognized the voices. Alessandro was one. The other was Jack. I was pretty sure we could count on Jacknotto ice us.
As for Alessandro, I had no idea what he was like under pressure.
“Actually,” Angelo said, “I’d be interested to hear what those two have to say about this as well.”
“Are you crazy?” Julian asked. He sounded honestly curious. “If you open that door, my brother will start shooting.”
“He’s right,” Castellani grunted. “Alessandro has no restraint.”
“If so, that’s a character flaw that perhaps his father should have buffed out of him a long time ago,” Angelo said, his eyes gleaming. Castellani’s jaw tightened. “But I think we’ll take our chances, nevertheless. Bax?”
I might have been wrong about a lot of things in my life, but I’d never gone wrong trusting Angelo Messina. Everything in me screamed against following this particular direction, but I trusted his judgment more than my own. I always would.
And so I took the few steps over to the door and unlocked it.
Chapter Twenty
It was a tense moment when that door opened. Alessandro’s anger was barely concealed; he reminded me of a pit bull straining at its leash. But Jack pushed in before him, making sure Alessandro couldn’t get a clear shot at me. He seemed to assume Angelo could take care of himself.
