“Yes. They were trying to get Greco out of the country. So I killed them and left Greco packaged up for you to find. I made sure Jack got a tip about the docks, so he’d take you there.” He looked at Angelo, hands stretching out in appeal. “Tell me you likedthatpresent, at least?”
“If you were giving him to Angelo, then why in thehelldid you kill him later?” I asked, my voice rising as I spoke. Angelo’s hand landed onmyknee, now, and I realized I’d moved forward on the seat. Alessandro and Jack had both reached automatically for their weapons. I sat back, tried to relax. “Well?” I asked, struggling to sound calmer. “Why?”
Julian was staring at me as though I’d wounded him. “Foryou, Baxter Flynn. Don’t you understand? When I met you, I realizedwhyAngelo loved you. You’re very nice to look at, but you’ve also got a heart under all that muscle mass. And you didn’t fall for my usual tricks, so I knew you had brains, too.” He dropped his voice and leaned forward as though he were confiding in me. “I could tell you didn’treallywant to turn Greco in—neither of you did. It would have made things very awkward for the both of you. You come from different worlds. I wanted to make sure nothing would come between you.”
“Are you—” I began furiously, but I cut off the wordinsane. During my training in criminal psychology, we’d been warned never to use that word. It wasn’t helpful in working toward a clinical diagnosis.
And the problem was, I didn’t think Julian Castellani was insane. Not at all. But that only made his confessions more disturbing.
He was still looking at me with a hurt expression. “Well, if I’d known you’d react likethis, I never would have done you a favor in the first place!”
Next to him, Ciro Castellani put a hand over his eyes and gave a deep sigh.
My temper was rising again, but Angelo gave my thigh a quick squeeze. “Why did you choose the coffee for Greco?” he asked, sounding as distantly polite as he had all evening. “Why not just kill him in his sleep? A knife or a gun would have been surer ways to do it.”
Julian turned back to him eagerly, as though Angelo were on his side. “In homage toyou. Everyone knows how much the great Angelo Messina loves his coffee. It seemed like the appropriate tool for this particular job.”
“Anotherjoke?” I spat out.
Julian rolled his eyes at me. “You know, Baxter Flynn, I’m starting to think you have no sense of humor after all. Anyway, I left that one up to chance. If Greco hadn’t gone for the coffee, he would have been fine, wouldn’t he? But hediddrink it. It was a sign from the universe for both of you. You’remeantto be together.”
“Oh, myGod,” I muttered. “This is—this is just—”
“The thing is, Julian,” Angelo said softly, “I’m not sure I believe you. Someone must have given you the code to the door, after all. And your fatherwasvery anxious to have me stay in Los Angeles. Killing Greco could have been a way to keep me here.”
To look at Julian’s face in that moment, one would never suspect him of anything. His eyes were round, his mouth a perfect little circle of surprise. “I suppose that’s true,” he said at last. “I suppose it might have helped Papa inthatsense. But that’s not why I did it. I’ve always known the code to that safe house. Papa had nothing to do with Greco’s death.” He tipped his head to one side and gave a smile that was very slightly crooked. “I’d swear to that on my mother’s ashes.”
Behind Julian, Alessandro was staring at his father. He glanced over to me when he felt my gaze, and I saw fury in those dark eyes. Fury and resentment and a deep-seated rage.
Angelo stood, pulling his jacket straight and buttoning it. “As it happens, nothing could keep me here in this city. Bax?” He looked down at me, and I stood obediently. “We’re done.”
He was right. It was time to go. Part of me wished we’d never come to Los Angeles at all. According to Julian, and whatever the motivation behind all these killings,wehad been the catalyst for this whole nightmare.
“As for you, Castellani,” Angelo continued, “My advice would be to watch your back. The Bernardis won’t forgive this, if they find out who was behind it. And I can assure you Luca D’Amato has no interest in aligning with Families that have values such as yours.”
“Angelo,” Castellani pleaded. He spread his arms. “Please. You’re right, of course you’re right. Julian is out of control. I’ll deal with him, I promise; keep a tighter hold of his leash. But there’s no need to tell Don Morelli about any of this—Julian’s a problem when he tries to think for himself, but—”
“Theproblem, Castellani,” Angelo broke in, and there was no mistaking the cold venom in his tone now, “isyou. You think I don’t see it when a man has raised his son to be a weapon? Julian is merely whatyoumade him: your assassin. Your mistake was thinking you’d have any control over your creation.”
Castellani paused, his ingratiating smile still in place, though I could see the blaze of resentment in his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. And it’s true that Julian has been well-trained in the arts of death. I’m sure he could be useful to you, to the Morellis. He could take care of Sonny Vegas, perhaps? Feel free to—”
“Papa,” Alessandro said sharply. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Angelo gave Alessandro a curt nod of acknowledgement. “I’m afraid your son is correct, Castellani. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”
He brushed past them all on the way to the foyer, and I followed—along with the rest of them.
As we reached the door, I turned back to Julian. “One more question. Did you write on theCute Crimssite that you’d seen us in Santa Monica? The comment with the heart?”
Julian clapped his hands. “Iknewyou followed the site! Yes, that was me. Jack mentioned you were going there.”
I looked at Jack, who pulled an apologetic face. “I’ll, uh. I’ll give you guys a lift back, eh? Least I can do.”
Angelo stepped forward to Julian. “I’m sorry for what your father has done to you. But if you ever threaten Bax again—if you ever eventhinkabout it—I will know, and I will kill you. Are we clear?”
Julian’s starry eyes suggested he considered Angelo’s death threat flirting, until Angelo’s hand shot out and clamped around his neck. Gurgling in surprise, Julian’s face slowly turned red as he grabbed at Angelo’s wrist.
“Messina!” Castellani begged. He turned to Alessandro, who merely shrugged. I could see Jack weighing up exactly where his loyalties lay, his hand hovering over his gun, and maybe it was his indecision which prompted me to act.
