Maybe it had been reckless to come here, given what had happened with Julian, but I figured that if Ciro Castellani wanted me dead, I’d already be in the hereafter. I was still alive, although my heart sure felt like it was burning up. I’d kept as calm as I could by telling myself that Miller would come to his senses, would see that what we’d been building togetherwasbuilt on truth and trust.
But what if he didn’t?
What if his father had dripped enough poison into his ear to destroy us forever?
As I waited, I heard soft piano music begin to float out of the salon behind me. All my senses went to red alert. There was only one person in this house who played the piano.
Julian.
But when I took a few steps to the salon door and looked in, I came eye-to-eye with Alessandro Fucking Castellani, who was regarding some paintings on the wall. His face went from cold to stony cold when he saw me.
“Why are you creeping around here, Jacopo?” he asked. The piano music changed to a jaunty little tune and I glanced up to the other end of the room. As I’d suspected, the younger Castellani brother was there, banging away on the keys. He smiled when he saw me.
“Jack,” he called. “What a nice surprise. Come in.”
“I’m here to see the Boss,” I said to Sandro. “Sorry to interrupt.” I tried to back out of the room but Sandro put up a hand to stop me.
“Why?”
I shuffled a little and then said, “Beg pardon?”
“I asked, why are you here to see my father?” Sandro said, slowly and deliberately, and he took a few steps closer. “You’ve been here more than you should lately, Jacopo.”
“Jack has been on special assignment,” Julian called. He stopped playing and walked down the long room toward us. Both Julian and Sandro were dressed in black tie and I wondered who, exactly, was coming to dinner. “Haven’t you, Jack?”
Sandro gave an up and down sneer at my motorcycle leathers. “You switching allegiances, Jacopo? Hell’s Angels come calling? It’s about what I’d expect.”
I resisted the urge to flip him the bird and backed away to the door, but Julian stepped forward, following me.
“Special assignment,” I echoed softly, so only he could hear. I’d reached the doorway again, and chose there to stand my ground. “Have you been on special assignment too, Julian?”
He came very close to me, his angelic face completely blank, and tipped his head to one side. “You could at least say thank you for keeping quiet about our little disagreement the other day.”
So hehadkept that to himself. “Thanks. Why so generous?”
He ignored my question. “Did you look at my present, Jack?”
“I looked at it,” I confirmed. “Didn’t seem like your handiwork.”
He gave an elegant shrug.
“What are you two muttering about?” Sandro demanded.
Julian turned and beckoned me back into the salon. “You know art, don’t you, Jack? Come and have a look at Ciro’s newest acquisition. The grand salon is complete now. You have no more excuses.”
“No,” Sandro said, pointing at me. “You stay right there, Jacopo.” But he was looking at his brother when he said it, not at me. He could tell trouble was brewing between us.
I stepped through the doorway and into the salon, my eyes fixed on Julian.
“What do you think?” he said, turning in a slow circle, taking in the room. “Ciro’s very proud.”
Sandro and I exchanged a glance, and for the first time in years, his rage at me had been subsumed by something else: wariness.
When we’d been close, we’d been close enough to read each other. That’s what had made us such a good team. We’d had each other’s backs, and we’d always known what moves the other would make.
The connection returned then. I could read his thoughts clear as my own:play it cool.
And as Sandro watched Julian, I did what Julian wanted so badly, and looked around the salon. It took a moment to see it, the triptych up on the wall where the portrait of Caroline Castellani used to hang.
