“Does it matter?”
He laughed. “I’ve had several men searching for this, including my own Julian. You’ve outsmarted them all. If you want to keep your methods under that hat you usually wear, far be it from me…” He waved a hand. “I’m just glad to seesomeonein this Family can perform to the level I require.”
I should have seen it before. Legs Liggari wasn’t the one who set the crew atmosphere of mistrust and suspicion. No, that culture started at the top and trickled down. It came from Don Ciro Castellani, who bullied and belittled all of us, kept us unsure of ourselves.
Kept us uncertain of our places.
“Why not just tell me you wanted the necklace in the first place, Boss?”
He didn’t seem to hear the careful neutrality of my tone—or if he did, he didn’t care. “Oh, because of those peskymoralsof yours, Johnny. You seemed to need different motivations. We’ll revisit those strange ethical objections you laid out to me that first day we met. I’m sure your stance has changed by now. But that’s another conversation.” He crossed to the side table, where a dozen bottles were gathered for, I assumed, pre-dinner drinks. “I’ll pour you a quick one, and we’ll drink to your health—and to your new position.”
I crossed the room and took the bourbon from him.
“Salut,” he said, raising his glass.
I gave a nod and raised the glass, but did not drink. Castellani, on the other hand, threw it down.
“Can I ask, Boss?”
“Ask what?”
“Did Julian kill Anaïs Beaumont?”
He just winked at me. “So,” he said, setting the glass down, “I think you’ve served enough time with Legs Liggari, eh? The work you’ve done for me in recovering that necklace—” He gave a smile that seemed almost fatherly. Like he wasproudof me. “Well, Johnny, it doesn’t make up for everything, but it makes up for some. I want you back where you should be. One of my top men. Things have changed for us. We have more enemies, more problems than we used to. I’ll look forward to having you as an option.”
I’d carried out as many hits as ordered during my time in LA, but all of them had been assigned to me only after diplomacy and bribes had failed. These days, it seemed, Castellani was less inclined to talk through problems.
And less inclined to let me follow my ownpesky morals.
Maybe it always happened this way. Maybe men got to a certain level playing nice, like Castellani had, and then decided that blood was the only way to keep moving up.
“Actually, Boss,” I said, “I’ve been thinking of retiring.”
He gave a great guffaw. “Retiring? You? Oh, no, no, no, Johnny. You’re much too young. Don’t tell me that old Morelli put retirement into your head as a possibility?” He kept smiling through it all. “This Familyneedsyou. Will always need you. There’s no question of…” He waved his hand around, chuckling. “No.”
“I’m sorry, Boss,” I said firmly, “but that’s the way it has to be.”
He glanced at his watch and sighed. “We can discuss this later. For now, I’ll have to ask you to leave. My guests are due to arrive any moment.”
I turned to go at once, giving one last glance at Miller’s triptych on the wall as I left the grand salon.
* * *
In the foyer, I crossed paths with several sharp-eyed goons that I didn’t recognize. They weren’t Castellanis, but the way they’d scattered themselves around the foyer and stared at me as I moved through the midst of them, it screamed Mob bodyguards.
Outside, there were more of them—several different groups, it looked like, judging from the way little clutches of them stood together, staring suspiciously at each other. The Castellani guards were just the same, glaring here and there. I took my time putting on my helmet, and counted at least eight groups.
Even more noteworthy, not all of them were Italian.
And then I caught sight of a long line of limousines driving up toward the house, under a black sky, clouds tumbling over themselves as they reached boiling point and began to rain down.
“Move out, Jacopo,” growled the house guard.
I grinned at him. “I’ll be seeing you soon, buddy,” I shouted over a great crack of thunder. “Count on it.”
I rode slowly around the other side of the driveway and down to the bottom. The limos kept coming. Either Ciro Castellani was hosting a huge Hollywood party tonight or—more likely, judging by the heavies everywhere—he was hosting the heads of every Family, crime group and gang in LA.
Well, I decided, let the Castellanis eat, drink and be merry. As soon as I had Miller convinced of my feelings, and confirmed that Julian Castellani was the killer, we’d get out of LA. I’d end Julian on our way out, just to slam the door shut.
