There was silence after that, a deep, dark silence in which we all thought our own deep and dark thoughts.
I could takeoneof the Castellani brothers alone, I was certain of that. The two of them together? The odds weren’t great. But I’d promised Miller I’d come back alive.
I had to try.
Sandro took a deep breath. “Jacopo,” he said. “Take thatfiglio di puttanadown to the cells.” He jerked his head toward his brother.
I looked at Julian and he looked at me. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, eh?” I sighed.
Julian’s pale blue gaze danced between Sandro and me, judging his chances just as I had done a moment before. “Fine,” he said. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll go with you, Jack. I’ll behave. For now…”
He came over and let me take him by the arm, docile as a lamb. Sandro stood barring the door still, and held up a finger. “Not out here. You go the back ways, Jacopo. Let no one see you with thisstronzo. I will take care of him myself, later. But let no one know about my father’s death. Not yet.”
“It wasn’tme,” Julian said again, and he’d pushed too far. Sandro backhanded him, so hard that Julian staggered, gasping. Even I glared at Sandro then, as I caught Julian and stood him upright again.
“Get him out of my sight,” Sandro spat. “And then you, Jacopo, meet me in the grand salon.”
As Sandro locked the study door from the inside, Julian and I left through the other door, set in the wall paneling at the back of the room. I’d never used it before until the Boss had taken me through it last night, though I’d noticed it.
Julian came with me willingly, although I stayed alert for a possible attack. We made our way through the back hallways to the staircase that led down to—as I had discovered only last night—the basement of Redwood Manor.
That basement was more of a dungeon. It was Julian’s playroom, in fact. Filled with cells, each more blood-stained than the last, it was where Julian liked to practice and perfect his arts on his father’s enemies, those who had offended Ciro Castellani so badly that he had refused them an easy death atmyhands.
I’d only found out about this place last night, when Ciro had given me a personal tour. It was the other thing that had clinched my decision to eliminate him today, though I hadn’t mentioned this horror show to Miller. I didn’t want that kind of knowledge in his head. He’d been through enough.
“Why did you do it?” I asked Julian, after I’d safely locked him into the first cell, the one with the most light and least blood.
“Ididn’tdo it.” He turned to face me after looking around the cell, his hands held casually behind his back.
I rolled my eyes. “Then why’d you immediately threaten to killme?”
“Becauseyouthought I’d killed Ciro,” he said. “You can hardly blame me for wanting to stay out of trouble, Jack.” He gave me a penetrating stare. “Why were you there, anyway?” he asked softly. “Where were the guards? What wereyouplanning to do, Jack?”
I shook my head. “I need to go meet Sandro.”
“Please,” he said, coming quickly to the bars, grabbing onto them. “You have to persuade him. He’ll listen to you.”
“The hell he will,” I snorted, but I stopped walking away and turned back. “He hatesmemore than he hatesyou. Matter of fact, I have no idea why I’m still breathing right now.”
“Because he knows he needs you. Listen to me, Jack. Ididn’tkill Ciro.”
I gave him an up-and-down look, trying to make sense of things. Because the hell of it was, something in my gut told me Julian was being truthful. “You want some advice?” I asked him. “If you really didn’t do it, try to look a little more cut up about the fact that your dad’s dead. That blank disinterest won’t play well with the Family.”
He tipped his head to one side. “Thank you, Jack,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s good advice.”
I made it to the door this time before I turned back once more. “The USB. Where—”
He laughed. “You’d never give upyourcontacts, would you, Jack? And yet you expect me to give up mine?”
“Alright,” I conceded, “but why give it to me in the first place? And why take Miller’s paintings from his sister’s house?”
For the first time, his nonchalance disappeared, his face flickering with puzzlement. “Because we’refriends, Jack. I wanted to give you a fair chance to see how Ciro was playing you, that’s all. I thought if you saw the paintings on the wall—or the tattoo on that corpse...” He sighed. “But you simplyrefusedto see.”
Friends? Jesus. When it came to Julian Castellani, that was as bad as being his enemy. “But why’d you take the paintings in the first place?” was all I said.
He gave a shrug. “They were very good. I thought Ciro would like them. And he did.”
* * *
