I recognize it for what it is.
An opportunity.
“Let’s do that,” I say.
The dinner will be announced shortly, but I find Jack and pull him into a corner. “Did you get that information from Messina about Lina Lamond’s family?”
“I did. And you were right about the connection. I’m sorry we didn’t pick it up before—”
I shake my head at once. “No. The dry-up of information is a symptom of the disease my father spread in this Family. Once I’ve been formally recognized, I intend to make a few surgical cuts. Get rid of the gangrene.” I hesitate, but I need to know, and now is as good a time as any. “Jack, I have no right to ask this,” I begin.
“No, you don’t,” he says at once. But then he sighs. “Go on and ask, Sandro. I know you’ve been working up to it.”
I get right to it. “Will you stay in LA? Beyond the transition. Beyond what we agreed. You’re the best man in this Family right now, and I need someone to keep me in check. Someone I trust. Someone to tell me ‘no’ when I need to hear it.”
I extended the dinner invitation tonight to Miller as well, but he’s conspicuously absent, and Jack looks torn as he takes in my words. “I have your back, Sandro. Always will, no matter where I am. But I’ll need to talk to Miller about staying in LA.”
It’s not the answer I wanted, but I would expect nothing less from Jack than honesty. “Of course,” I say. “And if youdoleave here, Castellani protection will go with you. You won’t ever have to worry about Sonny Vegas.”
He gives a little laugh. “Sonny Vegas? I haven’t even thought about him these last few weeks. I appreciate your offer, Sandro, and I’ll talk it through with Miller. And of course I’ll stay until we’ve settled things.”
He means my father’s murder, but I plan to settle that myself. Tonight. I give him a nod. “Thank you for thinking it over.”
Wilson appears in the doorway, announcing that dinner is served, but Jack catches me back as people begin milling toward the door. “Sandro—what you said the other night. About not being fit to run this Family?” He gives a crooked smile. “You’re getting there.”
* * *
I’m impatient through dinner, though I try to hide it. My mother, happily, is charming enough for the both of us. But watching her lay it on extra-thick to Finch D’Amato is puzzling, and even more so is his cool demeanor toward her. But little by little, she cajoles, beguiles, even flirts him out of his mood, until he lets out a wild laugh that makes Teddy, beside me, jump.
Teddy has been very quiet all night, smiling and blinking in wonder at the cavalcade of names that go by. I introduced him first to Don Morelli and his husband simply as “Teddy,” not quite knowing what to call him and being caught out as I searched for the words.
I settled onil mio amore. The smirk that Finch gave as I stammered out the words was a little disconcerting.
And Teddy has been a surprisingly useful asset tonight. His encyclopedic knowledge of the New York Families mean that he can explain even the smallest reference to me if I miss it. My adolescence in Italy meant that I was not always aware of what was going on Stateside.
This Mafia obsession of his might have been dangerous at times, but tonight it’s extremely useful.
At last the dinner is over, and I can leave my guests in my mother and Teddy’s hands, while I offer Don Morelli a drink and a cigar in the study. He declines both, the sambuca in particular making him grimace.
“When I was just a starry-eyed soldier, the former Don Morelli took me into his study and offered me a cigar,” he tells me. “I thought at the time: when I’m king, I’ll do the same. But I’ve found I don’t enjoy the taste of the cigars, only the scent. And as for liqueurs, I’d rather drink wine—or beer.”
“If it’s beer you want, I can certainly provide it.”
For the first time, I think I see the man beneath the title when he grins, shakes his head, and settles on the sofa in the corner. “The things we have to say to each other are better said sober.”
“I’ll be very happy to hear your proposal, Don Morelli.”
“Luca, please. And to be clear, Angelo Messina originally warned me away from your Family. But after your father’s death—God rest his soul—Angelo got in touch again, suggested I might have a look at you myself. He thought we might have some things in common…aside from the obvious.”
I let myself laugh at that. “Well, I’d like to explore those commonalities.”
He gives another approving nod. He hasn’t asked about my father’s murder at all, and I’m thankful for that. Perhaps he sees it as a private Family matter.
But then—”Before we begin,” Luca says, and my heart sinks for a moment. “Doyourun the Castellani Family?” he goes on. “Or is it La Contessa I should be speaking to? Because she certainly seems interested in the proceedings here.”
I have to look down as fond exasperation makes me smile. “La Contessa has her own interests and businesses overseas, and she much prefers the European lifestyle. On occasion she might provide advice to me as her son, but she has no voice in the day-to-day running of the family here in Los Angeles. When you deal with the Castellanis, you deal with me.”
Luca nods slowly. “Rumor is your Family hasn’t yet sworn to you.”
