Wilson gives a nod and withdraws. Jacopo takes his moment. “A dinner party?” He gives a cynical laugh. “Your dad’s murdered and your first thought is—”
“You misunderstand,” I cut in. “The dinner was already arranged. Senior administration only—except you.” Jacopo has only recently regained his position in the Family, not yet in the inner circle. “But I see it as the perfect opportunity.”
“The perfect opportunity?” I wait for him to understand, and he does, quickly. That is what I always liked about Jacopo. He is quick on the uptake. Smart, discreet, competent.
It will be a loss to the Family when I kill him. But it’s been a long time coming.
“You’re going to announce your father’s murder over champagne and canapés?” He gives another laugh, darker this time. “Where each man has access to a knife?”
“If someone tries to kill me with a butter knife, they’ll have more balls than I expected. But again, you misunderstand, Jacopo. My interest is not in those who react, but those whodon’t. I want you to watch their faces.”
He gets it. He doesn’t like it, but he gets it. “This is the help you wanted from me?”
“I’m sorry if I disturbed you in the middle of making love to your—” I bite back the slur. He did make his help conditional, just this morning, on me showing more respect for his foolish relationship. “With Miller,” I amend. “But Family and duty come first.”
“For those who have nothing else, maybe,” he retorts. “You ask me, Sandro, you want to find yourself someone. Maybe it’ll take the edge off.”
For the first time since I visited Julian in the dungeons below, I feel my temper rise again. My temper, that I have worked so hard to control; my temper, that hollows me out and makes me vulnerable to those who can provoke it. My temper is legendary—here, and in the homeland. A weapon, occasionally. More often a weakness. Both my parents often pointed that out.
“What man could love a face like this? Tell me, Jacopo—or better yet, introduce me to him.”
I’m ready for a fight, but Jacopo turns away with a sigh. “We don’t have time to argue, Sandro. Not today.”
He’s right, but I don’t like him telling me what to do. “Get down to the salon. Watch as they all come in. Watch and listen, and report back to me at the end of the night. But first—” I point toward my dressing room. “Put on something decent. You’re an embarrassment to the Family, the way you dress.”
He gives a disrespectful shrug, but he does what I say. When he comes back out, the borrowed suit fits well enough to pass my inspection.
“I’ll head down,” he says. “But I’m telling you again, Sandro. Once this business is sorted, I’m gone.”
“At last, something we agree on.”
Only this morning, I begged him to stay. I don’t want him here any more than Jacopo wants to be here, but I can’t trust anyone else in the Family right now. He’s the only man I can be suredidn’tkill my father, arriving as he did to find Julian standing over the body. After taking my half-brother down to the cells, Jacopo told me he was leaving the city at once, since the old Don was dead.
But I know how much I’ll need him in the next few days.
So I swallowed my pride this morning and asked him to stay. Agreed to extend the protections of the Castellani Family to keep his old enemy, Sonny Vegas, at bay. Promised that I would not lift a hand against him until we resolved my father’s murder.
The truth is, I’d love nothing more than to kill Johnny Jacopo myself—and one day, I will.
He turns to leave, but I forestall him. “Oh, and Jacopo? Don’t forget. It’sDon Castellaninow.”
I hold out my hand, and he looks at the ring, shakes his head. “Maybe the others will bend the knee. Try it with them.” He turns his back on me and leaves.
I stand there frozen, my hand still outstretched. I should call him back,makehim bow to me, make him show me the respect I deserve. But I am choked with fury, with grief, with the memory of blood all over my hands as I gathered my dead lover from the floor.
Renato Caruso, removed from my life, from my heart, in one terrible moment—and this atrocity carried out by the man I considered my closest friend.
I might have made a deal with Johnny Jacopo to protect him for the time being, but once we find the killer…
After that, both he and Julian will feel my wrath.
I’ll nurse it until then.
* * *
I don’t go down to the salon to receive the guests. Let them gather and gossip; let Jacopo cast that keen eye over the lot of them. I wait to make my appearance until they’re assembled at the dining table, and then I enter the room behind them. In the candlelight, shadows flicker and dance across their faces, making each of them a devil, then an angel.
Who here, I wonder, knows exactly what I’m about to say?
