"Alright, Raffi, what's wrong with Clare Kipling?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, challenging me to find a reason not to invite her. Clare Kipling is an Academy Award winner with a taste for dangerous men.
"Nothing much, but only if we keep her far away from the Mancini guys. She had an affair with two of them at the same time. It was a whole thing."
"Well, we can't let her anywhere near Roxy Rochford, either," he admits. "They had a falling out at Cannes last year."
"I'll keep a man on her for the night. He can nudge her away from Foxy Roxy or the Mancinis if she ever gets too close."
"Deal." Darian nods, making a note on his tablet. Our legs brush against one another, and our eyes lock for a moment before we both look away.
"Nero Andretti," he says, like we haven't been over this and over this.
"Fuck, no. That guy is nothing but trouble. Even if he's not involved, shit seems to go down around him." As far as I know, he had nothing to do with the parley situation, but the guy's like a bad luck charm or something. He's still living in the guesthouse—rent free, if you can believe it—and spends most of his time flirting with the grounds staff or lazing by the pool. Since the house opened up after the parley, he likes to invite himself for dinner a few nights a week, which means Chef Laurent has to prepare something extra, and Darian has to open up the formal dining room for him.
And I don't see why Darian should have to work extra hours for some freeloader.
"I'm afraid Don Castellani went ahead and extended an invitation," Darian sighs. "So we don't get a veto over this one. How do we manage him?"
"I'll keeptwomen on him all night." I don't know what the Boss is playing at. Nero Andretti has been hanging around Redwood for so long he seems like part of the furniture now, but I'm not fooled.
The man has an agenda.
And then it occurs to me—the Boss is no fool, either. He's the one who told me to keep an eye on Andretti in the first place. So why is Sandro being so downright accommodating to a man he clearly doesn't trust all that much?
"Why are you looking like that?" Darian asks warily. "Oh, no, Raffi—what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking I need to look at some of the video from the parley again," I tell him grimly.
"But we're working on the guest list." It's a weak protest. Even he knows it, judging by the hopeful, fake smile he gives.
I reach over to the console under the camera bank and bring up the folder with the files for the parley. "D, I need to check something. I'm sorry. And you can leave the room if you want?—"
"Partners," he says firmly. "Right?"
I give him a glance and a smile over my shoulder, even as I look through the computer files to find the recording I'm looking for. "Partners. But…this might involve some Family business."
Darian takes a breath. "I know who I work for," he says. "I've made my choices. So go on, Raffi. Play it. Just—warn me if there's anything gory coming?"
"Ah, sweets, it's nothing like that," I reassure him, pulling him close to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "I don't want to give you nightmares. No, this is just a conversation. Occurs to me it might have been more important than I first thought."
Simmy told me that Roxy and Andretti had been flirting by the pool this particular day, and I took him at his word. The incident with Donnie Russo and Chops Lollo ending up in the pool together a half hour later put it out of my mind at the time—but now…now I wonder.
I find what I'm looking for, and then I play it.
Roxy Rochford lies outstretched on a poolside chair, under the umbrella, seemingly asleep. I fast forward a little until Nero Andretti strolls by, fully dressed in pants and a shirt, but Roxy sits up and greets him with that big, white smile, patting the chair next to her. He goes over to sit where she indicated, on the side of the chair, facing her.
And then he says, "Have you thought over my proposal,Bellissima?"
Darian and I look at each other.
"I'm still considering," she says. "Perhaps if you sweeten the deal a little?"
"I don't know how much more sugar there is to offer," he says with a laugh. "But I'll see what I can do." He stands again.
She pouts, literally pouts. "I'm sobored. Stay and talk to me."
He shrugs. "I'm not dressed for the pool. I'll be back."
Andretti leaves. And then Russo arrives. Nothing he says is of interest, and by the time I arrive to intervene, I think I've seen all there is to see. I fast forward again, just in case, but Darian is wide-eyed as he watches.
