Don Castellani doesn't live here, but he does work here, and he drops by most days. Where Leo is tall and broad, a wall of muscle, Sandro's solidity is made up of sleek lines and an unstudied grace that I associate with Europeans. He always dresses impeccably and today is no exception, his Italian suit perfectly cut. His eyes are dark, near black, cool as stone, and they land on me as I enter the foyer. I pause and incline my head respectfully. "Don Castellani."
"Darian. You've seen to our guest?"
"I have, sir."
I know Sandro's reputation now, but he's always been courteous to me. Still, there's something in his manner today that makes me profoundly uneasy. I think it's becauseheis uneasy.
He doesn't know why Anna-Vittoria is here any more than I do.
I follow him into the grand salon and serve out coffee, then leave by the main doors, shutting them behind me. But again, something makes me pause. I can't quite make out Anna-Vittoria's words, but the low, feminine hum of her voice carries through the door. And then Julian Castellani—that cold, thin voice rising and rising, becoming more agitated?—
"Julian,stai zitto!" Sandro explodes.
The suddenness of it jolts me. I've never heard Sandro Castellani sound like that before. During my time at Redwood Manor, there have been limited arguments. I've only ever heard Sandro raise his voice when Julian has gone well past his older brother's boundaries.
In fact, under normal circumstances, Julian would laugh to hear his brother so angry. But today he doesn't laugh—or not that I can hear, anyway. The conversation continues, but in Italian.
I should leave, not listen to these things that are meant to be secret, but…surely I need to know what's happening in my own household…
A touch on my shoulder makes me yelp. Whirling around, I find Raffi DeLuca looming over me. For a moment, all I can do is stare.
Raffi leans in. "Eavesdropping, D? Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"
Irritation wells up in me, masking my embarrassment at being caught. "Don't speak of my mother. And my name is Darian, Mr. DeLuca, as you very well know."
Raffi chuckles. "Okay, Darian." He braces one muscled arm on the wall beside my head, leaning close enough for me to smellhis spicy cologne, sending my pulse skittering. "So youwereeavesdropping?" But he's still smiling.
Is he…flirtingwith me? Impossible.
Raffi DeLuca is only being suggestive so that he can enjoy my discomfort. There are some unpleasant days when I think he knows how inexperienced I am in—well, matters of the flesh. That he knows and likes to tease me about it.
I square my shoulders and try to look down my nose at him, which is difficult, when he's taller than me already. "Let me pass. I have work to do."
Raffi doesn't budge. His warm breath feathers my ear as he stage-whispers, "Come on, D, tell me those secrets you learned. Don't be selfish."
I squeeze my hands into tight fists, outrage warring with unwilling attraction. Raffi has teased me occasionally ever since I started working here. And then every so often, he doesthis—tries to fluster me, get me off-balance. But I refuse to be diminished. "Mr. DeLuca, I suggest you see to your own work and let me get on with mine."
Raffi's grin widens, but he pushes away from the wall. "You're no fun." Behind him, the salon doors open. Sandro fills the doorway, staring between Raffi and me.
Oh, no. What did he hear?
But Sandro merely says, "DeLuca, go get Pedretti. Now."
That wipes the smirk off Raffi's face, and he heads off at once. From behind Sandro, I see Julian's face, and suck in a sharp breath. He's staring at Anna-Vittoria with an expression that does nothing to hide his thoughts.
He wants to kill her. Painfully.
And she's gazing right back at him with a cat-like smile.
What onearthis going on?
"Should I bring more coffee, sir, for Mr. Pedretti?" I ask Sandro, forcing my attention back to him. "There are also some cucumber sandwiches andpetit fours, if need be."
But before he can reply, Julian is stalking toward us both. He barges past Sandro in the doorway, shoulder-checking him in a way that shocks me. But Sandro just watches his brother stomping away.
"This will not stand, Alessandro!" he calls back over his shoulder. "Iwill not stand for it."
Leo Bernardi, following his lover, pauses by Sandro. "Sorry," he murmurs. "I'll…" He waves a hand in a gesture that suggestsI'll take care of this. Sandro merely nods.
