I think for a moment about demanding they all turn them in. They're weapons, aren't they, those lighters? Of a kind.
Eh, it'd be more trouble than it's worth.
The Castellani higher-ups have all arrived. Al Montanari and a few of the more important Capos are here. Gene Lombardo, Sandro's Consigliere, is deep in conversation with his counterpart, Monkeys Scignatti, Gino's advisor—the guy who not long ago took a bullet from AJ. Monkeys has real balls putting himself out here tonight, staring down the man who was happy enough to shoot through him to kill Aldo Bernardi.
As a patricide, AJ Bernardi shouldn't have been able to set foot in Redwood Manor. Hell, any made man worth his oaths should've cut him down as soon as he killed his Don. We all know what he did. But he claims—despite the fact that both his brother Gino and Monkeys are living witnesses to that night—thathewasn't holding the gun. That he was trying to protect his father, not kill him.
It's bullshit. But he's gathered enough support among the turncoats in his Family to make the claim a little more plausible than not. And AJ is a more acceptable leader to most of the Bernardis than Gino, who's always been more interested in Hollywood and his own dick than the Family.
If it was up to me, I'd kill them both and let the Bernardis die out completely. But it's not up to me.Myjob is to ensure the safety of everyone in attendance, including these Bernardi bastards plotting against each other, so that's what I focus on. The real talks will start tomorrow, once?—
And here he is, Darian announcing the guy like he's a fucking prince or something.
"Mr. Anthony Clemenza," Darian's voice rings out.
Tony Clemenza, the elder statesman who agreed to help sort through the rubble left by the Bernardi implosion. Even AJ minds his manners as he greets the ageing ex-New Yorker. The old man is still formidably tall and barrel-chested, his hair iron-gray under thick, low brows. Everyone agrees he was a good pick for mediator. The Clemenza Family might have made trouble for our friends in New York, but they're also the ancestors of the Bernardis. And Tony Clemenza retired out here to the LA sunshine a long time ago, so he's both neutral enough to be acceptable to allies like the Morellis and revered enough to make sure the Bernardi boys behave themselves.
I enjoy the way Darian turns on that announcer's voice, making everyone pay attention. He's a slight little guy, but real nice tolook at—and then somehow he makes his usually-quiet voice turn up to ten. It's some trick.
He looks great tonight in that penguin suit he's wearing. I feel like everythingI'mwearing is a little too tight, but Darian…God, he looks like he was born in it. Back straight, chin high. But I still see the strain around his eyes. He's been working round the clock, same as me, to make sure this parley goes smooth.
I hover closer, shadowing his steps from a few feet away.
"Excuse me, sir," he says to one of the Gino-aligned guests, expertly refilling their glass without them even noticing. His voice is calm and polite, and he hides it well, but I bet the bad manners of these ungrateful cretins are wearing on him.
And that simply won't do.
Tonight, Darian Thornfield-Hayes is more than "the help." He's more than just head of staff, even. He's a representative of the Family, whether or not he's made the same oaths I have.
So I saunter over when he's resettling a few decanters and lean in close. "Need a hand?"
My tone is casual, as if I'm only here to offer help, but beneath the surface, there's something else. A teasing edge that I can't suppress, the one that always comes out when I talk to him. Darian justdoessomething to me. Makes me want to ruffle those pristine feathers.
"Thank you, Mr. DeLuca, but I have it under control." Clipped. No-nonsense. He turns his back to me and gets on with his task.
"Yeah? You seem tense, D," I murmur, and I can't help smiling as he stiffens. "Any of these tough guys giving you trouble?"
Darian turns to face me, a polite smile frozen on his lips. But his eyes are wary, and that pretty flush creeps up his throat. "Not at all, Mr. DeLuca. I'm happy to serve."
"Is that so?" I reach out to straighten his already-straight bow tie, allowing my knuckles to brush the warm skin of his throat. I thrill at the hitch in his breathing. "Happy to serve, huh?"
His ears go pink. At last, he steps back, pulling the bow tie from my fingers. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. DeLuca, I have duties to attend to."
I hear that irritated hitch in his voice and I'm satisfied. "Alright, alright," I concede, holding up my hands as I step back. "God forbid some dickhead doesn't get to stuff his hole with a canapé in the next two seconds."
The red stain in his skin dies away as he continues moving around the party, but I get more than one irritated glance from him, which I return with a smug grin. Because I have what I wanted: a Darian who is much less deferential to the assholes he's serving. He's too annoyed with me to worry about being servile.
And it's lucky, too, because a few minutes later, AJ Bernardi's Consigliere has cornered Darian near the bar. Donnie Russo. That asshole is known for groping anyone in his vicinity, regardless of gender or consent. If he tries that shit with Darian, I'll?—
I take a deep breath.
What the ever-loving fuck iswrongwith me? I was a hothead as a kid, but I know better now. Iambetter now. Plus I'm the head of Redwood Manor security, so I'll handle this bozo leering at Darian in the same way Pedretti would handle it.
Calm. Efficient. Take no crap.
And throw no punches. Peace of the parley and all that shit.
"Hey, sweetheart." Russo leers at Darian, his words slurring slightly. "Why don't you come over here and sit on my lap? I've got a special treat for you."
