Darian's smile remains professional, but I can see the flash of disgust in his eyes. "I shall have to decline, Mr. Russo."
A few men nearby—Gino's side, I'm pretty sure—snicker at Darian's ironic tone. Russo's face reddens, his eyes narrowing.
"You got a smart mouth on you, don't you?" Russo growls, reaching out to grab Darian's arm. "I bet I could put it to better use."
Darian sidesteps Russo's grasp, his smile turning icy. "Mr. Russo, I suggest you keep your handsandyour vulgar propositions to yourself. I'm here to ensure the smooth running of this event, not to indulge the whims of a man who can't hold his liquor—or his tongue."
Okay, maybe I pushed Darian a little too far before.
The laughter from the other mobsters grows louder, and Russo's face is now a deep shade of purple. "You little punk, I'll?—"
Oh,shit.
I step up fast, before Russo can do something even dumber than he has already. "Is there a problem here?"
Darian's shoulders tense even more as he stares at me, but I don't miss the look of relief that passes over his face. Russo sneers, bourbon on his breath. "The fuck business is it of yours, kid? Who the hell are you, anyway?"
"DeLuca. Head of security at Redwood. Looks like you've got your drink—" I nod at the glass in his hand "—so how about we let the staff get back to work, eh?"
"I got a complaint, DeLuca. This little shit?—"
"I'm sorry to hear that," I break in, "and since Mr. Thornfield-Hayes reports directly to Julian Castellani, I'll be happy to call him over to deal with your complaint if?—"
"Forget it," Russo snaps, bristling at the not-so-veiled threat, and stomps off.
I search Darian's face. "Are you alright?" My hand twitches with the urge to touch him, to offer a comfort I really have no right to offer. But he looks so pale.
Darian holds himself perfectly still, giving nothing away. "Thank you for the assistance, Mr. DeLuca, but it was…" He trails off, and I see a sheen on his forehead. "Did I really just say that to a guest?" he whispers.
"I mean, yeah, you did, but he had it coming."
"Is he—is he?—"
It takes a second to work out what he means, and when I do, I put a reassuring hand on his arm. "No one's going to hurt you, D. Anyone threatens you, you call for me. You hear me?"
He gives a shaky nod, and now I feel real bad that I put him so off-balance before. But after a few deep breaths, he pulls himself together. "Thank you, Mr. DeLuca. If you'll excuse me, I should return to my duties."
The polite dismissal stings more than I care to admit. I watch him disappear into the crowd, see the way his shoulders are stilltensed up as he moves away. Darian isn't made of stone or ice, no matter how much he likes to project that image.
No, he's warm flesh and blood…
"Raffaello."
I jerk to attention and turn to stare into the soulless blue eyes of Julian Castellani. "Mr. Castell?—"
"If anyone lays a hand on Darian, you have my permission to remove it. With a cleaver, if necessary."
"I don't know that Don Castellani would be happy about that, but I'll keep an eye on Darian."
"You certainly have been," Julian says, and there's that cold, calculating smile that makes half the security team turn tail and run.
Not me, though. "Yeah," I say. "There are a few handsy assholes around tonight. Figured Darian and the other staff might seem like easy pickings. So I've been watching out for it."
"What's going on?" Leo Bernardi is never far behind Julian, and that's kind of a relief. Julian's a handful. His brother and Leo and Johnny Jacopo are among the few who can keep Julian in line.
And Darian. Darian knows how to handle him, too.
"All under control, sir," I say to Leo.
