I don't point out that he could just as well ask another guard to accompany me. Because I like having Raffi with me. It does make me feel safer. Russo shook me up, though I hate to admit it.
Suddenly, Raffi's phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and curses under his breath. "Gate issue," he says. "Come on, I'll walk you back in. I don't want you alone out here with all these Bernardis wandering around."
A warm pleasure runs through me at his words. I don't know how I ever thought badly of Raffi, or got so irritated with him. He's nice.
Verynice.
He takes me into the kitchen, where Chef Laurent and his team are hard at work still, and I take the time to polish the crystal wine glasses once more, while Joe Simonetto, the guard everyone calls "Simmy," stands guard in the cornerlooking bored. But exactly eighteen minutes later, Raffi returns, expression strange as he approaches me. "There's been an unexpected guest. Don Castellani requests our presence immediately."
My stomach drops. An unexpected guest in the middle of the parley? I hurry behind Raffi toward Sandro Castellani's study, wondering what new catastrophe I'll have to manage.
But we enter the study to find Sandro laughing and chatting in Italian with a striking, black-haired man I've never seen before. "Raffi, Darian! Come in," Sandro calls out, gesturing for us to join them. "This is Nero Andretti, an old friend from my school days in Italy. He's just arrived in America for a visit, arrived this very day."
The man grins, brown eyes crinkling at the corners, and stands to greet us, holding out a hand. "A great pleasure to meet you both," he says, with a rich Italian accent. "Sandro won't tell you the trouble he got up to in school—but I will. Just ask."
Sandro chuckles. "Silenzio, Nero! I have my reputation to protect."
I shake the proffered hand, offering a polite smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Andretti."
He's very tall and very broad, and he has a large, obvious tattoo across his throat that readsPer Sempre. There's something dangerous about him, in the same way there is something dangerous about the Castellani brothers.
Raffi remains silent beside me, face impassive, as he sizes up our new guest. Nero either doesn't notice the tension or chooses to ignore it.
"Darian is ourmaggiordomo—no, I believe he prefers 'butler,'" Sandro says.
"Either majordomo or butler is perfectly fine, Don Castellani," I assure him. Nero looks me head to toe, though unlike Donnie Russo or Tony Clemenza, his appreciation is neither invasive nor offensive, merely curious.
But next to me, Raffi stiffens.
"Nero is here on an impromptu visit," Sandro goes on. "He was always impetuous. Of course, it's a difficult time for us, I explained, to be receiving guests."
"I am all apologies," Nero says. "I immediately turned to leave, but—" He shrugs expressively, and his grin edges into smirk territory.
"But as one of my oldest friends," Sandro picks up the story, "I have demanded that he stay here with us on the grounds while he is in Los Angeles. Not in the house," Sandro adds, with a significant look at Raffi, who seemed to be about to object. "But in one of the guesthouses, over near the tennis courts. Of course he will need to keep his distance from our other guests—I have explained the situation."
"Business is so dull," Nero says with that wide smile. "I plan to enjoy myself around LA while you bore yourself here, Sandro."
Nothing about this situation feels right, but I have no choice except to follow orders. I dip my head. "Of course, Don Castellani."
Raffi echoes my response, though he sounds less enthusiastic. There's a knock at the door and Raffi says, "That'll be Mario.He'll collect your luggage and stay with you while we prepare the guesthouse, Mr. Andretti."
"Wonderful, wonderful." Nero and his blinding white teeth exit the study, leaving Raffi and me alone with Sandro.
The warmth drains from Sandro's expression. He crosses to the bay window and stares out of it with a frown. "Nero Andretti hasn't contacted me since my father's death," he says at last. "Now he shows up unannounced, as though we're still schoolboys with no cares in the world?" Sandro shakes his head.
"Boss, I gotta say…" Raffi begins hesitantly.
"I know what you would say, DeLuca, and I agree." Sandro gives a slow sigh. "Unfortunately, I owe the man my life—twice over, in fact. It is not possible for me to turn him away without causing great offence to some of our allies in Italy, a fact that he very well knows." Sandro studies us, his gaze sharp. "Under normal circumstances, I would rely on Jack or Pedretti to deal with this," he admits at last. "But Pedretti is away, and I want Jack focused on the parley. Raffi, you are my security man in Pedretti's absence. And Darian…I'm sorry to ask it of you, but it will of course be extra work for you, too."
"What about the Bernardis?" Raffi asks.
"Gino will fall in line. And AJ is seeking to smooth troubled waters after—" Sandro glances at me. "AJ will accept my decision," he says instead. "Keep an eye on him. Nero is not to enter the house again. There's too much at stake right now for complications."
"You got it, Boss," Raffi says. "We'll watch him."
I echo him, of course. But this feels too close to Family business for comfort, and I'm not supposed to be involved in Family business. Don Castellani made that clear when he spoke to me himself, after Julian convinced me to take the role.
Raffi and I wait a moment more for Sandro to dismiss us, but he isn't quite finished. "There's one more thing I should tell you both. Nero was…ismy oldest friend. We grew up together in the boarding school I attended, and we spent vacations together too, from time to time. But since I left Italy, I happen to know that he has become very well connected." He grimaces. "He is a protégé of my mother's. So do whatever you need to do to keep him away from the house. We have enough turmoil already without adding fuel to the fire."
