Russo is conspicuously absent.
Under Sandro's eye, I locked him in his bedroom myself, and gave the key—unwillingly, but necessarily—to AJ Bernardi. AJ insisted, and I guess I don't blame him, being in an enemy's house and all. But Sandro made it damn clear that if Russo got out, AJ would be the one held accountable.
If it'd been up to me, Russo would've been kicked out entirely, sent home, and someone sent after him in the darkest hours of night to remind him of his manners. But I can see that Sandro's made the best decision he could in a shitty situation. He found the only compromise he could, and I comfort myself with the hope that the Boss'll let me personally tackle Russo after this parley is done.
The Boss is good like that. He lets people settle scores where he can, and I like that about him.
As I watch from my guard position near the doorway, I feel a surge of pride in the Family I've sworn to protect. Don Castellani is an honorable man, and I'm glad I can say that these days andmean it. The previous guy, I didn't know so well. But he was…not so honorable. It wasn't clear at first when I joined up, but it became clearer over the years. Ciro Castellani was a different kind of Don, and I never felt quite right about the oaths I made to him—though I always kept them.
Sandro, though, he really does inspire loyalty. Working for him is the way I always thought it would be, being part of a brotherhood. I admire him for the way he's pulled this Family together, the way he's consolidated his power.
And tonight I feel like I can relax a little, enjoy watching Darian in his element, moving about the room with grace and efficiency. Every now and then, our eyes meet across the crowded space, and I feel a jolt every time.
Darian's poise tonight is impressive, given the events of the day. He seems unruffled, focused solely on his work, and I admire him for it. He has his own honor, the kind that scum like AJ Bernardi and Donnie Russo could stand to learn.
But as the evening progresses and the guests drink more, become more relaxed, I get less so. Booze makes things tricky. My vigilance is rewarded, too, when there's a break between courses, and the guests are moving around the first floor of the manor. I spot Tony Clemenza cornering Darian in a small sitting room off the main hallway. The New Yorker's body language is allwrong—too close, too threatening—and he's speaking in a low hiss.
Anger flares in me as strong as it did just this afternoon; Darian shouldn't have to deal with more bullshit today.
"Hey," I interject, coming into the room with a cold glare directed at Clemenza. "Is there a problem here?"
Clemenza looks me up and down. "Hey?Hey?You talk like that to someone of my stature in New York, you'd lose your tongue."
"Then it's a good thing we're in LA." I push Darian behind me. "So. AnythingIcan help you with?"
Clemenza casts one last, lingering glance at Darian before walking away without another word.
"Are you okay?" I ask, turning to Darian at once.
His eyes meeting mine with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "Yes, thank you," he says quietly. "I appreciate your help but I-Icanhandle myself."
"I know you can. But you shouldn'thaveto 'handle' assholes like that. Do I need to talk to Don Castellani again about guests making problems?"
Darian hesitates, his eyes flickering nervously. "It was nothing," he says, looking down at his hands. "Just a misunderstanding. He wasn't happy with his breakfast. I promised to do better for him tomorrow morning."
Something about his response doesn't sit right with me, but my concern for him clouds that out. All I want is to make sure he's okay. "Are you sure?" I search his face.
Darian studies me for a moment. "I'm sure," he says finally, managing a small smile. "Thank you, Raffi."
God. My name on his lips.
"Listen," I say, making a bold decision. "That Russo asshole is locked up tight, but if you feel worried or unsafe during the night, you come to my room. You can sleep in my bed and I'll take the couch. I'll protect you."
Darian's surprise is evident, but then something shifts in his expression—an unexpected spark of mischief. "Protect me?" he repeats. "What exactly would that entail, Raffi?"
Heat surges through me at his words. I lean in slowly, making sure he's cool with me being so close, and he raises up his face to mine. I move a little sideways so my lips are just inches from his ear. "Whatever you'd like me to do, D."
The next dinner course is served soon after, and we go back to our respective duties. But I can't keep my eyes off him, and I know he feels me watching him, that faint smile and blush every time he catches my eyes suggesting that he's thinking about what might happen tonight.
God, I hope hedoescome to my room tonight.
And I hope he brings that new, flirty attitude if he does…
The clock ticks past one a.m. and there's still no sign of Darian.
I pace my bedroom, not even a little bit tired. Why hasn't he come? Does he not trust me? Or maybe I read the situation all wrong, and he was disgusted by what I whispered to him. Maybe he thought sexual favors were the cost for protection, that I'm just as bad as Russo, as every other asshole here who's been bugging him this weekend.
Or maybe he's fine and he just wanted to get some sleep.
