Julian takes a deep breath in through his nose, lifting it up slightly. His eyes half-close and a tiny, cynical smirk pulls his mouth to one side before he looks back to me. "Alright," he says softly. "If you say so, Raffaello. Is that how it was, Darian?"
I finally chance a look at Darian. He's scarlet, but he nods.
"All night?" Julian prods.
"A-all night," Darian chokes out at last.
He looks up at me, and I pull him in tight, leaning down to kiss his forehead, since we're playing this game. Better make it convincing.
But as I glare at Julian, who is smiling broadly now, and take in Leo's narrowed eyes, I'm worried it won't be enough.
CHAPTER 17
DARIAN
Raffi lied for me.
He lied for me, put his reputation, his honor, hislifeon the line, and if Sandro Castellani doesn't believe him, the consequences will be dire.
Julian clearly didn't believe us at all, but he seems prepared to accept the lie. Sandro, though?
I'm relieved to have an alibi, but I fear for what might happen to both of us if Don Castellani sees through the lie. He arrived five minutes ago like a thunderstorm sweeping in. Julian and Leo have taken him to view the body.
As though thinking of him is a summoning spell, I hear Sandro's footsteps coming down the corridor to where he told Raffi and me to take ourselves and wait—just outside his study.
Raffi and I have not said a single word to each other while we waited, but he has kept my hand in his, squeezing tight now and then. It gave me a tiny feeling of security each time he did. But when Sandro strides by us now, into the study, my anxiety skyrockets.
"Darian, in here," Sandro commands. "DeLuca, you stay outside."
Raffi and I exchange a look, and he gives my hand one last squeeze. Then I enter the study and close the door behind me.
"Let's begin," Sandro says, taking his seat behind the imposing mahogany desk. "Tell me everything. Why were you in Clemenza's room this morning?"
Though my mouth has gone dry, I keep my expression blank. "I went to Mr. Clemenza's room to deliver a shirt he'd requested be laundered overnight. When I arrived, he was already…"
"How did you get in?"
"The door was unlocked. I knocked softly, and when there was no response, I went in. He—he'd told me to do that the night before, to deliver the shirt quietly and not to wake him. When I saw he was—well, I ran. Ran to Mr. DeLuca right away."
"And where were you during the night?"
"I was…with Mr. DeLuca. In his room."
"All night?" Sandro's gaze sharpens.
"Yes, sir." I clasp my hands behind my back to hide their trembling.
Sandro studies me, and I fight to keep my breathing even. Does he know I'm lying? Julian seemed to find the idea laughable.
But Raffi has risked too much for me to falter now.
"The knife," he said. "Have you seen it before?"
I can't lie about that. "Yes. I think it's Chef Laurent's. He was complaining about missing it yesterday during dinner prep."
"And to your knowledge, was anyone—ah." For the first time, Sandro's voice softens. "Donnie Russo was in the kitchen yesterday, I assume," he says.
"Yes, sir. He—he had to go through to kitchen to reach my break room."
