"Julian," Raffi snaps, and that's how I know Raffi is angry. He rarely addresses Julian by his first name. It'sMr. Castellani, usually, just like me. "What do you want?"
"Can't a man visit his favorite butler?" Julian makes no effort to hide his interest in our disheveled state. "Alright, calm down, Raffaello. I have news for you two lovebirds. Leo told me last night that he and Jack haven't been able to narrow down the suspect list for Clemenza's murder yet."
I glance at Raffi, who remains silent, his face unreadable as he takes in the information. A mix of embarrassment and panic swirls inside me as I consider the possibility that Raffi is coming to regret everything we did last night…and this morning.
"Okay," he says at last. "And?"
"And that means you two need to pick up your game. I thought for sure Jack and Leo would have solved it by now. They haven't. So it's time for the backup team to pick up the ball and run with it."
"That all?"
Julian tips his head to one side. "You seem very eager to be rid of me, Raffaello. Did I interrupt something salacious?"
Raffi's jaw clenches, but he remains silent. I duck my head, acutely aware of my state of undress and fighting back a blush.
"Well, this has been quite an enlightening visit," Julian says brightly. "I'll leave you two to continue yourdiscussions." He slips out the door before either of us can respond.
Raffi and I avoid looking at each other, and I squeeze the sheets tight in my fists as he sighs.
"Raffi, I…" My voice sounds small, choked, but he holds up a hand. Something fundamental has shifted between us, but I don't know how to put that into words.
Raffi clears his throat. "We should get moving." He grabs the towel that I set out for him last night. "Lots to do today." He pauses. "About what we were just?—"
"Please don't," I say at once. I couldn't bear to hear him dismiss it.
Not when it meant so much to me.
"It's okay, Darian. We were both a little out of our minds last night. This morning, too. Stress does strange things to a man, right?" He starts backing away from me. "I'mma take a shower," he goes on quickly, "then we should figure out what you're doing today. Sandro and Julian can't expect you to deal with so many people in the house, not on your own."
I hadn't even thought about that.
But now I am, and the anxiety begins to build again.
I scramble from the bed soon as the bathroom door closes and pull my pajamas and robe back on, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. As I check my schedule for the day, I force myself to consider the other tasks at hand, the ones Julian assigned: our investigation into Clemenza's murder, clearing my name, and in turn clearing Redwood Manor of this nest of vipers that Sandro Castellani has shut up inside it.
I need to prove to both myself and Raffi that whatever happened last night won't affect our ability to work together.
I shower after Raffi and dress meticulously, taking care to ensure every button is fastened straight, that my tie is perfectly knotted, that every hair is in place. The routine of it all helps to ground me, to remind me of who I am and what I'm here to do.
Raffi seems to have adopted a similar mindset. He stays firmly outside the closed bedroom door while I'm dressing, and when I come out, there's an unspoken understanding between us that we will not discuss what happened between us.
I can do that. I can keep silent.
I just can't forget.
Raffi told me that he would send another guard to stay with me while he went on his security rounds, and so I have Mario Vecchi with me as I start on my own work, and try to figure out how to get together some semblance of breakfast for the household.
I know logically that Raffi has a lot of work to do, just like I have. But I can't help feeling like he just doesn't want anyone to know that he was with me last night. As if to prove my worst thoughts, Raffi is conferring with two of the guards by the front entrance when I happen to walk through the foyer. Our eyes meet for a brief moment before he looks away quickly. I tear my eyes from him, a bitter taste flooding my mouth.
"Morning, Darian," the guards call out to me. I nod quickly and move on, Mario at my heels. I'm not sure I like having someone so close to me all the time.
Or at least, someone who isn't Raffi.
As I make my way into the grand salon, intent on collecting more empty, cold pizza boxes that have been strewn around the Manor, a small conclave of AJ Bernardi's men are whispering together at the other end of the room. They don't notice Mario or me as we enter or exit, and their voices are too low to make out distinct words, but the tension is unmistakable.
By the time Mario and I have collected all the pizza boxes we can find, I've been all over the house—and my observations have painted a clear picture of the unrest permeating the manor.
The Bernardi factions are refracturing, reforming, alliances shifting and grudges bubbling up in the aftermath of Clemenza's death.
