The drive back to my apartment is conducted in silence, broken only by the purr of the car's engine. I feel self-conscious when Raffi's eyes meet mine in the mirror. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes my heart skip a beat.
I decide to break the ice. "Do you enjoy working at Redwood Manor, Mr. DeLuca?"
In the mirror, I see Raffi's mouth give a slight smirk. "Yeah, I do. It has its challenges, but the Castellanis…well, they know how to take care of their people."
As we pull up to my apartment, Raffi turns around in his seat, his brown eyes locking onto mine with newfound seriousness. "Look, kid, I think you should know what you're getting into here."
Kid? We're about the same age, surely. But I don't protest. I want to know more. "What do you mean?"
Raffi hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "The Castellanis, they're not your average wealthy dynasty. They…well. They don't take kindly to those who cross them." He pauses to see how I'm taking it. Apparently I seem to be receptive to what he's saying, because he goes on. "You need to really think about this offer, what it might mean. Do a bit of Googling, you get me?"
That sense of something being wrong rises up again as I process his words. But I've already Googled them, and nothing that I've heard today from Julian—even including the outlandish salary and benefits—seems untoward. Discretion would be paramount at a place like Redwood, and that could explain the monetary rewards. "Thank you, Mr. DeLuca," I say, at last. "Is there anything in particular I should search for online?"
Raffi looks away as he thinks, then gives a little huff of laughter. "Yeah," he says. "Check out Cute Crims."
Cute—what?
He's just making fun of me now, surely. "Thank you for the ride home," I say, my voice tight. I open the door myself. "Goodbye, Mr. DeLuca."
Raffi DeLuca might be kind of a jerk, but I still take his advice later that night and delve deeper into the Castellani family on my phone, searching for something—anything—that should give me pause. The glossy photos of Julian at Hollywood parties, rubbing elbows with A-list celebrities and influential producers, seem to confirm their involvement in the film industry.
But...thereissomething else, an undercurrent I can't quite pin down.
What did Raffi say just before I left the car? Cute something? I try "cute castellani" and quickly find a link to what Raffi must have been talking about—an odd website calledCute Crims, hidden behind a paywall.
Cute Crims? Ludicrous. And what kind of information could be so valuable that it requires $99.99 a month to access—and that's thelowestlevel membership? I hesitate for a moment, my finger hovering over the mouse.
Do I really want to do this?
Julian Castellani paid me a stipend for the day, since I had to take a shift off work. It arrived in my bank account this morning,in fact, and it was much more generous than I expected. It would cover, for example, a month's subscription toCute Crims, with enough left over for weekly groceries, rent and the unexpected bill that came in last week.
I take a deep breath and click, entering my payment information. As the first page loads, trepidation washes over me. What exactly will I find?
The first article that catches my eye mentions Julian Castellani by name. I lean in closer, my eyes scanning the text. A collected list of rumors about Julian Castellani's involvement in a spate of murders down at the LA Port…
What?
I scan it, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I do so.
But then at the end, I give a sigh of relief. The author of the piece and apparent owner of the site, GangstaGuy, has added an editorial note at the end: "You want my opinion? Bullshit. Julian Castellani was at an industry party that night. This was definitely a case of Bernardi-on-Bernardi violence."
I don't know who or what the Bernardis are. I search on and find more than one picture of Julian on the site—at least in the parts my $99.99 gives access to—and one of his older brother Sandro, too, snuggling up to a beautiful young blond man.
The Bernardis, I discover, are a Crime Family. There's another known as the Esposito Family. And there's something called PacSyn, and…
I go on. The more I read, the more Ihaveto read.Cute Crimsproves gossipy, lascivious, and completely addictive.
But is this the real truth behind the Castellanis' wealth? Are they really involved in—what—organized crime?
There can't be this much smoke without fire, I'm certain of that. And I am not the naivekidthat Raffi DeLuca made me out to be. I'm smarter than that.
A thought occurs to me, makes me shift uncomfortably on the sofa. But I have to follow up on it, now that I've thought it. I go into the search bar ofCute Crims, type "Raffi DeLuca," then hit enter with a racing heart.
Nothing. No mention of him anywhere on the site.
I lean back in my seat, my thoughts going a mile a minute. What does this mean for me? For the job offer? I've always prided myself on my integrity, but the allure of the Castellanis' world, the promise of doors opening for me, is hard to ignore.
I put down my phone, decision still unmade. But one thing I'm sure of: the Castellanis are not who they appear to be, and if I choose to work for them, I'll be entering a dangerous world.
