AfterI've had a look at that wardrobe in Chops Lollo's room.
I wait until the Gino faction—Roxy included—are led down to the salon. And then I slip into the room Chops was staying in.
There's that big fucking wardrobe, just like Julian said, pushed up against the passage entrance. I give it a shove from this side and it doesn't even rock. When I put my whole strength behind it, I can get it to wobble a hair, maybe, but not enough to move. I open it up, shove aside the few jackets and shirts Chops had hanging up in there, and look at the holes from this side.
But it's like Julian said—so far as I can tell with my phone light and by running my hands over them, they're smoothed out, darkened at the edges the way wood knots get. And when I pretend to be Donnie Russo shooting Chops, they're much lower down than they would be at his height.
I stumble back out and take a quick look around Chops' room, then Gino and Roxy's, but I can't see anything. The only thing that strikes me as weird is the shitty gas station lighter on Foxy Roxy's dressing table, mixed in with her makeup and brushes and nail files. Doesn't seem like something she'd have on her, especially considering she doesn't smoke.
For a second I squint hard at the nail files, because they're metal, and they could conceivably be turned into weapons. But they're not sharp, and since neither Chops nor Clemenza were burned to death or stabbed with a nail file, I let both the lighter and the nail files go.
As I close up the west wing again, and nod to the guards, I realize my hands are dirty again. The same weird smudges I got from moving Chops Lollo's body through the passage. What the hell is it? Something on his clothes?
Who the fuck knows. At least I noticed before I touched Darian again and got this shit all over him. He'd be livid if I messed up his clothes. I give a fond chuckle and stop in the bathroom along the hallway to wash my hands.
I stare at myself in the mirror for a second, as though my reflection might have any answers.
It doesn't. It just stares back at me with the same furrowed brow, and for a second I don't recognize myself as a weird sense of unreality comes down over me.
None of this feelsreal. It feels like some murder mystery show where the detective pulls together all the pieces at the end and make everything clear. But that's not how reality works, is it? That's just Hollywood. Just fiction. This isn't some TV show or movie. Two men are dead…onmywatch.
I shake my head to clear it. I really need some fucking sleep.
Enough. It's time to get Russo.
CHAPTER 30
DARIAN
I watchRaffi walking away with Don Castellani to discuss the grim discovery of Chops Lollo's body, and I want to call out, call him back, rewind time.
I should have told him.
I should have told himlongbefore now…
With a significant glance at Leo, Julian sets off on his own, to do who knows what. Leo claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, startling me from my brooding. "You alright, Darian?"
"Yes, Mr. Bernardi. I'm perfectly well."
"Listen," Leo says, leaning closer, "Raffi's tough, and he'll handle whatever Sandro throws at him. Don't worry too much." He takes a critical look at me. "You look like you're gonna hurl your guts up. I get it. Not much fun, all this murder and shit. You need anything, you tell me. Okay?" He offers a genuine smile that softens his intimidating face.
"I…I would like to call my mother."
I cringe after I say it, aware of how it sounds.
Mommy's boy.Go cry to Mommy, my bullies used to laugh. And I would.
But right now, I need to speak to her more desperately than I ever have before, and since lockdown started, I haven't had access to a phone—and before that, I had Raffi or one of the guards shadowing me.
Leo's heavy-lidded gaze lingers on me for a moment, his brow furrowed. But then he hands me his own personal phone and walks away to give me some privacy, shutting the door behind him.
I can't help myself. My feet take me over to the secret doorway and I look inside, just as Don Castellani did a few minutes ago.
As soon as my eyes land on the body, I wish I hadn't looked. But it was necessary. Necessary to understand the people I work for. To remind myself of what might be at stake.
And then, with shaking fingers, I call my mother.
Once I'm done, Raffi is still sequestered with Sandro in the study, so I immerse myself in the familiar routine of the Manor, trying to find comfort in order and structure. But it's no use. As much as I methodically straighten picture frames and check on the progress of breakfast, each task brings me one step closer to having to admit the truth to Raffi—and dealing with the consequences.
