"What about Chops?" I ask.
"Chops?" Darian stares blankly at me. "I don't know anything about Chops."
I stare back.
"You don't believe me," he says slowly.
"I don't know what to fucking believe anymore. And now another man is dead, Darian. Russo got blamed for both the murders. AJ killed him—" I snap my fingers. "—like that. Dead, without a real chance to defend himself."
His face drains of blood at my words, and I see the mounting panic in his eyes. "M-maybe he deserved it? Itcouldhave been Russo who killed them both. I don't know who did it. But I swear to you, Raffi, I'm not responsible for any of this. That's all I know."
I take in his disheveled hair and fearful face. "The hell are you doing working for the mob when your mom's in that kind of situation?" It bursts out of me, outrage at his stupidity, his carelessness.
"I didn'tknow," he insists.
"How could younot?" I ask incredulously. More to the point, though, how couldwenot have known about this, the Castellanis? Jack ran background checks, so how did he miss this? Doesn't sound much like Darian's mom would've had deep cover.
And Darian just shrugs, helpless, looking at me with those imploring golden-brown eyes.
Darian had access to the knife. He had a key to open Clemenza's door, and Russo's, too. Clemenza threatened him, and now he's dead. Russo threatened him too, and Russo got set up to take the fall for Chops.
He's already been accused once. If the fact that Darian is the secret lovechild of a Clemenza Capo gets out…
I need to check with the guards, ask them if they let Darian go into Russo's room. I already asked if anyone went in or out, but maybe they just didn't mention it, like you don't mention the postman coming or the waiter who poured drinks.
I hate myself for thinking like this, like I suspect Darian of killinganyone. I don't. I've known he was an innocent from the second I met him. But I've fucked up so many times during this parley, I need to make sure I don't fuck upthis, the most important thing of all. Because under all the anger and hurt and—hell—betrayalI feel, I'm scared. Scared forhim. If the Bernardis find out any of this—hell, if Sandro does—Darian might look like the prime suspect again, and Russo as a neat little explanation will start to fall apart.
And all I can picture are AJ Bernardi's hands on him, breaking his neck before I can even blink and letting him fall dead to the carpet.
I turn and head for the door.
Darian follows, grabbing my arm. "What are you doing?"
"My job."
"What do you mean?"
"Get some rest," I tell him, my tone clipped. "We'll talk later. Just—stay here in your room, don't go out. You hear me?"
"But Raffi…"
"What?"
"You—you won't tell anyone, will you?"
I pause with my hand on the door handle, turning to look at him one last time. "I told you I'd protect you. And I'm no liar, D."
He flinches, makes I wish I hadn't added that last bit. He's paper white. I want to rush back to him, take him in my arms, tell him I'll look after him, not to worry. But I'm pissed and getting more pissed by the second, and losing my temper won't help anything right now. So before he can say anything else, I exit the room and close the door behind me, locking it tight. In the hallway, I lean against the wall and exhale.
You're so black and white about everything.
That was so fucking insulting.
But by the time I reach the grand salon again, anger and shock have curdled into a hollow ache inside my chest. I want the numbness that comes with duty. With violence. Thesimplicityof black and white.
Not this tangled, messy gray.
I do something I have never, ever done at work. I go to the side bar, pour myself a drink and throw it back, squeezing the glass hard in my hand. Getting drunk seems like a damn good idea right now. Maybe if I drink enough, I can forget all this. Just let it go, like Darian obviously wants me to do.
