Likeeveryoneseems to want to do. Sandro, AJ, Gino—they all seemed pretty happy to tie this up with a bow.
I turn and stare at the place where Donnie Russo died, and I see Darian in his place again, a terrible vision that makes me clench the glass so hard it cracks.
Shit.
But I can't just ignore this information. If something like this escaped my notice, what the hell else has? I'm not exactly on top of my game right now, sleep deprived, stressed, resources stretched while most of the house staff are kept away.
And now I have two ounces of bourbon burning away in my belly.
What would Pedretti do? I know he'd put the Family first, but like the Boss pointed out himself, Russo's death was Bernardi business. Not Castellani business.
And can I really rat on Darian? Well, I already know the answer to that question.
I head to the kitchen, dispose of the cracked glass, and have a big glass of water. Then I go up to the security room and call in all the guards who were on duty watching the Bernardis the night Chops died.
"Did anyone go into Russo's room? Anyone at all? Who took him his dinner, for example?" That's as close as I get to asking directly if it was Darian, but one of the guards puts up his hand and says it was him.
I ask a few more questions and get no joy, so then I make my rounds automatically, triple-checking the security around the house. The place has fallen into an unnatural stillness as we wait for our Vegas visitor. Darian's confession plays around and around in my mind.
And I've barely slept for the last few days. I'm dead on my feet, my head fuzzy even long after the bourbon's worn off.
I'm drawn back to the secret passage from Russo's room, the narrow corridor with its musty air and latent smell of death. I hate the tight space, but I walk it again, walk it fully, determined to find something.
It had to be Russo who killed Chops. Right? Had to be.
When I reach the other end, my suspicions only strengthen. There's that switch that makes the wall panel slide across with ease, and there's that large, heavy wardrobe pushed right up against the exit from this end, blocking it off. I give it another shove, and then a harder one. It doesn't move. This thing is solid as rock.
And then I hear a soft, melodious humming—coming not from the room with the wardrobe, but from the room beyond that, if I'm hearing it right.
Roxanne Rochford.
I take a step back from the wardrobe, the floorboards creaking under my feet. But the humming doesn't stop, and at last I turn away, retracing my steps through the passage.
If I can hear her humming, she and Gino would for sure have heard gunshots without a silencer.
And no matter what Sandro says, it doesn't sit right that we don't know how Chops even got in here. No way my guys wandered off from Russo's door.
Unless…there'sanotherpassage that goes from Chops' room to Russo's?
I climb back out of the mirror and spend an hour searching each damn wall, trying to figure out the spacing, the architectural design. But it's no use. I can't find any other secret passages coming into this room.
And I'm back to square one.
By the time I get back downstairs, Sonny Vegas has arrived in a stretch limo from the private airport out at Van Nuys. It's getting late, but the Bernardi factions are filing back into the dining room, their loud voices strange after so much silence.
I find Oz Santarelli, ask a wordless question. He nods. "They're going in. Boss is just coming."
A moment later, Sandro walks past with Sonny himself. I've never met the man, and his snakeskin boots, silk shirt and ornately-topped cane seem over the top even here in LA. He's limping as he goes, talking loud nonsense about the weather, and grinning around at everyone. He seems like the kind of guy who enjoys being the center of attention. I just hope he won't try to take advantage of the situation like Tony Clemenza was doing.
Sandro excuses himself for a moment to talk to me. "It will be done soon, DeLuca," he says. "I expect the factions to come to an agreement by tonight. And then they will leave and we can return to our usual routines."
He's almost reassuring.
I nod slowly. Hesitantly.
"You seem concerned," he says, giving me thislookI can't interpret. "Is there something you need to tell me?"
That's the question, isn't it? Do I tell Sandro who Darian really is, tell him about Darian's fight with Clemenza? Follow my vows, the oaths I made to the very man standing here in front of me, and put Family first?
