Page 16 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)

CHAPTER 14

GAbrIEL

“This is not going to work,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Not with you standing there staring instead of digging, no. It won’t work.” Yvonne leans on her shovel and gives me an exasperated, tired glare. “We’re running out of time.”

“That’s why I’m saying we should call it now. We tried twice now, and it’s not working. We need a better game plan, that’s all.”

“The cops are already aware of what we’re doing here,” she says, and this time she’s the one with gritted teeth. “It’s tonight or no night. A better game plan isn’t the issue once they set up surveillance. We’re lucky they haven’t already.”

I’m about to keep arguing when the headlights of an approaching car make us dive back into the bushes across the road for the fifth time. It’s just another frustration in what has been a frustrating night.

“I still think we should call it,” I whisper to her, as we wait for the car to go by.

Only this car is not going by. It’s pulling over to the side of the road, right behind where our van is parked off the road, and my heartbeat begins to pound in my chest.

“Oh, shit , Gabe,” Yvonne mutters from next to me. “It’s the filth! Should we bolt, or?—”

“I’ll go out there and play it cool. You stay out of sight.”

“I plan to,” she snaps. “We’re going full White Guy Protocol.” We learned pretty quickly that I’m the best face when we get stopped by cops, council workers, or other officials. As a well-spoken white man, I have the perfect cover to turn away suspicion. “But what if it’s a serial killer?” Yvonne adds, doubtfully.

“Then I’ll run like hell,” I hiss back at her. “Now stay here and be quiet.”

I stand and, whistling cheerfully, run back across the road to the van. “Just had to make a pitstop,” I call out to the occupant of the car, who is only now opening his door to step out.

Just before he does, it finally occurs to me that a Bugatti is unlikely to be owned by the police, or any council workers. But probably not a serial killer either?—

And then I recognize the car. Serial killer isn’t far off.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, more amazed than angry.

“I could ask you the same question,” Nero Andretti replies. “In fact, I will.” He walks toward me, fast enough that I find myself backing up against the van. He looms over me, face only inches away. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks in a low, dangerous voice. “Burying a body? Planting illegal crops? Whatever it is, it’s something that must be done under cover of night, and I know better than anyone what that means. Something nefarious.”

“I’m…planting.”

“Marijuana? In the middle of a road? That seems reckless even for someone under Castellani protection.”

“He’s telling the truth,” says Yvonne from behind us. Nero glances over his shoulder but doesn’t move from his position, boxing me in.

“The woman from GreenSpace, eh?” he says. “How many other minions do you have out here?”

Yvonne comes closer, and I finally duck away from Nero, giving him a little shove when he tries to stand in my way.

“Well, since you ask,” Yvonne says cheerfully, “it’s just me, and I was supposed to stay hidden. We thought you might be the pigs.” She sighs, and looks at me. “Guess you’re right,” she says mournfully. “We’ll have to call it. No way we can get this done tonight.”

Nero Andretti has moved over to the strip down the middle of the road, which is now a mess of dirt and half-removed concrete. Our shovels and pickaxes are lying where we left them. He picks up one of the shovels to poke around in the dirt.

“What are you doing?” I snap, grabbing it off of him.

“Looking for whatever you’re burying.”

“We haven’t buried anything yet,” Yvonne says. “I mean, planted. What Gabriel told you was the truth. We’re planting flowers.”

Nero gives her a blank look. “Planting flowers,” he repeats. “Why?”

“To make it pretty,” Yvonne says, as though the answer were obvious.

“You know, as soon as I tell Julian Castellani that you’ve tracked me down here, you’re screwed,” I tell Nero in a low voice so that Yvonne can’t hear. “Because you were right, what you said about Castellani protection. I am under it.”

“You’d also be screwed, I think,” Nero points out. “Because Julian is not aware of this activity—whatever it really is. Is he?”

“What do you want from me?” I snarl softly. Yvonne has returned to digging, but I bet she’s trying hard to listen in.

“I want to know what this is.” He waves a hand at the median strip. “Tell me, and I’ll let you get on with your business, whatever it is.”

I stare at him for a moment, thinking about the loss of time, the lack of hands. “Help us,” I say at last. “And then I’ll tell you.”

“Help you?”

“That’s the deal. Help us, and then I’ll tell you why we’re doing it.”

“Is it illegal?”

“Yeah, it’s illegal.”

He shrugs. “Alright, then.”

I hand the shovel back to Yvonne and walk around Nero to the strip, squatting down at the end of that large, awkward piece of concrete. “We need to move this.”

By the time traffic is starting up again, we’re done. It’s not the finest job we’ve ever done, but it’s done —and that’s largely thanks to Nero, whose strength we sorely needed to get rid of all the old concrete bits. Yvonne is particularly impressed with him, nudging me with her hip at one point and murmuring, “Your boyfriend’s doing okay.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” I groaned back. “Just plant like you’ve never planted before, woman. The sun’ll be up soon—and the traffic.”

And now, looking over the bright seedlings that we’ve planted, watered carefully into the ground, Nero dusts off his hands. He took his shirt off a few minutes into the work, but I pull a face now at the earth ground into his expensive pants—not to mention the damage to his shoes. “I’d offer to pay the dry-cleaning costs, but I think they’re beyond help,” I tell him, gesturing at his stained knees.

“I’ll recoup the cost of the damage another way.” He throws the last of the potting mix and a trowel into the van. He smiles dangerously as I stare at him. “Information. Why, exactly, have I spent all night planting flowers?”

“Let’s discuss it at home,” I hedge.

“Fine. I’ll give you a ride. Your partner in crime needs to return the van, I assume.”

I look at Yvonne, who’s as bright as ever, even though we’ve been working all night. “That’s right,” she chirps. “And you should be grateful, Gabriel. Nero here is saving you the cost of an Uber.” She gives me a wink behind Nero’s back.

I’m too tired for teasing. “Fine,” I say flatly.

“Thank you for your help,” Yvonne says sincerely to Nero. I mouth Traitor at her and she ignores me.

“It was my pleasure, bella . I look forward to the explanation.”

“Oh, it’s a good one,” she says with a cheeky grin, hopping into the front driver’s seat. She drives off, waving one hand out the window, and Nero and I watch her head off into the distance.

“Shall we?” he says at last, gesturing to his Bugatti. I should’ve recognized the shape of it when he first drove up, but I was too worried about getting caught. The thing is…without Nero’s drive and strength, we wouldn’t have gotten the job done.

We walk to the car, but I hesitate before getting in. “I’m covered in crap,” I tell him. “Don’t wanna mess up your car.”

He shrugs, having already settled into the expensive leather seat without care. “I’ll have one of the house guards detail it for me.”

I’m not sure that’s something the house guards do, but I don’t bother to contradict him. I’m already learning that the world bends to the whims of Nero Andretti.

And I might as well save my strength for convincing him to keep his mouth shut.

We drive in silence, pass the guardhouse in silence, and park in the garage in silence. We even walk in silence from the garage back to my cottage. “Tea?” I offer weakly, once we get in. I turn on the lights.

“No.” Last time he was here, it was dark. Now he looks around my space. Curious. Interested. But I still don’t know why.

“Why did you follow me?” I ask, heading into the kitchen area to put on the kettle for myself. He follows me, standing against the arch frame to watch me.

“I thought you were doing something that could harm the Family. Harm Sandro. Maybe you were.”

I give a wry smile. “What Yvonne and I are doing—it’s illegal, but the only people it would affect would be us.”

“Anything illegal could be a soft target,” he says severely. “Don’t you know how they got Al Capone?”

“Tax evasion is probably worse than this,” I sigh, grateful when the kettle begins to whistle.

“And what is—‘this’?”

“We’re guerrilla gardeners.”

A short silence as I pour hot water over the herbal tea mix. Then: “You’re what?”

“Guerrilla gardeners. Guerrilla as in warfare, not chest-beating. We sneak in and beautify urban areas. Places that the city council won’t clean up.”

Nero is staring at me as though still processing the English words. “But…why?” he asks at last, as I’m straining my apple pie tea blend. “And I will have some of that,” he adds. “It smells good.”

I pour him out a cup too, and then we sit at the dining table, facing each other. “We do it because it brings a little joy to people who have none,” I tell him. “And—well—” I take a breath. “That’s not all we do.”

Nero raises one black eyebrow, and takes a sip of his tea. “So there are marijuana crops somewhere?”

I chuckle, because he gives a half-smirk after he says it. “You’re obsessed with that idea. No. No secret weed crops, and definitely no poppies. We have a bigger project. It’s a—” I hesitate. “A community garden.”

I find myself spilling all of it. Maybe it’s because I’m tired, and my brain can’t clutch onto any persuasive lies. Maybe it’s just too big a secret to keep anymore.

Maybe Nero Andretti has just worn me down.

At first, he doesn’t understand. But he soon does. “This community garden is not sanctioned by the city council or supported by any funding,” he repeats. “But it feeds hundreds, you say?”

I nod eagerly. “We’ve got it running through several buildings now. There are two for the crops and one for distributing what we harvest. There are families that rely on what we can give them.”

“But it is illegal.”

I lift my chin. “It’s not murder. It’s not theft. It’s just making use of?—”

“Little gardener, who do you think you’re talking to?” he sighs. “I don’t care what you do, as long as it doesn’t interrupt Castellani business.”

“Well, it won’t,” I say obstinately.

“I can’t be sure of that. No—” He holds up a hand as I try to argue. “There is only one solution. You will take me to this community garden so that I can ensure it is secure and will not come to the notice of officials.”

“Or what?”

“Or nothing, little gardener.” He chuckles. “To tell you the truth, I only ever called you that to annoy you. But I was more right than I knew.”

I’m not going to win this fight. Not right now, anyway. And once this asshole sees the community garden, he’ll understand that it really is secure. We went to great lengths to make sure no noticeable activity happens around the place, especially on distribution days. “Whatever,” I say. “I’ll take you. You’ll see. Now leave me alone. I need some sleep.”

He tuts. “There is one more condition.”

Wearily, I spread my hands. “Well?”

“The wedding.”

I stare blankly at him. My brain must be having trouble keeping up. “What about it?”

“Ms. Rochford has requested that I personally oversee the security considerations.”

My mouth drops open. “No she hasn’t.”

“Oh, yes she has. And that means that you and I will be working very closely together for the next few weeks. And we won’t run off crying to Julian Castellani demanding that security be handled by DeLuca or Pedretti. Will we, Gabriel?”

I glare at him. But there’s no point protesting. As much as the Castellanis would probably overlook my work with GreenSpace and the community garden, I don’t want them to know about it. I don’t want it…

Spoiled.

Nero is waiting for a response, that supercilious smirk on his face. I’m too exhausted to fight it. “Fine,” I mutter.

“In that case, we’ll get started later today. Meet me for lunch on the patio at one, Gabriel.”

I watch him go, my heart sinking at the thought of having to work with that jerk day in and day out. And what will it mean for Julian’s projects?

But I can’t do anything right now. I’ll just have to do my best to juggle everything…

Including Nero Andretti.