Page 22 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)
CHAPTER 20
NERO
Julian is waiting for me at the Port of Los Angeles where he said he would be, and that is my first surprise of the night. I half expected him to stand me up, but he’s waiting patiently where he indicated, dressed head to toe in black, with a balaclava over his face. But those cold blue eyes are unmistakable.
“A good night for it,” I greet him. It’s cloudy for once, obliterating the moon and stars. I have also dressed in black, having heard stories of the kind of exploits Julian Castellani prefers: bloody. But I’m not here to show off my skills. I’m here to keep him alive—and to prevent him from killing me, if it comes down to that.
Julian makes no response to my pleasantries, just looks me head to toe. “Ready?”
“Lead the way.”
We head to the chain link fence and wait for one of the security spotlights to pass by before Julian cuts through to allow us an entry point. And then we’re in, sliding past warehouses and cargo containers, listening out for telltale footsteps or shouts. We get to one particular building, take the fire stairs to the top, and then scale the last few feet until we’re situated on the roof, watching a particular building that Julian points out.
After a moment, he says, “You seem to have an inordinate interest in my landscape architect, Nero Andretti.”
“Gabriel and I are working together on plans for the?—”
“I will not have him bothered while he’s working for me. Mr. Carstairs has some very important jobs to complete before the wedding.”
I don’t bother to stop my sneer. The darkness covers it. “Perhaps you and I have different definitions of ‘important.’ Tending trees and moving hedges are not tasks that I consider important.”
Julian’s reply comes after a pause. “They are important to Gabriel, though. Had you considered that?”
Before I have time to respond, Julian is moving, slithering across the rooftop, and I follow him to the corner of the roof. He points at a duffel bag that must have been stashed there previously. “In there.”
So he has been here before, watching the area. That gives me more reassurance. And when I unzip the bag, I find the components of a long-range rifle, scope, and silencer. “This is what you wanted me for, I take it?”
“This is a job that calls for subtlety,” he sighs. “Which is not my favorite thing in the world. But needs must. Sandro has instructed me to get in and out with as few bodies as possible. And so—” He points back into the duffel bag.
“ Darts? ” I say, disgusted, as I pull out the intended ammunition: tranquilizer darts. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am. No kills. That was Sandro’s order. Unless you have a difficult time following orders?” I let my silence speak for itself. “Then let’s begin.”
He’s already moving as the last syllable escapes from his lips, and I’m forced to focus on putting together the rifle quickly. But once again, that sense of humiliation is rising up in me, anger at the idea that I have put myself in danger here for the Castellanis, and have been given the most ridiculous of weapons to protect not only myself, but Sandro’s brother, too.
Yet I have to admit, keeping my eyes trained on Julian even as I mechanically fit the rifle together, it’s not as though Julian needs much protection. He moves like a cat, like a shadow, unnoticeable to the guards moving around the building he is heading toward. Most of the time he’s able to swing himself up, or dodge behind a corner—and in those cases where he will inevitably be found by a second man, they remain oblivious as I shoot precisely into their necks, dropping them before they lay eyes on Julian.
Julian cleans them up just as quickly and quietly, dragging the dead weights into shadows or alcoves and—I see as I check the scope—removing the darts as well.
The perfect crime. But what is he even doing? I begin to wonder as he scales a brick wall with sure, lithe placement. He gets to the roof, takes a moment to give me the OK signal with his right hand, and then vanishes into a skylight. He’s gone mere minutes, and then reappears, heading right back.
But a truck is approaching from the east, headlights flashing across the lower warehouses, and Julian flattens himself to the roof. The vehicle pulls up at the front of the building, out of my sights, but within moments, I can see that men are running around the building, a shout of warning going up.
Julian scampers on all fours to the corner, peeking over the edge, but he only sees what I see—that there are too many of them. He’s hemmed in. He pulls up the ski mask and looks directly at me. I get him into the scope and read his lips.
Your move .
My move? I’m not the one who got him into this situation. But I throw down the rifle and grab a handful of darts. I can’t drop all the men down there into unconsciousness before they start shooting back at me with actual bullets, so I’ll have to meet them where they are. I make my way back down the fire stairs and over to the building, and I can feel Julian’s eyes on me, but no one else has noticed me. That’s something, at least.
I meet the first enemy coming around a corner, and he stops dead, about to yell, before I grab him in a headlock and choke him into unconsciousness. I stop before he’s dead, though every instinct I have tells me not to. I take out a few more by sliding up behind them and stabbing a tranquilizer dart directly into their necks, but by then the call is going around that someone is at the base of the building, west side.
I draw them away, my aim to give Julian enough breathing space to get off the roof and get away, but they keep coming—and they know where I am, now. The bullets are hitting a little too close for comfort, and within moments, I decide that if the younger Castellani hasn’t gotten away by now, he’s on his own. I’m not sacrificing myself for him.
But the trouble is, I’m the one hemmed in now. I can hear boots running around the back of the building I’m pressed up against, hiding behind a large generator, and in moments they’ll be here—and I have no cover from that angle. Their leader rounds the corner, grins as he sees me—a sitting duck—and I have no choice. I run straight for him, intent on grabbing the gun from his hand.
And then…he drops.
Drops like a sack of concrete, and his buddies behind him begin dropping too, silent and without seeming cause. I reach the first man and seize his gun, noting the open, sightless eyes and the throwing star embedded so deeply in the back of his neck that it must have separated his skull from his spine.
A small sound makes me whirl around, just in time to see Julian Castellani land almost noiselessly behind me. “Move,” he says in a low voice, and behind him, around the other corner of the building, I see more men running.
So I move.
We make it back to our original rendezvous point, and Julian asks, “Where’s your car?”
“ Now you want a lift?”
“It’s hardly too much to ask. We’re heading to the same place, after all.”
“This way.” We begin the jog back to where I parked, well away from the port, and Julian raises an eyebrow when he sees the car, a beat-up Hyundai. “Didn’t want to risk the Bugatti,” I tell him. “Too memorable.”
“This is certainly unremarkable.”
It’s not until we’re well away from the Port that I say casually, “I must have misheard. I thought the order from the Don was ‘no kills.’”
Julian is staring at the streets, one elbow up on the windowsill, hand resting on his fist. “Would you prefer to be dead yourself?”
“Naturally not.”
“Then I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘thank you.’”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Will I be thanking you when Sandro hears of this?”
Julian waves a moody hand. “He’ll understand.” Only now does he look at me. “You did well. Your reputation was truly earned.”
I almost smirk. “I hope you’ll remind your brother of my skills. He seems to have forgotten.” I glance his way. He’s still watching me. “Perhaps you could put in a word for me. Let him know I performed as required.” The trained monkey.
“Of course. And perhaps you can let La Contessa know in your next report that I, too, perform as required.”
He looks back out the window as it occurs to me that tonight was indeed a test—and I misunderstood it completely. This was no babysitting assignment.
This was Sandro Castellani allowing his brother to get a sense of me.
And Julian sees right through me.