Page 30 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)
CHAPTER 27
NERO
I find myself in a strange state of uncertainty the next day. Gabriel has put me on edge, and I’m not used to the feeling. I’m not sure what our experiences together mean, if they even mean anything .
They shouldn’t. Sandro himself told me to keep my dick out of his staff, and even though it was a light warning, it is my job to obey the Don. I find myself losing sight of that the longer I’m here—and who knows how much longer that will be. I expected Sandro to turn me out after Julian made it clear the other night that they believe I am in contact with La Contessa. Nothing has come of it so far, but I’m on such thin ice with Sandro, it’s foolish not to go to him at once and tell him of Gabriel’s venture.
A venture built right on the edge of Bernardi territory, for Christ’s sake.
But I gave Gabriel my word. And after what happened between us yesterday…
I fear I was too cruel. And then I fear I was not cruel enough. But I need to shake off this strange melancholy that he draws out in me, because today is Roxanne Rochford’s next visit. She has a whole entourage in tow after I finally granted permission to allow them to attend—with Pedretti’s consent, of course. When I arrive to meet the blushing bride, Gabriel is already there, speaking with the wedding planner and her assistants. I’m relieved I don’t have to see him alone, but when he catches my eye and sends me a smile that suggests solidarity, camaraderie, I find myself smiling back.
Unfortunately, sharp eyes notice the non-verbal exchange. “I don’t think we really need Gavin, do we?” Roxy announces suddenly. “You have everything in hand, Bettina, don’t you? And Nero can show us to the rose garden.”
“Absolutely not,” Bettina, the wedding planner, snaps back. I liked her immediately when I saw her—the unapologetically gray hair tied in pigtails like a schoolgirl, the stylishly mismatched patterns of her clothes—and I like her even more, now. Someone not prepared to put up with Roxy’s nonsense. “I need Gabriel—that’s your name, isn’t it?—” Bettina doesn’t wait for a response. “—to show me where all the other flowers are going to be, and to let me know about the lighting at that time of day. The photographer will certainly need to know all of that and more, and while Mr. Andretti is a very capable host, I’m not sure that golden hour lighting figures much in his day-to-day considerations.”
Gabriel and I both grin at that. “I’m afraid the lovely lady is correct,” I say, with mock dejection. “Gabriel is really the best option to discuss things like lighting and placement. My job is merely security.”
“So you’re the man I have to blame for not allowing me on the grounds until today?” Bettina asks dryly.
“And it is my loss to not have had the delight of your company until now.”
“Alright, alright,” she says, turning away from me. “Italians are so dreadfully flirty,” she says to Gabriel, sotto voce .
“Yes,” he says. And then his gaze meets mine and he smiles, cheeky and lighthearted and warm. “Yes, they certainly can be.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile like that at anyone else before.
“Well, I want to get out of the sun,” Roxy says stubbornly. “Nero, take me up to the house, will you? It’s so hot I can barely think. I need a cool glass of water.”
The morning sunlight is gentle and her excuse is flimsy, but I nod to the photographer, to Bettina, and lastly to Gabriel, who holds my gaze thoughtfully.
“I don’t know why you’re spending time making eyes at the gardener when you’re supposed to be taking care of me ,” Roxy says, as soon as we’re out of earshot. “And I’m not at all happy about having to rush things so?—”
“You forget yourself, Ms. Rochford,” I say warningly. “We must be careful what we say, even when we are alone together.” I add the last part only because she looks so cross. And perhaps I spoke a little more sharply than I should have, worried that my attraction to Gabriel Carstairs is more obvious than it should be.
It was one thing when it was mere flirtation. But now I have skin in the game—this cursed community garden that I need to find a solution for.
“I don’t care who you’re fucking,” Roxy hisses. “Your job is to please me . And I’m not pleased, Nero. In fact, you can tell your mistress that she needs to sweeten the deal some more if she wants me to play ball. I want dedicated docks at the port. I don’t see why?—”
I stop abruptly and take her by the arm, turning her roughly—too roughly—to face me. “Every reasonable demand you have made has been met, and met amicably. But La Contessa is not someone to be trifled with. So far you have been nibbling on the carrot, but she is just as likely to wield the stick. If you don’t want a welt raised across your backside, I suggest you remember who you’re dealing with, and stop fucking around .”
She stares at me in shock. This is the first and only time I have spoken to her so plainly. But it angers me that an amateur like her has risen so far in the ranks as to demand notice from La Contessa. To demand notice from me .
Within seconds, she’s practically vibrating with rage. “How dare you speak to me like that? Do you have any idea what I could do to you?”
“I know exactly what you could do—nothing. You’re a talented actress, a little girl playing at a woman’s game. You act your part well enough to fool your cronies, but not me. And if you think La Contessa would hesitate for even a moment in removing you if a more useful puppet came along, then you are a fool. If you value your life, if you want your safety, take the deal she offered and be grateful for it.”
She’s gone pale. Pulling her arm out of my grip, she tries to say something, but can’t seem to find the words. And so instead, she turns and walks quickly back toward the wedding planner, who seems to be falling for Gabriel’s charms.
I don’t bother to follow. Let that cranky little redhead think over my words and consider her alternatives. I’m tired of being here in this place. I’m tired of pretending to be less than I am merely to make Sandro Castellani feel good about himself. I’ve spent my whole life doing it, after all.
Surely it’s my turn to shine.
Surely La Contessa will formally name me her European heir once Sandro’s power is established here.
And when that is done…maybe then I could be honest with Gabriel. Maybe we could?—
But I cut off that dangerous thought. Gabriel is a distraction. For now, I must focus on this mission and the rewards that wait for me. And along with refocusing, I need to work on my poker face.
Because if a woman as absorbed with herself as Roxanne Rochford can so easily discern my feelings, then I have a problem.
The problem becomes more pronounced later in the day as I lounge by the pool. It’s been a while since I’ve had time to take the sun, and I value the solitude along with the warmth on my skin. Some days I feel like a reptile, cold-blooded, in need of the sun to warm me through. Or perhaps it’s my heart, a cold dead block of ice that keeps me frozen inside out.
And then I hear the footsteps I both expected and dreaded. Because I know what I have to do now.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
I don’t believe that Gabriel Carstairs has ever sounded so happy to see me. But I don’t move a muscle.
“Nero,” he sighs. “There’s no one else around. You don’t have to pretend to be asleep.”
“What do you want?”
The old familiar irritation flashes across his features. “I wondered if you were going to the Beaumont exhibition tomorrow night.”
“Jacopo requested that as many of us be there as possible,” I say wearily. “He wants to buy his boyfriend a reputation, since apparently he can’t make it on his own merit. So yes, I will be there.”
“I wondered if maybe we could go together?”
I look away, because if I look into his face after that shy, vulnerable question, I will break my resolve. “I don’t think that would be appropriate. Sandro already told me not to fuck the staff, and he wouldn’t be very happy if we showed up together.”
There’s a long pause, and I keep my face turned away, my eyes closed shut behind my sunglasses.
“What are you saying?”
That’s better. He sounds cold now, like the old Gabriel.
“I’m saying that you’ve paid the price. You have my protection, and I’ll hold off on letting Sandro know about your illegal activities until after Sunday. Now please stop bothering me, little gardener. I have more important things to think about than you and your plants.”
I hear the sharp intake of breath, followed by footsteps hurrying away.
Only when I’m certain that he’s gone, do I turn back, and stare up at the sun. For a moment I’m struck with a wild desire to rip off my sunglasses, to stare into that inferno until I go blind.
But there’s no point. I see better in the dark, after all.