Page 35 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)

CHAPTER 32

NERO

I am not a man prone to panic, but I feel the stirrings of it now. And it’s not because Sandro has thrown aside all pretense that I’m not still working for his mother.

It’s because I don’t want to leave here.

Don’t want to leave Redwood, with its stupid trees and its gaudy trappings and its desperation to be something that it’s not, that it will never be.

But most of all, I don’t want to leave Gabriel Carstairs.

“If you withdraw your protection, your mother will see me dead in a matter of days,” I warn him. But it’s a warning without any teeth. Sandro doesn’t believe a word of anything I’ve ever said. He knows I still work for his mother, has always known it. I can see it in his impatient face.

“The difficult position into which you have put me is precisely that,” he says. “If I do withdraw my protection after granting it, you make me seem disloyal. And if there is one thing I’m not, it is disloyal.”

I nod slowly. “It’s true, Don Castellani. No one could ever accuse you of being disloyal.”

“But your position here is untenable. I cannot trust you—and now I can’t even use you. You go off on your own, make your own decisions, can’t follow even the simplest of orders. I can’t use you, Nero, and I certainly can’t trust you. Perhaps it was foolish sentimentality for our childhood friendship, but I did hope for a moment that you might turn away from my mother—but I should’ve known from the start you never would. I already had proof of it; you refused to come to America with me. Your loyalty lies with my mother and always has.”

“What are you talking about?” My mouth feels dry. “You never asked me to come here with you.”

“Of course I did. A few months after I arrived—I sent for you, telling my mother that I could not live here without your company. And you refused.”

It occurs to both of us at the same time what must have happened.

“Ah,” Sandro gives a soft sigh of realization. “My mother never bothered to ask you, I suppose. But perhaps you would not have come anyway?—”

“Of course I would have come,” I tell him, outraged. “You’re my brother . If I’d ever known—but you never said a word in your own messages to me!”

For the first time, I see real regret in Sandro’s eyes. “I was careful not to mention it. I…didn’t want you to feel I was trying to make you feel guilty. I should have realized at the time, perhaps, but my mother’s machinations were not so obvious to me back then. Well, I’m sorry for it. Things might have been different for both of us if you’d ever received that message. But we have to deal with things as they are, not as we wish they could be.”

It hurts too much to think of all the implications of this new knowledge, so I turn back to the immediate problem. “If we are dealing with things as they are, then you need to deal with the fact that Legs Liggari is not a competent man.”

“It’s not his competence that I want,” Sandro snaps. “Jack and Freddy still keep an eye on his territory. Liggari is good for continuity, and that’s all I want him for. When my father was murdered, we risked a schism in the Family. Not everyone wanted me to lead—some of them thought I was too young. And now you’ve seen for yourself what such troubles did to the Bernardi family. I keep some of the older Castellanis around to ensure a sense of continuity, of loyalty. Liggari did one thing right, and that was to back me without question.”

“They all back you without question,” I say unwillingly. I don’t want to flatter him, even now that my residence here is under threat, but what’s the point in hiding the truth? “I’ve seen their loyalty for myself, and it’s unquestionable. From the rank and file to your inner circle—they all love you. And who can blame them?” I finish bitterly. “You always were a man who inspired love and loyalty.”

“You sound as though you wish it was otherwise.”

I look down at my hands, at the many tattoos that adorn them, think of the words emblazoned on my throat. “I’ve spent a lifetime in your shadow,” I tell him quietly. “If I ever had a few ambitions of my own, Sandro, can you really grudge me that?”

He’s silent, so that I have to look up to see his reaction. He seems puzzled. “In my own memories, I always told you to go after what you wanted. I would have backed you, no matter what. Supported you. Did you…feel otherwise?”

Even now, with all this honesty between us, I cannot bring myself to peel the last layer from this stinking, rotten onion, to tell him the black truth of our friendship—that it was based on a lie. That I am not Nero Andretti, that Nero Andretti never existed, that I had no business being in that expensive boarding school, no business being educated alongside him, no business learning the violin as though I was some blue-blooded heir, just like him.

“What does it matter?” I say at last. “We’re not children anymore. So what have you decided, Sandro—are you banishing me from Redwood?”

I can see the change in him when he pulls back from being my friend, Sandro, and turns into Don Castellani, the Boss. “I’ve spent some time considering the problem. I am aware of your value as a conduit of information to and from my mother. I don’t want to risk my reputation by exiling you, and the truth is, La Contessa will never stop trying to interfere with my business. But I’m not comfortable having you quite so close, so I’ve decided to send you to Sin City. You should enjoy that, eh? I have a friend there—Sonny Vegas—who has agreed to extend his protections to you. Of course, we both know my mother’s anger with you is a charade.”

“Once again, Sandro, I swear to you—I am loyal to you, to the Castellanis.”

“Please don’t insult me.”

“If you won’t believe me, I’d rather return to Italy if you have no more use for me,” I tell him, stung at the idea of being sent away like a naughty schoolboy.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter. If you leave America without my permission, I will assume it’s an admission of your betrayal. But of course, you might want to discuss it with my mother. Tell her those are your only options—you return to her and confirm my suspicions, or you live for the foreseeable future in Las Vegas.”

I’m all out of bargaining chips, but maybe I can seize a few more hours of happiness. “I will go wherever Don Castellani prefers. But you should know that when I dealt with PacSyn in the early hours of the morning, they felt comfortable enough to threaten you—you and the Family. Your grip here in Los Angeles is still not as strong as it should be. For that reason, I beg you to extend your protection to the community garden Gabriel Carstairs is running. And…I would prefer to wait until after the Bernardi wedding to leave Redwood.”

He thinks over my words, and when he speaks again, I realize that he really is his mother’s son. There’s no softness in the man at all—I was quite wrong about that. “It’s true that the more hands we have to ensure security for the wedding, the better. You can leave after the wedding—but it will be the very day after, Nero. And until then, I would advise you to stay out of my way as much as possible. Now leave me alone.”

“But what about Gabriel’s?—”

“For the love of Christ,” he snaps. “Of course I will protect this garden of his. I already told Liggari to assign guards to it. Now get out .”

But I pause at the door, something coming over me, some foolish impulse. “Is this how our friendship ends, Sandro? In bitterness and mistrust?”

He does not reply, facing the window again, eyes fixed on the view. I wonder what he sees out there. Power? Glory? Or perhaps he’s thinking about his other toys, all those other playthings that he can discard without a thought when they bore him.

I leave without another word.