Page 42 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)

CHAPTER 39

GAbrIEL

I scramble after Darian into the grand salon as automatic gunfire slams into the front of the house. The windows are holding, but they won’t hold forever. “Through here,” Darian hisses urgently, and I pull Miller and Nate along with me as we scramble from there into the kitchen.

“Get down!” I snap at Nate, and yank him hard, along with Miller on his other side. The kitchen seems like a really bad idea, given that the open windows make us very obvious targets in here—and even if the glass is bullet resistant, there’s no reason someone can’t just come right in and shoot us dead.

“This way,” Darian says, and I’m amazed at how calm he sounds. He’s crawling along behind the enormous freestanding island that runs almost the full length of the kitchen, heading toward a door at the end. He pushes it open, and I usher Miller and Nate ahead of me, glancing behind to make sure we haven’t been followed.

Darian shuts the door softly behind us as soon as we’re clear. We’re in a small room, set up with a table in the middle and a small kitchenette area. This must be what I’ve heard referred to as Darian’s break room. But right on the heels of that thought comes another: this is an even worse place to be—no exits, windows all along one side of the room, and only a wooden table to hide behind. It’ll be ripped apart by bullets pretty quick.

“Who are they?” Nate whispers. “Who’s doing this?”

“Some of them were definitely Bernardis,” Miller says. “Some of them were at the wedding .” Outrage makes his voice rise.

“Shh,” Darian says. He’s already headed to the end of the room to the display cabinet, and for a wild, hopeful moment, I think maybe there’s a weapons cache in the bottom cupboards. But would weapons even help us? I’m probably the only one who knows how to shoot, and?—

But Darian tugs at the side of the display cabinet and it pulls away noiselessly on castors, revealing a door behind it. We all watch with open mouths as Darian pulls out a key from one of the drawers in the display cabinet and unlocks the door, which opens to a dark passage beyond.

“In here,” he whispers, and stands there ushering Nate and Miller through. I pause, grabbing a large carving knife from the block on the counter running around the room. Darian, seeming to approve of my actions, grabs the next largest knife for himself.

I step through into the passage, Darian follows, and then he pulls back the cabinet from the other side, then closes and locks the door, sealing us in.

“We’d better move up,” Darian suggests. “The walls are thin here, but there’s brick further up.”

Ahead of us, Miller turns on his phone light, and I watch as it flashes one way to a dead end, then the other, which reaches into the distance beyond his light. “This place smells fucking awful ,” he whispers.

“Better stinky than dead,” Nate whispers back.

But Miller is right. I’m pretty sure I know the source of the stench that has seeped into the walls here, and it doesn’t fill me with confidence.

“How far up should we go?” Miller asks.

“A little further,” Darian says. “But we don’t want to go too far. The other end opens into Sandro’s study, and those walls are thinner as well.”

Darian is obviously very familiar with these passages—which I guess is lucky for us, but it does make me wonder.

“We should call the cops,” Nate says.

“No.” The answer comes immediately from the rest of us, which in another circumstance might even be funny, but all it does now is increase the tension. “I’ve got no signal in here anyway,” Miller adds.

The rest of us are pulling out our phones now, turning on the lights also. “Does anyone have signal?” I ask, my alarm rising further.

The whisper-chorus of negatives makes me realize that whatever this is, it’s been planned for some time, and very carefully.

“We should get out there and help,” Miller says, looking at the knife in my hand.

“Are you insane?” Nate asks. “Those guys had machine guns , for fuck’s sake?—”

“Assault rifles,” I correct him before I can stop myself.

Nate ignores me, anyway. “—and we have phones and kitchen knives.”

“Yeah, and JJ is out there in the middle of it,” Miller retorts. “I’m not going to let him be out there alone.”

I can’t help feeling the same pull when I think about Nero. Johnny Jacopo and Nero Andretti are highly trained and skilled at their jobs, but the panic-induced need to be of use is almost overwhelming.

“We stay here ,” Darian says firmly. “That was the security protocol for the wedding—civilians and staff get to safety in the house. That’s what they want us to do.”

“You guys stay here,” I say, making up my mind. “I should be out there helping where I can. I can shoot.”

“So can I,” Miller says. “JJ made me learn so I could protect myself.”

“You don’t have guns, so it doesn’t matter even if you can shoot,” Darian points out. “Don’t you know that they’ll be doing their best to protect us? If they see any of us out there in danger, it will only put them in greater danger, too, if they’re trying to protect us instead of themselves. Please, Miller—Gabriel—this really is the best place we can be right now.”

I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about it. But I don’t have any more time to think about it, because there’s a soft noise from the other end of the passage, and to my horror, I see the light shifting as the door at the other end opens.

I push past Miller, knife in hand—as though it would be any use against our armed enemies—but something in me instinctively tries. These people are innocent, and if I have any chance of saving them, I’ll take it.

“What on earth are you all doing in here?” comes the cross whisper of Julian Castellani.

The relief makes me sag against the passage wall. “Darian led us in here,” I tell him. “What are you doing in here?” Julian Castellani never struck me as a man who would be trying to hide from the action. On the contrary, in fact.

“I was trying to get the jump on anyone coming into the kitchen,” Julian tells me, coming closer. His eyes rest on Miller, who glares back at him. There’s a history there, obviously, but we don’t have time for petty beefs right now.

“These barbarians are tearing Redwood Manor apart,” Julian goes on, and the quiver in his voice is not fear, but anger. His eyes are cold and sharp as they travel over our motley crew. “I plan to stop them. But I’ll need a little more firepower than usual, so I need to get to the armory upstairs.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Castellani,” Darian says politely, as though we’re all meeting in the grand salon during a party. “But I don’t believe it would be wise to attempt heading upstairs at this time. The enemy has infiltrated the house and could be lying in wait on all staircases.”

“Then I will kill them.”

“Mr. Castellani, I have all faith in your abilities,” Darian says calmly, “but you have another duty right now.”

“My duty is to protect Redwood. Get out of my way.”

Darian, I notice, does not give way an inch, even as Julian slides up to him and looks menacingly down at the butler.

“Julian,” I say sharply. “Have you seen any of the others? Nero? Jack?”

“I work best alone—or with my darling Leo, but he and I have a body count contest going tonight. And speaking of which, I need to go; I’m wasting time.”

“We can’t stay in here,” Darian says, still standing there in Julian’s way. “They could start a fire to try to flush us out.”

“Then get to the panic rooms,” Julian says impatiently.

Darian shakes his head. “The enemy has taken up position in the foyer. We’d never make it. So as I said, Mr. Castellani, you have a more pressing duty right now.”

Julian’s face in the wavering lights of our phones frightens me as he glares down at Darian. “Do I, little butler boy? And what is that?”

“Protecting us.”

Julian tries to stare him down, but I can see he’s thinking over Darian’s words. “I suppose that’s how Sandro would see it,” Julian groans at last. “I could deposit you all at the Retreat and initiate lockdown—” The Retreat was specially built with rapid-close steel shutters to close off doors and windows when activated. “—and I could get a few more weapons while I’m at it. But the grounds are swarming with PacSyn.”

“Then you know what we need to do,” I tell Julian. “We need to get to the maze.”

“I don’t see how a bunch of hedges is going to be any kind of protection,” Miller says darkly. “We should just stay here.”

The others are looking at me like I’m crazy, too. “As part of my work here, we’ve been reinforcing the walls of the maze with Kevlar sheeting in between the hedges,” I explain. “No one knows about it.”

“No one knew about it,” Julian corrects me, annoyed. “You’re giving away all my secrets, Gabriel. I’m not sure I like it.”

“This is exactly the kind of situation those secrets were meant for,” I point out, and turn to the others to repeat, “Seriously. We need to get to the maze.”

Julian sighs. “Gabriel is right—much as it pains me to say it, since this is really going to skew the body count in Leo’s favor. But it falls to me to protect the sorry lot of you.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Miller says flatly. “I’d rather take my chances here.”

“Your chances here are nil, Miller Beaumont.”

“Shh!” Darian hisses at us all.

We all go quiet for a moment. And then I hear it: faint footsteps, the clatter of dishes. Someone is searching the cabinet on the other side of the door. Perhaps they had the same idea that I did, that there would be some weapons stored away. But any second now, they might discover the secret door behind the cabinet—and shoot out the lock.

Julian crooks his finger at us, and we begin to creep forward toward the study. Once we get there, Julian holds up a hand for us to stop and then I see him listening intently at the thin partition. Then he softly pushes the door open and sticks a cautious head around to check the room.

“Quick and fast,” he hisses at us, and then he’s gone, slipped through the doorway.

I have no choice but to follow him.