Page 52 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)

CHAPTER 48

GAbrIEL

I say goodbye to Leo and head back to my cottage, which I’m relieved to find mostly unharmed. A few windows have been shattered, but the cleanup crew is already organizing new windowpanes, one of them tells me as I walk by. “You want us to go in and clean out the glass?” he asks.

“That would be great—just let me have a shower first.”

I have nothing of interest in that cottage except for the GreenSpace plans, and I know no one would understand them anyway. But I keep Nero’s violin with me as I head into the bathroom, setting it down carefully on a footstool in the corner, as though keeping it safe will keep him safe, too.

And in the shower, I think about what I’ve learned this morning. Do I really think Nero was a spy, working for this woman—Sandro’s mother?

The thing is…it explains some things. It explains why he was always kept at arm’s length by the Castellanis. Why he spoke to me of leaving LA, going to Italy with him…

But I can’t believe he was working to take down the Castellani Family. Not after last night, when he battled so hard to save so many of them. Whatever the full story is, I want to hear it—from his lips. So once I’m showered and dressed, I run all the way up to the garage with Nero’s violin, intending to collect my car.

And I find that the universe has once again conspired to keep me from him. At some point in the invasion, the enemy went through the garage and shot out the wheels and windows of each car. Some of it seems like it was done out of sheer spite, even: I see one blue BMW convertible with the word “RETRIBUTION” keyed across the side of it. I’m surprised that some Bernardi or PacSyn paused in their assault long enough to vandalize a car .

But I need to get out of here, need to get to Nero. I run out of the garage again, panic flaring. Who can I call? There’s no way the guards at the gate would let an Uber in, or even Yvonne in the GreenSpace van. I’m about to have a total meltdown, when I remember seeing Jack’s Pinto parked right in front of the Manor as I ran past on the way to the garage.

I sprint back just in time to catch Jack and Miller exiting the house together. “Any chance you guys can give me a lift?” I pant out. “My car got totaled.”

Jack won’t meet my eyes. “Sorry, kid, but I want to get Miller home ASAP.” He glances at Miller. “Get in the car.”

“Sure, as long as we can give Gabriel a lift,” Miller says, giving Jack a long look.

“Get in the car, Trouble,” Jack sighs. “We can give the man a lift,” he adds, when it seems that Miller is about to argue again.

“My BMW got shredded last night, too, in the garage,” Miller says ruefully to me, as I dive gratefully into the backseat. “Someone took the time to go around and knife each damn tire, like shooting them up wasn’t good enough. And then they took the time to scrape some bullshit in the paint. Hope yours wasn’t that bad.”

“Not quite,” I say, my attention fixed on the gate as we approach it. Am I going to be stopped, ordered back into the grounds?

“Where do you need to be dropped off?” Miller asks as we drive unhindered through the gate and hit the road.

I lean back with a sigh of relief and try not to sound too urgent when I say, “The Bellamy Grand.”

Jack’s eyes fly to mine in the rearview mirror. “Don’t know if you heard,” he says casually, too casually, “but Nero Andretti has been declared persona non grata .”

I look out the window.

“That means he’s not supposed to come anywhere near Redwood, and the Castellanis aren’t supposed to have anything to do with him, either,” Jack says, his eyes back on the road now.

Miller twists around from the front seat. “I told them all what happened—how Nero helped us. Sandro just wouldn’t hear it.”

“Hey,” Jack says softly to him, a wealth of meaning in the word, but mostly, Don’t talk business to this guy . Jack raises his voice again to tell me, “Gabriel, I hate to say this, but Nero is not the man you think he is. I know Miller is eager to believe the best of him, but if you want my advice—which you haven’t asked for, but here it is anyway—you’ll stay away from him, too.”

“Are you going to tell Don Castellani that I went to the Bellamy?” I ask.

“None of my business where you go in the city. And if you want the chance to say goodbye, well, it’s your life. I’m just saying, Nero Andretti is not a good guy.”

“Neither are you,” I point out.

Jack just chuckles. “Never claimed to be. Listen, Gabriel, if you see him, I figure you’re not breaking any rules. You’re not a Castellani the same way I am. But Sandro won’t like it if he hears I dropped you at this hotel, so maybe we just keep that to ourselves. No point stirring up trouble.”

I don’t like all the secrecy, and I don’t think it’s fair that Nero was kicked out after putting his life on the line for Miller and me and the rest of us last night. But that’s life with the Castellanis. “Thanks,” I say.

But as much as Jack says I’m not one of them, it’s just a technicality. The truth is, I belong to Redwood Manor as surely as the rest of them.

But I belong to Nero as well.

We get to the Bellamy Grand and Jack pulls up outside. “You even know what name he’ll be under?” he asks me.

“No,” I say. It didn’t even occur to me that he would have used another name to check in. “But if he’s given a fake name, I’ll just sit in the lobby until I see him, I guess.”

Miller turns to Jack. “Can’t you do something? Make them tell Gabriel which room he’s in?”

Jack and Miller stare at each other for a long moment. “Okay,” he says. “Everyone out, because I’m not leaving you alone in the car, Trouble. God knows what might happen if I take my eyes off of you.”

Miller grins, and all three of us get out of the car. Jack waves over a concierge, who has been eyeing him with interest. He definitely knows who Jack is: the Castellani Underboss. “I want you to watch this car like a hawk, you hear me? And you don’t park it anywhere but right there.” He gives the guy a hundred-dollar bill tip and then we head to reception.

Jack is recognized immediately, and when he asks in a low voice for Nero Andretti’s room, the information is provided immediately.

I thank him profusely, and Miller too, but Miller is staring across the lobby, his face pale and his eyes wide. “Everything okay, sweetheart?” Jack asks him.

“I saw her again,” he whispers. “I swear, JJ, it was her?—”

“It can’t be,” Jack says in an undertone. Then he glances at me. “Look, let’s go get some breakfast in the restaurant, and let Gabriel get on with his day,” he suggests.

I know a diplomatic suggestion when I hear one. Miller seems to be having some trouble with his grief over his sister, and I feel bad for him—but I can’t focus on anything but Nero right now. “Thanks again,” I tell them both quickly, and back away, giving them privacy to have whatever conversation they need to have. Because there’s a private conversation waiting for me, too. The most important one of my life.

I head up in the elevator to the penthouse suite, where I knock on the door and wait, my heart drumming hard in my chest.