Page 59 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)
CHAPTER 54
GAbrIEL
We gather in the grand salon once again, and it feels like time is repeating itself. The sense of shock and destruction is the same as it was the night of the invasion, even if it’s on a smaller scale. Raffi DeLuca, his broad shoulders rigid with tension, guides Roxanne into the room with a firm hand at her elbow. He directs her toward a wingback armchair and she sinks into it, her skin pale against the rich fabric, her hands trembling as they clutch at the arms.
Nero and I are on the love seat next to her, and his body is a warm, solid presence that I can’t help leaning into. Charlotte is still nestled against him, her small head tucked beneath his chin, her breathing still hitched from crying. The sight of this dangerous man cradling a child with such tenderness makes my chest tighten. His fingers absently stroke my shoulder, creating a small point of calm in the middle of all this chaos.
Roxy’s eyes find Nero and she reaches out her arms toward the child, her fingers grasping at air. The desperation in her posture is unmistakable.
“We’d better get you back to your mama,” Nero murmurs to Charlotte, and rises to hand her over to Roxy.
Roxy’s eyes have gone wide as she pulls Charlotte into her arms. “How did you…” she trails off, her voice barely audible.
Nero merely inclines his head—the slightest acknowledgment—before turning away and returning to me. His dark eyes meet mine with a warning as I open my mouth, questions bubbling up. “The truth will come out soon enough,” he tells me quietly.
The salon door opens again as Jack and Miller enter. Miller’s face is ashen but composed, and he seems calm despite what he’s just witnessed. Jack, meanwhile, looks like thunder personified, one hand never straying far from where his weapon would be if he hadn’t surrendered it at the door.
“I promise, JJ,” Miller says, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Jack’s jaw tightens as he guides Miller to a seat across from us. “That’s what worries me, sweetheart,” he mutters. But he just takes Miller’s hand and we all sit and wait, Raffi watching over us from a few feet away, hand firmly on his gun, which is holstered at his side.
But no one blames him. No one even blamed Roxy, right afterward, or not that I heard. There was no shouting, no panic.
More people file in. Max Pedretti, of course. Darian—who looks immediately to Raffi for reassurance—murmurs something about coffee and tea. Other Castellani men whose names escape me, but they pass through into the kitchen, and I know their purpose. My father used to call such men “the janitors.”
They clean up messes left behind.
Through it all, Nero remains a steady presence beside me. I lean into him, my mouth near his ear. “Maybe we should get out of here,” I whisper. “While they’re all distracted.”
Nero’s hand covers mine where it rests on my thigh, his thumb tracing my knuckles. “It’s alright,” he tells me, voice low and confident. “All is forgiven. Sandro and I are friends again—and more. Brothers.”
I pull back to search his face in surprise. “How on earth did you manage that?”
The corner of his mouth lifts in that familiar, self-satisfied grin that both exasperates and entrances me. His eyes, however, hold something deeper than simple triumph. “I am very charming when I want to be.”
“Nero—”
“I told him the truth.”
“And he, what, believed you?”
“He did.” Nero’s fingers tighten momentarily on mine. “We gave his mother a call. I always knew it was going to be mother or son that I disappointed. I hope I made the right decision. But Sandro asked me to stay, to join him. And I agreed.”
I still don’t fully believe it. “So what happens next?” I ask with trepidation.
“Next we wait until the rest of the truth comes out.” He nods subtly toward Roxy, who sits rigid in her chair, Charlotte now curled against her chest. “There is still more to be known, although I think I can guess much of it.”
The room shifts as men move aside, creating a path as Don Castellani enters, his presence immediately commanding attention without a word spoken. Behind him follows a tiny old man with a doctor’s bag. Sandro heads for Roxanne. “Mrs. Bernardi,” he says, “I think you should let the doctor have a look at Charlotte. And perhaps while that happens, we can have a discussion.”
Roxy’s arms tighten around Charlotte. “No,” she says. “I’m not letting Charlotte out of my sight.”
The room tenses at her refusal. But to my surprise, Elise, who has just brought in a tray of hot coffee, steps forward. A flush rises in her cheeks as every eye turns to her.
“If I might make a suggestion, Don Castellani?” she says nervously. Sandro inclines his head, granting permission. “I could sit with Charlotte and the doctor at the other end of the salon. That way Mrs. Bernardi will have her eyes on the child at all times.”
What remains unspoken is clear: Charlotte will be far enough away that she won’t hear what’s about to be revealed. Because Sandro is clearly determined to hear Roxy’s defense of herself, after shooting dead a woman in his kitchen.
Sandro looks to Roxy, one eyebrow slightly raised—the barest acknowledgment that the choice is hers, though it’s not really a choice at all. After a moment’s hesitation, she gives a tight nod, though Charlotte begins to cry as Elise gently lifts her from Roxy’s arms.
“It’s okay, baby,” Roxy whispers, her voice cracking as she presses a kiss to Charlotte’s forehead. The tenderness in the gesture is so at odds with the woman I thought I knew that I find myself staring.
Elise bounces Charlotte a little on her hip, trying to cheer her up. It doesn’t really work, but Charlotte’s crying has dwindled to whines by the time Elise and the doctor settle at the other end of the salon.
The rest of us look at Roxy. For a woman who prefers to be the center of attention, she doesn’t seem all that happy about it right now.
“Mrs. Bernardi,” Sandro begins, easing into an armchair opposite her. He leans forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled—the picture of reasonable authority. “I have gone out of my way to offer you and your husband my protection and support. I think the least I can ask for is an explanation of the events here today.”
Roxy looks across to Nero, naked desperation in her eyes. “Sh-should I?”
“You can trust Don Castellani,” he tells her.
With that assurance, the truth floods out. Roxy, it turns out, has always known that Ana?s Beaumont was still alive. Her words spill forth in a torrent, explaining how she’d given Ana?s a lump sum of money to help her get out of LA—but when Ana?s burned through the cash and came back demanding more, Roxy had decided that enough was enough.
“I told her that I couldn’t help her—at least, not until after I was married,” Roxy says, her hands twisting in her lap. Her eyes flick toward Nero again. “I said that I had a contact…a man called Nero Andretti. He was helping me and he might be able to help her, too, but not until after I was married. He had to focus on my wedding first—that was the most important thing.” Her voice takes on a plaintive quality. “Once I was secure, then he might be able to do something for her. But she refused to wait—she didn’t understand how important the wedding was?—”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure she understood how important it was to you, Rox,” Miller cuts in, his voice sharp despite his unnaturally calm demeanor. He looks far too composed for someone who has just seen his sister killed in front of him, and Jack keeps glancing at him with a worried expression.
Roxanne’s shoulders lift in an elegant shrug, though her eyes remain haunted. “Then she should’ve known better. She didn’t really understand how the business worked... And, I guess, neither did I. I just wanted to be safe.”
“So did Miller’s sister!” I say before I can stop myself. Nero puts a hand on my knee and squeezes.
“Do you know what she did?” Roxy demands of me, a flash of her familiar temper breaking through her composure. “She decided that since I had protection from Bernardi, she’d get her own from a Bernardi as well. She hung out in some of the places I used to take her until she caught the eye of some guy in the splinter group—one of the men who was dumb enough to think he had a shot at the top job if their faction came out on top!” Her voice rises with each word, fingers clutching the arms of her chair. She looks around the group of us, looking for reactions—and finds none. “She picked the wrong guy,” she goes on. “Because he was there last night at the pool—I saw his body when we were let out.”
The satisfaction in her voice makes all of us stare at her, and she seems to realize she might have overplayed her hand, returning to her previous theme.
“I’m telling you, Annie was crazy —she was trying to be me, copying my life, everything about me—but she was always like that—and she told me that if I didn’t come through with more money, a new passport, that I’d regret it!”
Nero leans forward. “You told me none of this,” he says in a hard voice.
She stares at him. “I couldn’t,” she says at last. “I had…”
“You had Charlotte to think of?” Nero suggests.
“Don’t,” Roxy begs him. “Please don’t.”
“Whatever you are hiding, you need to tell me,” Sandro says, his tone deceptively gentle. “Because nothing I’ve heard so far makes me want to continue allying myself with your Family, Mrs. Bernardi. And let us be clear—the Bernardi Family is in grave danger of extinction.”
The implied threat hangs in the air. Roxy stares at Nero again, pleading silently for guidance, but Nero’s eyes are implacable.
“No one can know,” Roxy says at last, her voice shaking. “No one outside this room can ever hear what I’m about to tell you.” She draws a deep breath, her eyes fixed on Charlotte across the room. “Charlotte isn’t my little sister. She’s my daughter. She doesn’t even know it herself—Gino doesn’t know, either,” Roxy continues, words tumbling out faster now. “I had Charlie before I got famous. Her father was just some fling—a one-night stand. But the doctors had always said I’d never be able to have children. It seemed like a miracle, and I felt like I had to keep her.”
Her voice softens as she looks down the room at Charlotte, something raw and genuine breaking through.
“My parents raised her as their own,” she goes on, “because I was so busy. My career started to take off. And when I fell in love with Gino, I realized Charlie would be in danger. If anyone ever found out that she was my daughter...” Her voice breaks. “You can’t blame me for wanting to protect her. I was terrified that Annie would find out. Would blackmail me—or use Charlie as leverage?—”
“Is that why you shot her?” Jack asks coldly. “She wasn’t a threat anymore when you did.”
“You’re going to lecture me?” she laughs. “That’s rich, coming from a hitman. Or are you just mad you didn’t get to do it yourself?”
“Be careful,” Sandro says softly. “Be very careful, Mrs. Bernardi.”
She swallows and seems to shrink back into the chair. “Yes,” she says. “Since you ask. That’s why I killed her, because I could tell she’d figured it out. And that meant Charlie was in danger. If you had children, you’d understand.”
“It seems to me if you’d really wanted to protect your daughter, you wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with the mob in the first place,” Miller says bluntly. “You wouldn’t have joined that burglary ring that Gino was running. And you sure as hell wouldn’t have tried to take over the Bernardi Family using him as your puppet.”
“Mr. Beaumont does have a point,” Sandro says mildly, though his eyes have taken on a calculating look. “But as for me, I suppose my hands are tied. I gave my word to stand with Gino Bernardi’s side of the Family, and I will continue to do so.”
He says it with an air of finality, though I notice he doesn’t specify what form that continued support will take. The Family politics at play here run deeper than I know, but I understand enough to know that Roxy’s position has fundamentally changed. She will be protected, maybe even worked with—but never fully trusted.
“But how did Ana?s Beaumont even know Nero was staying at the Bellamy?” I blurt out. “I found out from Julian, but he was only guessing.”
Raffi shifts his weight, looking thoughtful. “I mean,” he says slowly, “there was some buzz when I dropped Nero off there at the Bellamy. He’s pretty…distinctive, even under a false name. And it’s hard to keep secrets in LA.”
Jack nods. “If Annie was desperate enough for help, she would have found a way to track him down. Maybe through her dead boyfriend’s contacts. But one thing I still don’t get,” he goes on tiredly. “Why the hell did Annie accuse Nero of working with the Bernardis if she was hoping for his help ?”
“I can tell you that,” Miller says with a cynical laugh. “It’s classic Annie, actually. When you’re accused of anything, threaten, deny, lie—until you’re off the hook.” He leans forward, dropping his head into his hands, but keeps speaking. “She was cornered, so she threw out Nero’s name to us at the Bellamy—” He looks up at Jack. “—because she thought it might make us back off. She didn’t know he was connected to the Castellanis. Then when we brought her back here, she doubled down, threw out a bunch of bullshit, hoping something would stick. She knew enough about the events of the invasion to sound plausible—because she was there .”
“Last night?” Roxy asks, sounding horrified. “She was with the invaders? How do you know?”
Miller laughs again. “She left her calling card on my car.” He keeps smiling as he looks at Roxy, but the light in his eye is hard. Cold. “Maybe she was hoping to see you too, Rox. Wish you well in your marriage, huh? Or maybe she wanted to watch you getting?—”
“Alright.” Jack rises to his feet abruptly. “Let’s leave it there for now. We can reconvene later to sort through the pieces. But I’m taking Miller home—right now.”
Sandro nods, rising as well. “Yes. We have all been through too much these last twenty-four hours. And you, Nero, will probably want to talk to Gabriel.”
My ears perk up at that.
“You guys can use that guest room to talk in,” Raffi DeLuca suggests. “Darian made it up for you again, Gabriel, just in case. You know the way?”
I nod, and I take Nero’s hand and pull him out of the room. I’m desperate to know the full story of what happened between Sandro and him, and anything else he might have to say to me.
“It is not so surprising,” Nero says as we make our way through the hallways. His voice is thoughtful. “A woman willing to do anything to protect her child. Anna-Vittoria Esposito took a similar approach until recently, keeping her offspring secret from the world. So, in fact, did Sandro’s mother.”
“And speaking of Sandro,” I break in, “you need to tell me everything that happened with him!”
We get into the room and Nero talks for a long time, pacing back and forth as I lie on the bed and listen. “And so you see,” he finishes at last, “we have nothing more to worry about. I will make my vows to Sandro. And you can continue your work here at Redwood.”
He comes to join me on the bed, and I snuggle up close. “You can’t expect me not to worry about you,” I tell him. I place my palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my fingers. “Hell, I’m still not convinced Sandro’s not gonna burst through the door and ice us both.”
“Then I will have to give you something else to think about,” he says with a grin. “Yes, little gardener, I am going to do the most wicked things to you, right here on this bed, until the only thing in your mind is me .”
I want to tell him that it’s not appropriate, that there have been so many terrible things going on around us that we should be mindful of. Respectful of.
But only this morning I thought I might lose Nero forever. And not more than an hour ago a woman was killed in front of me—a life gone forever.
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? I could lose Nero at any moment. Death is the one constant in his world. If I want to live there with him…I’ll have to get used to that. Again.
I ran away from that world, ran away from my Family, from Boston, only to fall in love with the darkness.
With Nero.
And I don’t want to miss any chance I have to be with him.