Page 62 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)

CHAPTER 57

NERO

SIX MONTHS LATER

I pull up outside Redwood Manor and throw the keys to my Bugatti to one of the younger security guards. “The car is yours for an hour,” I tell him as I head up the steps. “Any speeding tickets, you pay them.”

He gapes at me. “You serious?”

“Deadly.” I’ve seen him drooling over the car every time I turn up here, and he did an excellent job detailing it that time Gabriel and I got mud all over the interior after. Besides, today is a day for celebrating.

For the first time, I have been invited to a meeting of the inner circle. Sandro doesn’t have just any old Capo attending these meetings. My predecessor, Legs Liggari, for example, never got an invitation. And despite the fact that I’m enjoying my work with the crew—having stepped in after Liggari decided the Bernardi Wedding was enough for him and retired—the truth is I still have ambitions.

I still want to feel I have earned the respect of my peers in the Family.

I still want my name to be known, to be spoken of in dark corners with the same reverence as the names of Sandro Castellani, Julian Castellani, Johnny Jacopo, Leo Bernardi…

But I keep those ambitions under control these days. Not out of fear that I might outshine the great Alessandro Castellani, but simply because I have other things on my mind much of the time. Gabriel Carstairs, in fact. I find he’s always there at the edge of my thoughts, but more often at the center. And I don’t mind that at all.

When I enter Sandro’s study, all of the senior members are there, even the Family lawyer, Lombardo, along with the now-retired Al Montanari and Vito DiPietro. Leo Bernardi, Raffi DeLuca, and Max Pedretti are around the edges of the room. Julian is in his usual seat in the bay window and gives me a dramatic wave when I enter.

It’s a full house, the air electric with anticipation, and I’m excited to be here at the center of the action.

I greet the others, shake hands, pay my respects to my elders, and then Julian persuades me to sit with him in the bay window. I get the feeling that Julian actually likes me, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that. When Sandro mentioned that I played the violin, Julian insisted that I come and play with him sometimes in the grand salon.

I have enjoyed it more than I thought I would.

As for how I feel about him , I’m still uncertain of that, too. Julian Castellani is not really a man one likes or dislikes. But he certainly does make life entertaining—and he is my brother in the Family.

That’s enough for me.

“Salutations,” he greets me. “Welcome to the circus.”

“Where’s Jacopo?” I ask.

“He’s coming in with Sandro—and here they are now,” Julian says, nodding to the door. He’s right; Sandro and Jack make their entrance together, and I note the gravitas in Sandro’s bearing. We get straight down to business, and I’m grateful that Sandro does not call undue attention to my first attendance here today. Nothing worse than feeling like the new kid in school.

“I have news for everyone,” he says. “This has been some time coming, and I know not all of you will be surprised, though all of you will certainly feel the loss. Jack will be leaving us—leaving the city, in fact.”

There’s a murmur of surprise, understanding, and regret.

“Some time ago, I asked Jack to put aside his own plans and help me build the Family into the vision I had for it. He very graciously agreed. But unfortunately for me, I cannot pretend any longer that our Family is still the underdog.”

There are chuckles from several of the men, and I nod my head in agreement.

The Bernardi Wedding has become legendary already in the Los Angeles underworld. If as many people attended that wedding as claim to have done, it would have been a Woodstock-sized event. But it suits Sandro to have the event become mythic, to spread respect for the Family.

Our swift retaliation helped, too. Julian and Leo took care of PacSyn, while Sandro and I tracked down and disposed of the disloyal Bernardis. I appreciated Sandro’s request for my help, even though he didn’t really need it. I think it was a peace offering, a chance for us to reconnect.

And now everyone in the LA underworld knows one thing: You do not fuck with the Castellanis.

“But Jack, where are you going?” Julian demands now.

“We’re headed to Vegas,” Jack tells him. “Miller’s art has made a splash there, and Sandro likes the idea of keeping a closer eye on Sonny Vegas. He thought I was the man for the job, since Sonny and I have some history—although we’re great friends now, of course.”

Even Sandro smiles at the wry irony.

“Truth is,” Jack goes on, “Miller has wanted to get away from here for some time. That business with his sister was the final straw—and I’m grateful to Don Castellani for his support. I plan to make Miller my primary focus from now on.”

I join in the smattering of applause, though I will be sad to see Jack leave. I understand his reasoning, however. Jack actually told me privately that he was worried Miller was becoming too hard. Too used to death. And now I wish them both well along with the others of the inner circle.

Johnny Jacopo was an eminently capable Underboss and I wonder who will take his place. Leo, I assume. He’s had similar experience before, and his work as Enforcer has earned him deep respect.

Sandro is giving a big speech about loyalty and sacrifice, and I only half listen as I think about how the dynamics in the family may change once Jack has left us. Sandro and Jack and Julian always seemed something of a triumvirate: the brains, the heart, and the cunning.

So when Sandro says, “And so I’d like to invite Nero Andretti to be my Underboss,” I simply stare at him. “If he will accept, of course,” Sandro adds, after a few seconds pass in silence.

I stand, groping for the right words. “But are you sure...”

“I didn’t expect you to try to talk me out of it, Nero,” Sandro says with a grin. “I’ve spoken to everyone here, and they concur with my decision, if that’s what troubles you.”

“I told him no damn way I’d do it,” Leo says. “I like knocking heads and kicking in kneecaps. That’s where I’m useful.”

“ I told Sandro I’d be delighted,” Julian tells me. “But for some reason, he didn’t think it would be appropriate to have me as Underboss.”

Everyone laughs, although I’m not sure if Julian really meant it as a joke. And one by one, each of them tells me that they approve—even the older men among us—until I have no option but to turn to Sandro and give him a bow. “It would be an honor, Don Castellani,” I tell him at last. “I only hope I can live up to the standard set by Jacopo.”

“Then it’s settled,” Sandro says.

The meeting breaks and all of them, to a man, congratulate me once more—and each of them means it sincerely. It’s so different from La Contessa’s conditional approval, her restrained praise, that I can barely keep my composure.

As the room gradually empties, Sandro gestures for me to stay behind. We wait until it’s just the two of us, and then he motions me to take a seat again. “There’s something else we should discuss,” he says, taking a seat next to me, instead of behind his desk. “My mother.”

“What about her?”

“Blood is important to me, Nero. Family is important.” I nod, thinking of Julian. For Sandro, their blood ties helped him rise above all the manipulations of his parents and find a way to love him. “But despite all that, I was prepared to cut ties completely. There is only one man in this world, in fact, who could stop me.” Sandro’s voice takes on a familiar softness as he says, “I’m sorry to say that Teddy is very fond of my mother. She has become—for good or ill—a substitute for his own, who was…unfit.”

“His mother is worse than yours?” I ask. “Then Teddy has my sympathies.”

Sandro gives a wry smile. “For his sake alone, I’ve decided I will keep up familial relations with my mother. But business is another matter entirely. She will be frozen out of all Castellani affairs—permanently. And I will make it known that anyone who does business with La Contessa cannot presume to do business with me as well.”

“And her empire?” I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

“She will have to find someone else to inherit it after her death.” He looks up at me, his eyes steady. “I want you to know this because I need you to stand tall and proud as a Castellani. The next time she’s in LA on one of her not-so-secret visits, Teddy and I will invite her to dinner.” He pauses. “I’d like you and Gabriel to join us.”

I recoil. I can’t help it. “ Why , for Christ’s sake?”

“I want her to see what you’ve become. What you’ve built for yourself. What we will build together .” Sandro leans in to put his hand on my shoulder. “She needs to understand that she no longer has any power over either of us. So will you stand with me?”

I think about it for a few seconds. And then I see the delicious possibilities of such a meeting, and picture La Contessa’s furious face to see me so openly accepted by her son. “Of course I’ll stand with you. You are my brother—and she is nothing to me.”

Only one thought keeps me from floating off completely into the ether: Gabriel’s reaction.

He’s never said a word against my work, not since we became lovers. But I can’t help remembering the early days, when he hated me and everything I stood for. Being Underboss is different from working in collections and protections. It requires a much stronger rooting in the Family. In the business.

In the darkness.

“I will have to speak to Gabriel about this promotion, though,” I warn Sandro. “You understand?”

He claps me on the back. “I understand. I wouldn’t make any life-changing decisions without speaking to Teddy first, either. So you speak to Gabriel and let me know how things stand between you.”

Once again it’s so different from La Contessa’s ultimatums and threats, that when I get back outside and discover my Bugatti is not back in the driveway even though it is a good seventy minutes since I entered the house, I find the grace to shrug it off.

“I’m going down to the cottage,” I tell the other house guards. “Make sure that stronzo details my car inside and out when he finally bothers to return it, eh?”

They grin and agree, and I head down to the cottage straight away. Gabriel and I both live here now; Sandro gave us our choice of residence, even suggested we might prefer to live off-grounds like he does, but Gabriel was determined to stay at Redwood, and I can’t imagine him anywhere else. Since his cottage was larger than the guesthouse, and since he’s made it so comfortable, I moved in here with him.

He’s not home when I arrive, but I brew some of his apple pie tea while I wait, since I know he’s usually back for lunch. And soon enough, I hear his heavy work boots approaching, the pause as he pulls them off outside the door, and then he’s there, and I leap up to embrace him.

“What’s going on?” he asks, laughing. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you in the middle of the day, but I thought you had a meeting with Sandro and the others.”

“I did. And now I need to have a meeting with you.”

“In bed?” he asks hopefully. I laugh.

“Perhaps when I have told you my news. But…perhaps you won’t feel like it when you hear.” I’ve worried him now; I can tell by the way his eyebrows draw together. And I didn’t mean to do that. “It’s nothing too terrible,” I tell him. “Sandro wants to make me Underboss.” Better to rip the Band-Aid straight off.

His face lights up. “But that’s amazing!”

“You don’t mind?” I watch him carefully.

“Mind? Why would I mind? You’ve earned it.”

I search his eyes, looking for hesitation. Doubt. All I find is pride in me—and love. “I thought you might be concerned about…the nature of the work,” I say delicately. I never used to second-guess myself, but Gabriel has a way of making me care about his opinion much more than I ever expected.

He presses his palms to my face, thumbs brushing down the line of my jaw. “Don’t you remember? I wasn’t always the peace-loving tree-hugger I am these days. And as for you and your work—it’s who you are, Nero, and I’d be a fool to think I could change you, a fool to even want to. You wouldn’t be the same man.”

So it’s true. He sees the truth of me—every jagged edge, every harsh act, every long-buried wound—and he loves me anyway.

I don’t bother talking more. What use are words when my body has always been much more eloquent? I kiss him with promise, letting him feel everything I can’t say, and let him lead me toward our bedroom, where we spend the afternoon proving the truth of our love to each other.