Page 9 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)

CHAPTER 8

NERO

As instructed by Jack, Ray drives me back to Redwood Manor after our shift is over. It has been slightly more interesting than I expected, if only because Ray, once he warmed up to me, was a font of interesting stories about his experiences. He spun me a number of tales about Jacopo—something of a legend now in that crew—that I thought were overstated, but even if they were only half true, it was interesting information.

On the drive back to Redwood, Ray asks what it’s like living there. “Man, they must have some great parties. I hear they’re always entertaining big movie stars from the studios.” It takes me a moment to understand his meaning, to remember that the Castellanis still hold shares in a film production company. La Contessa always called it a vanity project for her ex-husband, though I’d privately thought that she had vanity projects of her own.

Her son, for example.

“And I hear the grounds are something spectacular,” Ray goes on.

“Nothing like Europe,” I sniff. But then my conscience—what little I have left—gets the better of me. “The grounds are pleasant, it is true. Have you never been on the estate?”

He guffaws. “Some low-level shit-kicker like me? Hell no.”

When we arrive at the gate, I lean out to speak to the guards. “What time did Gabriel Carstairs return?”

“About a quarter past none of your business.”

In Italy, I would eviscerate this man before making him check the logs with his dying moments. But here I must play a different role, so I laugh along with Ray.

“I’m glad to see you gate guards are able to keep your mouths shut,” I say. “Now open it and get out of the way.”

Ray is still chuckling as we start driving up the long road to the main house. He goes slowly, taking in as much as he can. It is, I must admit, quite a spectacular sight under the half-moon. As we wind our way past the redwoods, I wonder again why Sandro is so forgiving of his brother as to let him remake the estate according to his whims.

When we were children, and he told me of his early life in America, Sandro never seemed to care much for Redwood Manor. I assumed he would live out his life in Europe with his mother, heir to her empire. Although he refused to ever speak badly of his father, the things he had to say about his late stepmother and her child raised even my eyebrows. But that child, Julian, was the apple of his father’s eye, just as Sandro was his mother’s son.

“Well, thanks for getting me inside the pearly gates, so to speak,” Ray says when we reach the house. “What’s happening tomorrow? You want me to pick you up?”

I have no idea what’s happening tomorrow, but it doesn’t hurt to make friends. “Why don’t you pick me up an hour before? I’ll buy you dinner, then we can get started.”

“Dinner, eh?” He rubs his chin. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not hitting on me, are you? Only, I got the missus at home, and?—”

“I wouldn’t dream of breaking up a happy marriage.”

Ray laughs and laughs. “Ah, I’m just fucking with you. Okay, then, Andretti. It’s a date.” He winks at me and drives off.

I turn to look at the guards by the house. They look back at me, blankly.

“Have any of you seen Gabriel Carstairs tonight?”

Silence. A few heads shake.

I set out around the manor house, as though heading to my own guesthouse, but I take a detour to Gabriel’s cottage instead. But as far as I can tell, he isn’t there.

I’m not sure what’s come over me—this terrible need to know his whereabouts. What the hell does it matter to me if he works part-time at some shabby little garden center? I don’t believe he’s there under false pretenses; he would’ve kept himself hidden if he was worried about the Castellanis discovering he worked elsewhere.

But something in the nervous manner of the woman at the counter, and Gabriel’s insistence that I leave, keeps needling at my memory. I’m used to people being anxious around me, but Yvonne, with those wide brown eyes, seemed especially worried without understanding what I was hinting at…

And she did not want me to look too closely at the plants on the counter.

In another part of the world, I might wonder if they were growing special crops—but this is Los Angeles. There would be no reason for her not to have a legal business in marijuana.

I turn away from Gabriel’s door. I will not pick the lock or go through his things. Intriguing he might be, but I will not act like some obsessive stalker.

Instead, I decide to treat this as a potential security breach.

I am fortunate tonight. The guards in the security room do not include Max Pedretti or Raffi DeLuca. In fact, they’re so eager to stretch their legs that when I tell them I’ve been instructed to take their place for their ten-minute break, they don’t even question it.

I move quickly, hoping ten minutes will be enough to find what I need. Four minutes in, I locate the file containing tracking data for all cell phones owned by staff. I doubt any of them know about it, but a man as careful as Max Pedretti? I knew he’d have something like this. And here I am, reduced to spying, all because one gardener won’t submit to my usual methods of control.

The tracking data appears on screen, Gabriel’s location blinking like a heartbeat in one of LA’s more dangerous neighborhoods. The sight sets something possessive burning in my chest. What is my little gardener doing in such a place, and at this hour? Those streets are no place for someone like him. Yet there he is.

And according to the tracker, he’s been there for two hours.

What is he doing? What business could he have there at this time of night? Or?—

The possibility that he might be in another man’s bed makes my blood run hot and cold at once. But as I watch, the soft pulsing target begins to move, heading back toward this side of town.

I’m out of time. I shut down my search and lean back in the chair just as the guards re-enter the room.

“Thanks for covering for us,” one of them says.

I stand, stretching. “Anytime,” I lie happily. “Enjoy the rest of your night, gentlemen.”

As for me, I have somewhere to be.

The wait is long and tedious, but it is worth it to see the shock on Gabriel’s face when I step out of the shadows just as he’s reaching for the doorknob of his cottage. Something in my gut has tightened at the sight of him, disheveled and beautiful in the moonlight.

“Good evening, little gardener. Fancy you being out at this time of night.”

He gives a very satisfying gasp and steps back. The surprise on his face shifts into irritation. Honestly, that might even be better.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I live on the grounds, Gabriel. It’s hardly surprising that we run into each other from time to time.”

Gabriel studies me, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t have time for whatever this is,” he says at last. “It’s way too late and I’m way too tired.”

He unlocks his door and enters his cottage, but I’m too quick for him. I slide in after him and grab the bag from his shoulder.

“If you’re tired, I’m happy to help you unpack whatever is in here,” I tell him. The bag is heavy and cumbersome. What on earth does he have in it?

“What the hell is wrong with you, Andretti?” he snaps. He lunges for the bag, but I hold it out of his reach and lightly push him back with a hand to his chest.

The move has brought us close enough that I can smell earth and sweat on him—honest scents that shouldn’t be as appealing as they are. “Nothing is wrong with me, Carstairs . In fact, I am a very intelligent and detail-oriented man, which is why I’m wondering exactly what you’re up to. Now, you may think I’m invading your privacy?—”

“Because you are!”

“—but in my line of work, people with secrets are dangerous.” My hand is still on his chest, and I can feel his racing heart. “So tell me where you were tonight, make me believe it, and I won’t be forced to go to Sandro and tell him that you’ve betrayed his trust.”

He stares at me and I wait for him to demand I get out of his house. When he doesn’t, my curiosity sharpens, because I’m completely overstepping. I’m a man of impulse—it’s what got me into trouble from childhood onward—and I should have thought this through instead of letting my impulses lead the way. There’s no way the Castellanis would allow me to threaten their staff members like this, and certainly not allow me to use their security systems without a chaperone. I’ve jeopardized my entire mission with my actions tonight.

But if Gabriel was completely innocent, he would already have hustled me back out the door.

“I haven’t betrayed anyone,” he says finally, his voice clipped.

Something tingles at the back of my neck. There really is something going on here, something he doesn’t want me—or Sandro—to know.

This is not good.

“Then where were you?” I ask, and all traces of flirtation drop from my voice.

Gabriel takes a small step back, his movements cautious, and my hand finally drops from him. He hasn’t turned on the lights yet, but the darkness between us feels more appropriate.

“You want to know where I was?”

“Yes, and I want you to stop stalling. Tell me right now or I’ll wake the Don, and you can explain it to him instead.”

“I was with some guy,” he says abruptly. “I went out to the Beartrap after we closed up at GreenSpace, got drunk, and went home with him. I guess now you’re seeing my walk of shame. Happy?”

Not at all.

For one thing, there’s not a trace of alcohol on his breath.

And for another, the thought of him under another man’s hands is doing strange things to me—strange and terrible things.

“Was he worth it, this one-night stand?” I ask, my tone more spiteful than I intended. “Did he light up your body, give you pleasures you never imagined before?”

My silent addition is clear: Because that is what I could do for you .

I can’t see Gabriel’s face clearly in the dim light. What is he thinking? More importantly, what is he hiding?

Was he really with another man tonight? No. I won’t believe it. Gabriel isn’t the type to seek a night of meaningless pleasure, and certainly not to head into the most dangerous parts of the city. He’s no thrill-seeker, and that’s what makes him so enticing. For Gabriel, sex would be about more than just pleasure. And in my experience, those types are the most passionate lovers. That’s why I want to have him myself, to have that passion pour out of him, all over me.

Get him out of my system.

“Well?” I demand.

“You wanted to know where I was. I told you. Now get out of my house.”

His voice is fearless—fearless and somehow hollow.

“If you wanted a one-night stand, I would have happily given you one,” I say, attempting to sound as casual as I usually do. “And I am an excellent lover. Remember that next time you have an itch you want to scratch, won’t you?”

“Give me my bag and get out.”

I drop his bag unceremoniously on the floor and give him a mocking bow. “As requested. Good evening, Gabriel.”

He doesn’t return the politeness as I leave. My walk back to my own place does nothing to calm my blood.

I’m not even sure why I’m so angry. But one thing I do know: next time Gabriel Carstairs sneaks off somewhere, I won’t need to engineer another excuse for the guards in the security room.

Because I slipped one of my own tracking devices into the side pocket of his bag.