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And now Dad has a meeting with her? This seems to come as news to no one but me.
“Meanwhile, Don Castellani is too busy getting his dick sucked to watch what his lunatic brother is doing,” Dad grumbles. “I can’t believe he didn’t kill Julian after what happened with Ciro, may he rest in peace. Leo, you need to…” He trails off, remembering at the last minute that my mission is not widely known.
“You want me to find out more intel?” I supply, giving him an out.
AJ scoffs. “We got our networks for that. We need Leo doing what Leo does best, knocking heads together.”
“What do you think, Dad?” I say, ignoring AJ. “You think I should dig a little? You can spare me a few days. I’m at a loose end. Crews are all behaving.”
“Sure,” Dad says slowly, unenthusiastically. “Sure, you do that. We should know what’s going on.” As AJ mutters under his breath, he snaps, “Shut up with your whispering, Junior. At least Leo’s giving me options. It’s more than the rest of you gave.”
I’d almost be pleased except for the look Dad gives me. I know he’s going to bitch me out after for pushing in, and for connecting myself and Julian in the minds of the others. He really hates the idea that any of them might figure it out: that I, the fearsome Bernardi Lion, like dick.
Sometimes I think old Ciro Castellani had it right. He had problems with his kids, but their sexuality wasn’t one of them.
And then I remind myself: I’m a Bernardi. First, foremost, always.
Fuck Ciro Castellani, and fuck his sons, too.
CHAPTER7
LEO
At least Iknow which ‘dirty fuck club’ my father meant. I head to The Cellar that night, making sure to enter by the back, keeping my head down, my hoodie pulled over my face. The staff entrance comes out behind the bar, where Gertie sits on a stool, scrolling through her phone.
“Hey,” I say, and she jumps a mile, long blue hair flying everywhere, before she slaps me on the arm.
“Motherfucker! How the hell does a damn mountain like you move so quietly?”
“Maybe you’re just deaf from all that shitty death metal you listen to,” I counter. “Listen, go get Rachel, will you? I need a word with her. I’ll watch the bar for you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” she says airily. “Must be because I’m deaf from all that amazing death metal I listen to. And I believe you’re referring toMistress Raven, right?”
“Gertie,” I begin with a sigh, but with a cheeky grin over her shoulder, she’s already sliding off her seat.
While she’s gone, I check the room. It’s quiet tonight, a huddled meeting between a few Pacific Syndicate members in the corner booth, a few scattered lone drinkers I don’t know—civilians, probably—and a guy at the other end of the bar snorting a line off of it.
Rachel doesn’t like drugs out in the open, so I head down there. “Not cool.” I put both my fists on the bar on either side of his lowered head, so when he looks up, all he sees is my face, staring back at him.
“What the fuck is your problem, bro?” He’s a skinny little runt, face studded with metal, and a lot of questionable tattoos covering his shaved head.
I grab a handful of his punk rock t-shirt. “Do I look like your fucking bro? Get outta here.”
He sticks out his jaw. “Take your fuckin’ hands off me, or I’ll call the cops.”
Wow. This guy really is green. The whole bar goes quiet as soon as he says it, that dirty fucking word.
“Don’t bother calling the cops,” I tell him, and I smile this time. “Call the undertaker instead.” He struggles off his stool, and I let go of his shirt just in time to make him stumble. “Get. Out.”
He gets.
The rest of the bar gives a murmur of satisfaction, and goes back to their business. But over in the doorway, getting pushed past by the metal-studded runt, Rachel gives me an exasperated stare.
“Wehavebouncers,” she snaps as she stalks toward me, stiletto heels moving as fast as the knives they’re named after.
“Yeah? Well then they need to do their jobs better. Guy was snorting right on the bar.” I knock a fist next to the aborted line.
She leans over and makes the rest of it disappear up her nose. “What do you want?” she asks, still annoyed, but unable to argue with my logic. “I don’t want to leave Gertie on the door any longer than I have to.”
