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Our dear, departed father had no autopsy either, even after the FBI tried to get him dug up. Tried. Failed. We Castellanis have an awful lot of influence in this city.
“But why wouldn’t he want to know if—“ Sandro begins.
“Two possible reasons,” I say impatiently. I’ve gone over and over this in my mind so much that it’s boring to me now. “Either because he had her killed, and didn’t want it known.” Sandro gives me a look that suggests I’ve made his own argument for him. “But I don’t believe that for a moment. Ciro lovedowningher. Showing her off. If he’d found out about the affair, he would have killed Lombardo, but kept her alive to punish at his leisure.”
Sandro doesn’t argue, because he knows my portrait of our father is accurate. “And the second reason?” is all he asks.
“Guilt. I think he really did believe she had killed herself—and deep down, he blamed himself for creating the conditions for her suicide.”
Jack arrives before I can say any more, and I’m almost relieved. Like Sandro, Jack doesn’t want to know the details of last night, but is irritatingly laser-focused on why I didn’t recognize Leo Bernardi in the first place.
The thing about Jack is, he’s given to very awkward questions sometimes. This is one of those times.
“It doesn’t matter why I didn’t recognize him,” I snap at last. “He’s a master of fucking disguise, I suppose. Either way, it was only when I saw his tattoos that I knew him.”
“But I don’t understand. If you’ve been seeing him regularly at this cellar place—“ Jack begins, narrow eyes taking in every minute reaction I make.
“Enough,” Sandro growls.
Thank God. We’ve been over and over it, and I’m running out of ways to explain myself. Jack looks as though he has more to say, but one pointed look from Sandro and he shuts his mouth with a click.
“What matters,” Sandro continues, “is what we do now. The Bernardis are trying to use Julian against me, use him as their own agent.”
“Theirdoubleagent,” I correct him.
Jack’s eyes light up, and he leans forward in his chair. “Yes,” he says. “That’s it. We play them at their own game.”
“Exactly,” I say triumphantly. This is what I’ve been working toward. “Leo even indicated that a meeting with the Don himself could be arranged, if I show myself willing and able. I can pass information back along to you, Sandro. Or remove the problem entirely—if Don Castellani thinks that would be the better move.” I bow my head a little in a show of submission, but I keep a close watch on Sandro through my lashes.
He looks singularly unimpressed. “Things are on enough of a knife edge without sending in an amoral psychopath as a double agent.”
“No offense taken,” I say after a pause. “And never officially diagnosed. But Sandro, if you won’t send me out to assassinate anyone for you, I might as well be made use of as a spy.”
Jack, thankfully, seems determined. “It’s a good plan,” he insists. “We can use Julian to get inside information, or even as anagent provocateur. He could be the perfect tool to make sure the Bernardi Family comes undone, while also protecting our interests. They’re the ones who reached out to him, after all.”
Sandro leans back in his chair—our late father’s chair, really—his eyes closed, and rubs his hands over his face. “Destroying the Bernardis completely is not my end game,” he says at last.
“It’s what your mother would do,” I point out softly, and he shoots me a dirty look.
“Remove one source of power and all it leaves is a vacuum,” he snaps.
“It worked for the Morellis in New York,” Jack says stubbornly. “They took out their enemies entirely—“
“This is not New York, and we don’t have the same firepower or allies or numbers as the Morellis,” Sandro insists, and Jack rolls his eyes in a way that makes me think they’ve had this conversation many times before.
“Fuck the Morellis,” I say bluntly. “And fuck New York. This is LA. And we have a chance here, Sandro. Even if you don’t want to remove the Bernardis completely, we have a chance to swat a fly. Unless you’ve grown accustomed to that buzzing in your ear?”
Jack nods. “We do have more important things to worry about,” he says. “And that’s thepoint. The Family needs shoring up, and stomping on the Bernardis would be a morale boost, if nothing else. Bring the boys together, especially after, well…” His mouth pulls to one side. “A rocky transition period.”
Sandro looks thoughtful. He’s been quiet for a few moments, and when he finally speaks it’s with the same measured control he has resorted to since taking the Castellani crown. “If we do this,” he begins slowly, “it would need to be done on my terms.” He pauses again, and Jack holds his breath along with me as we wait for those terms. “Any high-level assassinations they require from you would need to be approved by me first. No killing our men, or our allies. And stay the hell away from the Espositos entirely.”
“Easy,” I say smugly. “Didn’t I come running like a good little snitch, Sandro? I’ll let you know everything the Bernardis ask of me.”
“What would you need from us?”
“A long leash,” I reply instantly. “I won’t be able to do what needs to be done if I’m tied up too tight.”
Sandro looks uneasy, but Jack speaks up. “You’re the one who let him out of the cells,” he points out. “And so far as I can tell, Julian’s behaved himself so far.”
