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“Soldano and the Espositos aren’t the problem, anyway,” Max says.
“Who, then?” Castellani demands.
Max hesitates, his jaw tightening. Anna-Vittoria’s order not to betray Esposito business binds him. I wouldn’t blame him for telling Don Castellani what he wants to know, but instead, Max says nothing, even though Sandro Castellani’s face gets colder and colder.
“It’s PacSyn,” I say. I see Don Castellani processing this new information, so I give him a little more. “We’ve been working against them for a while. But they were ready and waiting for us in the bank. Which means…” I take a breath, unhappy at what I’m about to admit. “I have a mole in my crew working for them.”
“Is that so?” Castellani asks icily.
“That’s why I need Pedretti’s help, and why the Maestra wanted him, too. The problems have been going on for a while. Pedretti has security expertise, he’s got experience working, uh, similar jobs—” I shoot a sideways glance at Max, but he makes no face at me. I guess it’s to be expected that his Boss knows all about his background. “—and like he says, he has a personal stake in this now.”
Castellani leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “I acknowledge your courage and your commitment, Soldano,” he finally says, his tone cool. “You’ve got more balls than I expected. But let me be clear: if any harm comes to Pedretti, therewillbe severe consequences.”
I feel rather than see Max relaxing next to me, as though he was worried his Boss would put his foot down, refuse him permission to return. And I’m more relieved about it than I can almost admit to myself. Relieved and...something else, something less about the professional help Max can give, and more about having him in my house a while longer.
“Your alliance could benefit both Families,” Castellani admits. “And I believe I see mutual respect and trust between the two of you. Am I right?”
“That’s right, Boss,” Max says firmly. “Soldano’s a good man, a good Capo. And I want to make sure PacSyn gets what they’ve got coming.”
I’m so glad Max jumped in to answer that question. I think I’d stammer out something starstruck about how amazing Max is, and that…wouldn’t be great. But hearing Max talk about me so well to Don Castellani feels nice.
Real nice.
Castellani leans forward, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. “So, what are your plans?”
We each take a seat. “Well, we find that mole,” I say, glancing at Max. “Then, we repay the favor to PacSyn. Blood for blood.”
“Is there anything you need?” Castellani asks.
Need? I stare at Max, wondering if Castellani’s sudden helpfulness is just a front. But Max leans in, mirroring his Boss’s body language.
“Give us a chance to assess, first,” he says. “And then we’ll let you know.” Max glances at me, nudges me with his knee.
“Right,” I say quickly. “And I, uh, I appreciate the offer, Don Castellani.”
His face pulls up on one side. I think he’s smiling. “I want our Families to be friends,” he says. “So please, let me know if I can help. But before you leave us again, Pedretti, I’d like a word alone. If you don’t mind, Soldano?”
* * *
As I leave Sandro’s study, I allow myself a moment to breathe, really feel the enormity of what I’ve just agreed to.
My life for Max’s. My head if his falls.
Iseemto be alone out here in the hallway, but I feel eyes on me. I keep my hands to myself and I look at the pictures on the wall while I wait, though my mind’s on other things. Nico, for one. And Giddy. And finding the bastard who did this to us…
On the wall opposite is a formal family photograph of the old Castellani Don with his blonde wife, and a towheaded kid in front of her that I assume must be the young Julian Castellani. None of them look all that happy, and Sandro isn’t with them, either. Without thinking, I reach out to straighten it—it’s a little crooked—and when I step back, I just about jump out of my skin.
There’s a guy there, around my own age, one hand resting on a gun holster and the other on his hip as he stares at me. “Hey,” he says.
“Uh. Hey.”
“Raffi DeLuca. Head of house security while Pedretti’s away.” After a second, he offers his hand, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me.
“Bricker Soldano,” I reply. “They told me to wait out here,” I add a little defensively.
“Yeah,” he says. And then he says nothing more, until we both hear footsteps approaching, and at the end of the hallway, a slender, fair-haired guy in a three-piece suit starts walking toward us.
“Good morning, Mr. Soldano,” he says to me. “I’m Darian Thornfield-Hayes. I’m the butler here at Redwood, and head of staff. Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need.”
