If The Seas Catch Fire (25 page)

“Good. With as much bloodshed as this town has seen recently, a wedding will be good for morale.” Biaggio folded his hands in his lap. “And knowing the Maisanos and Passantinos are allied this way might make the Cusimanos think twice about screwing with either family.”

“True.” Dom tapped his fingers on the table. “So you think it
is
a good move. Marrying Passantino’s daughter.”

“It makes business sense.”

“We barely know each other. What kind of marriage would that be?”

“Well…” Biaggio sat back, idly swirling his glass. “You’ve gotten along well enough so far, haven’t you?”

Dom nodded.

“Give it time, then.” Biaggio shrugged. “Don’t expect it to happen overnight, but the two of you can continue to get to know each other after you’re married.”

The ‘overnight’ part might be an issue…

“I do think this is a wise move, though,” Biaggio said. “The two families have been pussy-footing around an alliance for years. The two of you marrying will, in essence, marry the families to each other, so we’ll—”

Crack!

Biaggio jerked to the side as blood sprayed the wall behind him.

Dom leaped back, and right when he gasped, a stray droplet landed on his tongue. Before the saltiness had even registered, he turned and vomited.

He spat, and then, staying low in case more bullets came, he turned his head.

No…

Strong arms grabbed Dom, hauled him to his feet, and herded him inside.

“Are you all right?” Sal asked, shielding him with his body and keeping him away from the windows.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m…” Dom craned his neck enough to look outside. At the table, Biaggio’s motionless body was slumped in the chair, blood mingling with scattered pine needles by his feet. “Oh my God. Biaggio…” His throat tightened. What the hell? One second he was settling Dom’s mind over this upcoming marriage. The next…

This.

Jesus.

His eyes stung, and he hoped to God Sal blamed it on the puking.

No. Not Biaggio. God, no…

Below them, the yard had exploded with activity. Shouts. Dogs barking. Gunfire. More voices in the distance. He still had his hearing, so the shooter must not have been close by. A fucking sniper.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Sal asked.

“Yeah.” Dom coughed and spat. “Didn’t hit me. Didn’t…” He trailed off as his gaze landed on Biaggio again. “Who the hell would…” He couldn’t even say it. Couldn’t verbally acknowledge what his eyes wouldn’t let him forget.

There wasn’t much he could do now. He was powerless. Useless. Biaggio was dead, so no amount of first aid or frantic 911 calls would change anything. It was over in the blink of an eye, and he couldn’t make sense of it.

He glanced down at his blood-splattered clothes. “I, uh, think I’m going to grab a shower, though.” That seemed pointless. Crass, even. But he desperately needed something mundane, something normal. Some way to get all this blood off his skin.

Sal withdrew his hand. “Good idea. I’ll have one of your staff bring over some clothes.”

“Perfect. Thank you. And, um…” Dom gestured out at the terrace. “Someone should call a priest. He’d… he’d want that.”

“Of course.” Sal gestured at the stairs. “I’ll take care of the calls.”

“Thanks.”

The whole place was eerily quiet, the stairs creaking softly beneath Dom’s feet as he trudged up to the third floor. By the time he came back down, there’d be activity, but he suspected the quiet would linger. There’d be no sirens. No flashing lights. The police weren’t needed and neither was an ambulance. The coroner would, as always, be discreet—his balls were in the same vise as anyone else in this town whose services a family might require.

While calls were made to Corrado, Luciano, Felice and anyone else who needed to know, Dom went upstairs to shower. It felt strange to use Biaggio’s shower to clean off his blood, but the consigliere would have insisted.

“
Clean yourself up,
” he could almost hear the old guy grumbling. “
Doesn’t do a man any good to be seen like that.
”

He’d have been especially horrified if Dom met the priest like this, so Dom soaped and rinsed until blood no longer swirled in the water at his feet.

And even then, he didn’t get out. Not yet.

Eyes closed, he let his head fall forward so the water rushed through his hair and down his neck. He didn’t feel anything yet. No grief. No fear. The adrenaline had settled, and now he was just… numb. The rest would be along once the truth settled in, but at the moment, he felt nothing.

Now what?

Death was part of this life, but the body count had been rising at an alarming rate for the last few months. And bullets were coming unnervingly close, hitting not just the family, but
his
family. His uncle and cousins were all he had left, and any of them—hell, Dom himself—could be in the crosshairs at any moment.

Without Biaggio, Corrado was the closest thing Dom still had to a father. He was a brutal man. He’d traumatized Dom, taken people and safety and sanity away from him, but he’d also been the man who’d taken Dom in and raised him, even after he’d been the one to calmly end Papa’s life.

“It’s business, Domenico,” Corrado had told him while they’d watched men dump dirt on Papa’s still-warm body. “It’s business, and it’s family, and families and businesses are only as strong as their weakest members.”

“But…” Dom had been too young to make sense of any of that. Much too young to have seen the things he’d seen. “Papa wasn’t weak.”

“No.” Corrado had squeezed his shoulder, grimacing with sympathy. “But he did things that weakened all of us. He had to go, son, because if he stayed, many other men would have died. Do you understand?”

More than anything, Dom had never forgiven Corrado for that. Maybe he could have learned to accept that cold-blooded murder was part of this life, that Papa had done unforgivable things in an unforgiving world. But what man asked a child if his father’s death was worth it so others could live?

Even with those lifelong grudges, and with the blood on his hands because of Corrado, Dom struggled with the idea of ever losing his uncle. Some days he wanted to kill the man himself. Other days, he looked around and realized that, for better or worse, in a world that was full of killers and crooks, Corrado and his sons really were the only family Dom had left. What happened if and when they were gone?

He closed his eyes and let the water hit his face.

It was hard to say how life would be without his family, but he suspected it would be short. If someone killed Corrado, or Luciano, or Felice, then it would be open season on Dom anyhow.

What would I be doing if I wasn’t part of this life, Sergei? Feeling a little less like I’ve got crosshairs on my back.

Dom shut off the shower and stepped out. He dried himself, and when he opened the door to the bedroom, a small stack of neatly folded clothing awaited him on the foot of Biaggio’s bed. Trying not to overthink where he was, or who wouldn’t be sleeping here tonight, or what awaited him when he went back downstairs, he dressed.

He was still a bit queasy and off-balance, but the emotions remained far beneath the surface. He was just… rattled. His bones and muscles felt weirdly disjointed, as if they should have been shaking but weren’t. Like after a near-miss in a car, where the danger had passed and now the body didn’t quite know what to do with itself.

And God knew he had no idea what to do with himself now. Biaggio was gone. He’d died right in front of Dom, right in the middle of trying to settle his nerves about the future.

Corrado was right. There was a war brewing. Hell, it was
done
brewing. Taking out a boss’s consigliere was nothing if not an irrevocable declaration. A shot fired not across the bow, but through the first mate’s head.

This was, unmistakably, war.

By the time Dom returned to the ground level, the coroner’s van was outside, and two men were closing up the back. Dom was glad for that—he wasn’t sure he could stomach watching them wheel Biaggio outside.

Beside him, Corrado materialized, and he placed a hand between Dom’s shoulders. “Are you all right, Domenico?”

Dom nodded. “Yeah. Just, uh, shaken up.”

His uncle nodded. “We all are.” He studied Dom for a moment. “Did you see anything? Anyone?”

“No. I took cover in case any more shots came, but there was just the one.”

Corrado gazed out at the yard, saying nothing.

“There’s no way it was at close range, or security would’ve had him,” Dom said. “He probably had a perch out that way”—he gestured at a distant hill—“and a high-powered rifle.”

Corrado scowled. “Well, when we find him,” he growled, “rest assured he will wish he’d never taken that shot.”

A chill ran up Dom’s spine. Given the sadistic violence his uncle could inflict on someone who’d crossed him, Dom could only imagine what would happen to someone who’d killed his longtime friend and trusted advisor. He hoped like hell that the shooter didn’t have children.

Dom cleared his throat. “I, um, hope Brigida understands me canceling on her again.”

Corrado’s lips tightened. Dom cringed inwardly, fully expecting to be told that now was the time to stand up, be a man, and show his face to let everyone in Cape Swan know that the Maisanos would not be cowed like this.

Instead, Corrado sighed. “Take this evening. Anyone will understand that we need time to grieve. And there’s a funeral to plan.”

“Yeah. And I… I think I just need to be alone tonight.”

Corrado nodded. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” His jaw tightened. “Call me directly. Since… Biaggio…”

Dom winced. He really was gone. Biaggio, the closest thing Dom had had to a father since he was twelve years old, was really gone.

Throat aching and stomach turning, Dom took a deep breath. Fuck. He was… he was gone.

“I’ll give you a call if there’s any developments.” Corrado squeezed Dom’s shoulder. “But otherwise, you won’t be bothered.”

“Thank you.”

“How is your security? Do you need some—”

“I’m fine.”

Corrado eyed him. “I really think a bodyguard is in order after this.”

“No. Whoever did this had a chance to shoot me. A bodyguard would just tell him he’d scared me.”

His uncle paused, then nodded. “Good point. But be careful, Domenico.”

“I will.”

Dom bowed out of the conversation and hurried out toward his car. As he did, he pulled out his phone, but hesitated. He couldn’t keep turning to Sergei every time this life pushed him to his limits. Corrado was undoubtedly still going to hold Dom to his one-week ultimatum, so the sanity Sergei offered would be gone in a matter of days anyway. And besides, the last thing Dom was in the mood for was sex.

Still, all he could think of was Sergei. Of getting into a room somewhere, getting out of their clothes, and getting into bed. What they did then—if Sergei fucked him, or if either of them came before the sun rose—didn’t matter. He just needed to be that close to someone who was alive. It wasn’t sex he wanted, per se—though, God, with Sergei involved, there
would
be sex—but a feverish, breathless escape from this life that was spiraling out of control.

More than ever, he needed what Sergei offered, and he was running out of time to lose himself in that passionate distraction.

So, on his way to his car, he texted Sergei.

Are you busy tonight?

Sergei stared at the message. He definitely hadn’t expected that. Really? Dom was in the mood tonight?

And, more to the point, could Sergei even handle seeing Dom tonight?

Yes. Yes, because I need to touch him and know he’s okay.

He wrote back,
Tell me when/where
.

After the message had sent, he put the phone aside and shifted his attention back to cleaning the disassembled rifle on the footlocker in front of him. His conscience didn’t usually bother him after a job. Today it was gnawing him from the inside out.

He’d had to take the hit. It was a major move toward igniting the war between the families. And besides, if he hadn’t taken it, or he’d botched it, then it would be his head.

The phone buzzed again. Sergei wiped gun oil off his hands with a shop towel and picked it up.

Sooner the better.

Sergei chewed his lip.
Text me when you nail down a place. I’ll be there ASAP
.

He sent the message and continued cleaning and reassembling the rifle. As he did, he could only imagine how shaken Dom was. Whatever his relationship with Corrado’s consigliere, they’d seemed close. Friendly, at least. Their expressions hadn’t read like two men having a business discussion.

Three times, Sergei had considered bailing. He couldn’t do it with Dom sitting right there.

But he’d already failed to complete a hit on Dom. If he didn’t shoot the consigliere this time, there was a small but not insignificant possibility that someone would see the pattern. That when Domenico Maisano was present, Sergei lost his nerve.

So he’d taken the shot.

And now Dom was texting him, eager to see him as soon as possible.

He probably needed an outlet tonight. And isn’t that what this arrangement had become? What had begun as Dom getting gay sex out of his system had become an odd lifeline for both of them. The drug of choice when life in this volatile town went haywire. Sometimes Dom needed Sergei. Sometimes Sergei needed Dom. Sometimes they both seemed like they were at the edge of madness, and the ticket back to normal involved skin and lube.

Letting Dom depend on him like this was dangerous. So was letting himself depend on Dom. But on those nights when Dom’s touch held the key to making it through until dawn without breaking down, Sergei didn’t stand a chance of talking himself out of it. And on the nights when it was Dom who needed him, something in his Italian lover’s eyes appealed to a part of Sergei he didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t the thrill of sleeping with the enemy, or corrupting a Mafioso in a way that would horrify the others. It was something more… human.

Sighing, Sergei screwed the barrel back onto the rifle. This thing he was doing with Dom didn’t fit into the world where they lived, but he didn’t know why he kept trying to talk himself out of it. He knew as well as Dom that they’d both be there tonight. Whichever crappy motel wound up being their rendezvous, they’d be there, and they’d fuck, and maybe on some plane, it made sense.

Whether it did or not, though, it was still going to happen.

And he couldn’t wait.

*              *              *

After the gun was cleaned and hidden away and Sergei had showered, he drove across town to the motel where Dom was waiting.

On the way to the designated room, he ignored the weird apprehension tightening behind his ribs. This was the same as any other night they’d spent together, he told himself over and over. Dom needed sex, Sergei would give him sex, and they’d both walk away like they did every time.

At the door, he paused, much like he did whenever he went to visit Mama, and collected himself. Deep breath. Shoulders back. Quiet knock.

Dom let him in, but as soon as Sergei was across the threshold, Dom grabbed him and shoved him up against the door, slamming it with their combined body weight. Panic surged through him. An ambush? Fight or flight kicked in, but just before Sergei could knee him and break free, Dom kissed him. Hard.

Sergei froze. His heart went crazy even as his lips, moving of their own volition, softened beneath Dom’s.

Not an attack. Not a threat. Just… hunger.

Exhaling through his nose, Sergei wrapped his arms around him. Dom’s erection ground against his hip, and in no time at all, they were both out of breath, panting as they kissed and groped at each other.

When Dom finally came up for air, he touched his forehead to Sergei’s, and they both breathed hard for a moment.

“So glad you came,” Dom murmured.

Sergei regarded him uncertainly. “You all right tonight?”

“Yeah.” Dom swallowed. “Just a… long day.”

If that was just a long day, I’d hate to see what qualifies as a
bad
one
.

“The kind of long day that needs to be followed by a long night?”

“Yes. Exactly.” Dom took a step back and tugged Sergei with him. “There’s too much to explain. I just—”

Sergei cut him off with a kiss. The longer they talked, the more potential there was for truths to come out that would send this night in a very different direction. He’d come here to be what Dom needed, and that was a lover, and he intended to be exactly that.

They made quick work of shedding their clothes, and Sergei dragged Dom down onto the bed with him. Kissing, touching, rubbing—the friction between their skin was almost as intoxicating as Dom’s needy but considerate kiss.

And never far from his mind was the awareness that Dom was shaken, grieving, and Sergei had done this to him. He’d fired the bullet that had rocked Dom’s world today.

I’m not sorry for killing Mafiosi.

But I’m sorry I hurt you.

You’re the last one in the world I want to hurt.

So he held on as tight as he could and did everything he could imagine to alleviate that pain. Dom wanted a diversion? He’d have one.

Dom carefully kept his weight off Sergei, rubbing their dicks together while still holding himself up with his arms and knees. Every bit of friction between them was deliberate but not frantic. It was a weird feeling, like orgasms weren’t even close to the most important thing right then, but one of them could—and probably would—come at any moment.

Abruptly, Dom broke the kiss and started down Sergei’s neck. Sergei exhaled. He tilted his head back as far as the hard pillow would allow and dragged his nails across Dom’s shoulders. As Dom’s lips skated over his collarbone, Sergei moaned. Somewhere in his mind, there were words—profane ones, no doubt, and commands and praises and God knew what else—but none of them made it past the tip of his tongue.

Dom kissed his way down the middle of Sergei’s chest. Soft lips on his abs were more than Sergei could take, and he bit his own lip, squirming beneath Dom’s featherlight kisses. And still, Dom continued lower. Sergei groaned. His head spun. His lungs screamed for air he couldn’t remember how to breathe.

Earlier, he’d seen Dom’s face through a rifle scope. Now, alive and well, oblivious to the phantom presence of the trigger still against Sergei’s finger, Dom trailed kisses along Sergei’s trembling abs.

Don’t you know what I did to you today?

Before Sergei could find his breath, Dom’s lips were around his cock, and even a throbbing conscience was no match for the barrage of sensations. Sergei pushed himself up on his elbow and gazed down at him, mouth watering and breath hitching as Dom teased him with lips and tongue. He loved that about Dom—a man who sucked cock not out of obligation, but as if he could think of nothing else in the world he’d rather do. Sergei ran his fingers through Dom’s hair, which prompted a moan that sent dizzying vibrations along Sergei’s sensitive flesh.

He swore, and right then Dom’s eyes flicked up to meet his, and Sergei’s breath caught. From that blissed-out expression, Dom didn’t even know where the hell he was anymore. With a dick in his throat that would soon be in his ass, Sergei doubted he
cared
where he was.

Except every now and then, his eyes would meet Sergei’s again, and Sergei’s pulse went crazy. Dom may not have known or cared where he was, but he knew who the fuck he was looking at. He knew whose cock was in his mouth.

“You’re amazing at this,” Sergei slurred. “I’m gonna… gonna fuck you so hard after this. Jesus…” He dropped back onto the bed, eyes squeezed shut and spine arching. “Fuck, Dom…”

Lifting his head, Dom grinned. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Sergei eyed him, not comprehending for a few seconds, but then the pieces fell into place. As they both sat up, he said, “You’d better get me a condom, then.”

Dom grabbed one off the nightstand but paused, eyeing the foil square in his hand as if he were debating going bareback.

“No. Only when you’re on top.” Sergei took the condom from him. Their eyes met, and if Dom had any thought of arguing, he let it go. Instead, he met Sergei in the middle of the bed, and they kissed hungrily and desperately while Sergei tried his damnedest to get the condom out and on.

Kissing screwed up his coordination, though, so he pulled back. “Gotta… put this…”

“Please do.” Dom grabbed the lube and poured some on his hand. Sergei hadn’t even rolled the condom all the way on before Dom was stroking the lube onto it.

Sergei sucked in a hiss of breath. “You know I’m not going to last long, right? When you’ve got me this fucking turned on?”

“I know.” Dom grinned. “Then you’ll just have to fuck me again.”

Sergei blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I will. Now turn around.”

Dom didn’t miss a beat. He immediately turned and got on his hands and knees. Sergei positioned himself behind him and guided his cock to Dom’s ass. Fingering him was tempting—Dom did just fine bottoming without a lot of prep, but teasing him relentlessly was fun. Sergei wasn’t sure he could wait, though. Not after Dom had turned him on like that.

He pressed the head of his cock against Dom, easing himself past the tight ring so he wouldn’t hurt him.

Abruptly, though, Dom shoved himself back, and he took Sergei’s cock so quickly Sergei damn near blacked out. He grabbed Dom’s hips and steadied him.

“Jesus…” Exhaling slowly, he withdrew and then eased himself back in, and Dom squirmed in his grasp.

“Hard,” Dom pleaded. “Please…”

“I will.” Sergei licked his lips. “Just need to—”

Dom slammed back again and knocked Sergei off balance. In an instant, Sergei was buried all the way inside him, slumped over him, his lips parted for a breath that refused to move.

“Just.
Fuck
me.”

Sergei finally exhaled. He righted himself, gripping Dom’s hips tighter. “Not gonna argue with that.” Rocking his own hips good and fast, he watched himself disappearing into Dom. He kneaded Dom’s ass cheeks as he fucked him, mesmerized by this sight even though he’d seen it so many times before. He loved the way Dom felt. The way he looked. The way he moaned and cursed as he took Sergei’s dick over and over.

This was definitely going to be quick. Sergei’s orgasm was already closing in, so he moved his hands to Dom’s hips and fucked him for all he was worth. Deep, hard, violent, until the bed sounded like it was going to fall apart and every slap of skin on skin actually stung.

Dom cried out, and Sergei had no idea if he was speaking Italian or English or some other language, or fucking gibberish. His own mind was too scrambled to make sense of anything, and as his eyes rolled back and his whole body started trembling, he thought he heard himself murmuring in his native tongue, but God, who cared because he felt so good, so good, so fucking—

Everything went white. He forced himself as deep as Dom would take him and then tried to get even deeper, his hips jerking against Dom’s ass.

Finally, he exhaled. They both sank back down to the bed, and Sergei had just enough presence of mind to pull out before he’d gone too soft. He pushed himself up and managed to stumble into the bathroom to toss the condom, and somehow he even found his way back across the narrow stretch of floor to tumble back into bed with Dom.

Evidently, Dom wasn’t done yet. Sergei hadn’t even settled onto the mattress again before Dom pulled him into his arms and kissed him, and it was one of those kisses that said he meant business—they’d both catch their breath and recharge, but they were not done tonight.

Fine by me.

Sergei pulled him closer and lost himself in Dom’s needy kiss and warm embrace. They were both sweaty now and shaking, and they made out like they’d just gotten started. Postcoital fatigue tried to close in, but even that didn’t last long. Where Dom had found this energy—hell, where Sergei had found it—was anyone’s guess. Maybe it was just the need to disappear completely from the rest of the world. And what better place than between the sheets with someone who was willing and eager to provide as much distraction as possible?

Except this was all wrong. Sergei had no business offering a diversion from the very crime he’d committed. Was he assuaging his own conscience? Or truly trying to offer comfort? He didn’t even know anymore, and though it was wrong, it was right too, and he couldn’t let Dom go.