If The Seas Catch Fire (28 page)

“He will,” Corrado said coldly. “As will everyone in this room.” He gestured at the other men, and when Dom looked around, they all nodded. “My word will be obeyed and respected. I will inform Felice in private after he’s had a chance to grieve for Biaggio and for his brother. Not now. And I’d have waited until we’d all had a chance to grieve, but I can’t ignore the rise in violence now, or my own mortality.”

Dom didn’t know what to say.

Corrado straightened. “Well. Will you accept your place as my heir?”

What choice do I have?

There was only one option—to accept this the way Luciano had accepted his fate.

He nodded. “Yes, Uncle Corrado.”

“Good.” Corrado beamed. “Then it’s official.”

The other men rose and, one by one, came up to shake Dom’s hand. He stayed on guard, though—everyone in this business was adept at putting on a poker face while looking into the eyes of a man he had every intention of killing. These men all claimed they supported Corrado’s decision, but would they? Where would their loyalty fall when the rubber met the road? How many would still be convinced he had traitor’s blood like his father?

And what happened when Felice found out?

Corrado dismissed everyone but Dom. After everyone had left and they were alone, Dom turned to his uncle. Tone even—he didn’t dare speak to his uncle any other way—he said, “You’re painting a bull’s eye on my back.”

Corrado laughed dryly. “You’re a Maisano, son. You’ve had a bull’s eye on your back since the day you were born.”

“But now you’re putting me in charge of men who think I’m—”

“I’m putting you in charge of men who will respect my decision.”

“Like the Gambinos respected Paul Castellano?”

Corrado scowled. “They didn’t like him, and they didn’t like him in power, but they obeyed him.”

“Until they killed him.”

The old man gestured dismissively and rose. “They would’ve let him live if he hadn’t squandered his power and reputation. Everything that happened to him was his own choice, not a result of Gambino putting him in power. Which is precisely why I’m leaving the family to you. Felice…” He shook his head. “Let me put it to you this way—I’ve been told more than once that Felice would be the kind of boss that the Mafia Commission would authorize killing.”

Dom gulped. The now-defunct Commission had only given their blessing for one boss hit in all of Mafia history. There were plenty of hits, all sanctioned within individual families, but Carmine Galante had pissed off so many people, the Commission had unanimously agreed that the bastard needed to go.

Corrado came around to his chair and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know this is a great deal to take in. Particularly after what’s happened to Biaggio and after my son turned on us.”

Dom gritted his teeth. He’d quite possibly killed an innocent man today. Did Corrado know? Did it change anything?

“This is all a tremendous responsibility.” Corrado patted Dom’s shoulder. “One I hope you won’t have to take on for many, many years, but these are dark days for us, Domenico. This is war. Anything could happen. And there’s no one I trust more with the legacy of the Maisano name.” Corrado sighed, and as his expression fell, he looked older than he ever had. Old, tired, even frail. “Perhaps this is a lesson for me. That I should have scrutinized my own boys more than I did. I nearly left the family in the hands of a traitor.”

A lump rose in Dom’s throat, but he didn’t let it show.

“I scrutinized you the way I should have my sons,” Corrado continued. “You proved everyone wrong, time and again, and to be frank, even if my son hadn’t turned out to be a traitor, I think I’d have eventually named you the way I am today. You’re not your father, Domenico. He could never have amounted to half the man you’ve become.”

The words replaced the lump in Dom’s throat with bile. Knowing how much blood was on his hands, and what blood in particular was on Corrado’s…

He clenched his jaw to keep from getting sick.

Corrado put a hand on Dom’s shoulder. “This means we need to think seriously about this arrangement with Brigida.” He squeezed firmly. “Your image will be even more important now.”

Dom’s mouth went dry. “Are you that convinced someone is going to take you out?”

“They can try, Domenico. They can try.” He chuckled, but it faded. “It’s the reality of our situation. I fully intend to retire from this business an old man, but for the sake of the family, I have to make sure provisions are in place.” He smiled broadly. “At least now I will know for certain that the organization is in good hands.”

Dom forced himself to smile back, but he was dying on the inside.

Because now, more than ever before, there was no escaping this life.

The text was benign enough:
Can I see you tonight?

Sergei had hidden his enthusiasm behind a response of
Sure, see you after my shift
, and then struggled to make it through the night. He half-assed a few dances to save energy. Let Jesse take over his table a couple of times. Counted down the minutes.

And then he’d walked into the motel room, and in an instant, his heart had fallen into the pit of his stomach.

Across the room, as Sergei toed the door shut with a quiet click, Dom watched him from the bed where he sat. If he could’ve devoured him with those desperate, hungry eyes, he probably would have. He seemed even needier than he had the very first night. Not just excited, not just turned on, but almost vibrating with something that went deeper than the craving for an orgasm.

Slowly, Dom rose. Sergei came closer. They inched toward each other, as if they were skirting the edges of some dangerous chemical reaction that would level the building to their feet.

In the middle of the room, they held each other’s gazes. Any other night, Sergei would be in his arms by now, demanding access to his mouth and rubbing this insistent erection against him. But he was still. And so was Dom.

Finally, Dom reached for his face, and the soft touch sent a shiver through Sergei. They drew each other in, still moving slowly, still being cautious and hesitant for reasons Sergei didn’t understand.

“This might be the last time I see you for a while.” Dom brushed his lips across Sergei’s. “For…” Sighing, he shook his head, and then moved in for a kiss that said he wasn’t going to elaborate on what exactly “for a while” meant. And Sergei… God, he didn’t want to think about that.

“If tonight’s the last time I’ll see you for a while,” he whispered, “then let’s not waste it.”

“Agreed.”

They drew each other in for another kiss, and this one didn’t stop. Though it had taken them an age and a half to get across the floor to each other, now they couldn’t get close enough. Belts jingled. Fingers fussed with buttons and zippers. Sergei was glad they’d both worn button-up shirts tonight. It meant fiddly buttons to deal with, but clothes that could be removed without breaking this addictive kiss.

Naked, they sank onto the hard bed. The cheap, rough motel sheets beneath Sergei’s back emphasized the warm softness of Dom’s skin against his chest and between his thighs. He ran his hands over smooth muscles, pressing his fingers into the grooves and contours as if he needed to memorize every plane of Dom’s body.

Dom broke away for a moment. Before Sergei could protest, he was back, and he pushed a bottle of lube into Sergei’s hand. Sergei wanted to ask who it was meant for—
who’s fucking who tonight?
—but he couldn’t form words anymore, and he hoped Dom wanted the same thing he did anyway.

He poured it into his hand, and then reached between them, and when he closed his fingers around Dom’s thick erection, they both exhaled. Dom closed his eyes, licking his lips, and rocked his hips a little as Sergei smoothed lube onto every inch of his dick.

Dom offered a pillow, and when Sergei lifted his hips, Dom slid it under him.

Sergei spread his legs wide, heart pounding as Dom guided himself in. God, yes. The burn made his toes curl. Even more, though, the sight of Dom, brow knitted with concentration, lips taut, abs quivering with the exertion of slow, smooth strokes as he worked himself deeper.

Once he was moving easily inside Sergei, Dom leaned down and kissed him. His hips still moved, but he seemed more focused on what they were doing with their mouths. Sergei didn’t mind. Not in the least. One hand in Dom’s hair, the other on his ribs, he kissed him and rocked his hips beneath him and loved every goddamned second.

He’d never had sex like this before. Usually it was sweat and panting and driving each other insane until they came. And then maybe they’d collapse together if they liked each other well enough, and maybe they’d catch their breath and do it all over again until sleep took over and tomorrow hurt.

This… this was all that and more.

Every touch, every kiss, every frantic, trembling movement, added up to something he’d never imagined. This wasn’t the cooperative pursuit of pleasure and orgasms. They held each other, clawed at each other, like they thought they might actually start fusing together. Molecule by molecule, cell by cell, not just getting under each other’s skin but becoming part of each other. One thing that could only become two again if it was broken.

Dom’s breath caught. He groaned softly, breaking the kiss for a couple of heartbeats, and then claimed Sergei’s mouth again as he rode him faster. Sergei gasped, letting his head fall back. Though he missed the touch of Dom’s lips to his, he was too overwhelmed, and then Dom was kissing his neck anyway, warm lips skating along his throat, and Sergei swore softly.

Dom pushed himself up onto his arms. Eyes screwed shut, he bit his lip and rode Sergei harder. He muttered something—Italian curses, no doubt—and groaned, thrusting hard enough to slam the headboard against the wall. Sergei’s eyes watered—Jesus, he loved Dom’s cock.

“Fuck,” Dom breathed. “Oh…
fuck
.” With a violent shudder, he threw his head back. The only sound that escaped him, though, was a strangled cry, and then he was completely silent as he thrust a few more times.

He slumped over Sergei, trembling and panting. Even after he’d pulled out, he just stayed like that for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure his arms could handle anything more complex than simply holding him upright.

Then he lowered himself a little and planted a soft kiss in the middle of Sergei’s chest. And another one, lower this time.

Three kisses, and Sergei was ready to come unglued. Squirming beneath him, kneading handfuls of coarse motel sheets, he struggled not to come from anticipation alone.

Yes, Dom. Yes, please. Please…

In the same moment Dom took Sergei’s dick into his mouth, he slid two fingers inside him, and the twin sensations almost sent Sergei through the roof.

Fingers moved. Lips and tongue teased. Nerve endings turned to electricity. Sergei was sure he was levitating off the bed, and he didn’t care as long as Dom’s mouth kept working that insane magic. When did he learn to deep-throat like that? Hell, it didn’t matter. He’d learned, and he was doing it, and then he was focusing on the head of Sergei’s cock, swirling his tongue as if he knew that would drive Sergei right out of his fucking mind.

Sergei’s vision blurred. He thought he heard himself cry out, but he wasn’t sure and didn’t care—he was flying, and he was trembling, and Dom didn’t stop until Sergei managed to whimper “N-no more.”

Sergei collapsed onto the pillows again. “Oh… my God…”

Dom kissed him lightly, his lips slick and salty. “I think you’ve spoiled me.” Another kiss, shorter this time. “Sex with you is amazing.”

“L-likewise.” Sergei wrapped his arms around him, and they just kissed lazily.

After a while, Dom got up, and he helped Sergei up. They showered together, barely noticing how cramped the stall was since they were still wrapped up in each other.

Clean, more or less dried off, they climbed into bed together. Sergei had little doubt they’d be fooling around again before long, but for now, they just held each other.

Why don’t I want to let go?

Dom said he’d be gone for a while, but he’d fucked Sergei like he never wanted to leave this hard bed. And now Sergei didn’t want to leave it either.

In the beginning, Sergei hadn’t even bothered promising himself that this was sex and nothing more because there’d been no need to promise that. He didn’t get attached to gangsters, especially not Maisanos. And there was no room for attachment. He had Mama, and he had his plan. He needed nothing else, and he welcomed nothing else.

But here he was, lying beside Dom, listening to him breathe and memorizing every arc those calloused fingers drew on his shoulder. He didn’t want to leave, and yet his chest hurt because this felt like goodbye. Like a real goodbye. The kind people said when they knew they’d never resurface. The kind that happened in this brutal, unforgiving world where a man, upon realizing there was a price on his head and a red dot on his chest, would often just surrender. Perhaps out of honor, perhaps out of the realization that there was no escape, so why run? Perhaps out of relief, as if this were the closest to suicide their god would allow.

Make it quick. Make it count. Ciao.

Why the hell did this feel like that?

But more than that, why did Sergei care?