If The Seas Catch Fire (9 page)

Which meant Corrado wouldn’t want him let off easy, and he wouldn’t leave the man’s punishment in the hands of just anyone. When Corrado played judge and jury, he chose his executioners like some men chose fine wines.

It was only a matter of time, then, before he gave Dom the word.

“That’ll be all,” Corrado said. “And be vigilant, Domenico. The violence is getting worse, and we might have a war on our hands before all this is over.”

“Understood,” Dom whispered. There hadn’t been a turf war in this town in decades, and the last one had left scores of bodies in its wake. The Frazzano family had been wiped off the map, and the Passantinos had taken years to recover. Strong as the Maisanos were, no one wanted that degree of bloodshed again.

“Before you go,” Corrado said, “there’s one more thing.”

Dom fought the urge to check his watch. Sergei would be leaving the club soon, and he doubted he’d wait around if he showed up to the motel and Dom wasn’t there.

Corrado studied him for a few long seconds. “You’ve been out of sorts lately. Ever since the incident with Floresta and Mandanici.”

Dom shrugged, avoiding his uncle’s gaze. “Just keep rethinking that night, trying to figure out how they got the drop on me.”

“How
did
they get the drop on you?” The accusation wasn’t overt, but it was there.

“I’m still not sure, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Good.” Which, from Corrado, meant,
You’d damn well better figure it out, idiot
. “Have you made arrangements to see Brigida Passantino?”

Dom fought the urge to shift his weight, and lifted his gaze. “She’s in Italy. Her father insisted, just in case there was more violence.”

Corrado grunted, nodding slightly. “I suppose that’s prudent.”

“I agree. When she comes back, though, I’ll make arrangements.”

“Good.”
Sooner than later, if you know what’s good for you
.

And once he did see Brigida, the pressure would be on for them to get married and cement the civil relations between the two families.

And now he suddenly needed this night with Sergei even more. The hit wasn’t official, but he’d have been an idiot to think it wasn’t coming, and that it wasn’t coming soon. There was no avoiding it. There was no avoiding any murder his uncle ordered him to commit. Whether he liked it or not—and he didn’t—Dom was going to have more blood on his hands soon.

Corrado leaned back in his chair. “When I know for certain Eugenio took out Nicolá, I’ll let you know. At this point, focus on picking up where you left off with Brigida. Understand?”

“Yes.”

His uncle waved him toward the door. “We’ll speak soon.” Translation:
Get the hell out of my office
.

Dom didn’t wait around. He left Corrado’s house and put the pedal to the floor. The motel was on the other side of town, and even a small town like Cape Swan still took time to cross. Thank God there weren’t many other cars out this time of night.

On the way, he tried to focus on the job Corrado would be giving him soon, but it was pointless. Tonight, he had other things on his mind. Tomorrow, he’d work out exactly how to remove Eugenio Cusimano when the time came.

On the other side of town, he drove past the agreed-upon motel and parked a few blocks down. Then he walked back, eyeing his surroundings just in case anyone had followed him or suddenly took a nefarious interest in him. No one did. No one was around at all. The whole place was silent except for some crickets in the bushes and the tinny, muffled sound of a TV in someone’s room.

A green neon Vacancy sign buzzed halfheartedly above the office. Dom paid cash for the room and gave the receptionist the fake name, and she gave him the key. Upstairs, he let himself into the room. It was small, not particularly nice, but it had a bed and a shower, so it would do.

All he needed now was Sergei.

It was creeping up on one forty-five in the morning, so hopefully Sergei hadn’t already been there and gone. On the other hand, he might very well have been there, waiting for Dom to get them a room, and he would materialize from the shadows when he was ready to be seen.

For now, Dom shrugged off his jacket. Set the condoms and lube on the table.

And waited.

Per their agreement, Sergei picked up the room key from the half-asleep receptionist. She didn’t ask for an ID and didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow over the false name he gave her. This was the kind of shithole where rooms were rented by the hour and bodies were occasionally found, so she was probably unflappable by this point.

Just as well.

Keep your head down, sweetheart. The less you see around here, the better.

The room was on the second floor with an interior entrance. Good—places like this didn’t have cameras, and interior hallways meant fewer witnesses. Not that he and Domenico were doing anything illegal, but for those dancing the dangerous dance of contract work for the Mafia, there was something to be said for not being seen slipping into a motel room with a made man at two thirty in the morning.

He keyed himself into the room. Immediately, he was aware of Domenico, but as he closed the door behind him, he paused to do a quick sweep, taking in every detail of his surroundings.

One bed. A small dresser with an old TV that still had rabbit ear antennas. A table and chairs on the other side of the bed. Domenico sat in one of the chairs. His jacket was draped over the back of the other, and a paperback novel was facedown on the table next to a half empty bottle of some prissy-ass brand of water. Beneath the jacket was a shoulder holster, the edge of a wood grain pistol butt sticking out. Probably a .357—every fucking Maisano loved his .357 revolver for some reason.

Beside the paperback was an unopened bottle of lube and a new pack of condoms. Magnum. Good.

And from beside that table, Domenico watched him. He sat in the crappy little armchair, legs crossed and tie loosened. He sipped his water like he was drinking top of the line brandy from a highball, watching Sergei over the rim with unreadable eyes.

He didn’t move, aside from tipping the glass against his lips. Sergei didn’t move either.

An odd silence settled between them. Sergei was used to being onstage in front of gawking men, but this was unnerving. Like he was being displayed and was expected to perform a dance he didn’t know. “Are we just going to stare at each other all night?”

“Of course not.” Domenico set the glass down with a quiet click that echoed up Sergei’s spine. “I just…” He slowly gave Sergei a down-up that was weirdly appreciative. Not a leer, nothing creepy. The way he might’ve looked over a painting or a new car—scrutinizing, and yet somehow admiring.

His eyes met Sergei’s, and almost sent him back a step. Sergei barely heard him whisper, “You’re fucking beautiful.”

“I…” Sergei swallowed. “Thanks?”

“Would you do something for me?”

Sergei held his gaze. “I hope you don’t think I’m here as a whore.”

“A—no! No. God, no.” He put up his hands and shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. But I… look, you can say no, and no hard feelings. Consider it a favor.” His voice was smooth even when he was stumbling over words. Sergei noticed now that Domenico didn’t have that affected New York Italian accent a lot of the Mafiosi had in this town. His voice carried a hint of the Old Country, but not a trace of New York, and Sergei liked it more than he probably should have.

“A favor?” Sergei resisted the urge to shift his weight. “What kind of favor?”

“I want to see you strip.”

Sergei narrowed his eyes. “If you wanted another dance, we—”

“No, not like that.” Domenico fidgeted in the chair, and his prominent erection pressed against the front of his expensive trousers. “Not a dance. It… to be honest, I rarely have the chance to be with a man. I barely had a chance to really see you at the club, so before we get to…” His eyes darted toward the bed, then back at Sergei, as if this Mafioso who’d worn his semen out of a club was suddenly too shy to say he wanted to have sex. “First, I just want to look at you.”

Sergei swallowed. “So you…”

“No dancing. Nothing like that.” He gestured at Sergei. “I just want to see what you really look like.”

Sergei didn’t move yet. This still felt weird. Like they’d met up to have some casual sex as two horny guys, and now they were back to a horny guy and a stripper.

“I know it sounds weird.” Domenico’s voice was gentle and not in the least bit patronizing. “I know. Believe me. But I…” He swallowed, shifting in his chair. “If you’d rather not, I’ll understand.”

Sergei hesitated. He moistened his lips. Domenico might’ve been about to say something else, but Sergei peeled off his T-shirt, and Domenico was suddenly mesmerized. The Italian’s breath caught. He sat back, and neither of them said a word as Sergei started unbuckling his belt. The room was so quiet, the sound of his zipper seemed to echo off the walls. He wasn’t adding any flourish this time—no circling or thrusting with his hips, no undulating his abs—just methodically taking everything off.

The last to go were his black briefs. When Sergei dropped them on top of his other clothes, Domenico jumped like a bomb had gone off. He stared up at Sergei, eyes wide and lips apart, looking equal parts hypnotized and scared out of his mind.

“Well?” Sergei grinned despite the weirdness of this situation. He gestured at himself. “What do you think?”

“I think…” Domenico just stared. After a moment, he drained his glass and set it aside. Then he stood.

Sergei fought the urge to gulp nervously. He wasn’t going to show any uncertainty. Not to this guy. But he was nervous. This was a position he’d never been in before—completely naked, hard, vulnerable, in front of a fully-dressed and well-armed Mafioso.

This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. I—

“Can I…” Domenico lifted a hand as if he were about to reach for Sergei, but then pulled it back, hesitating like someone afraid of a potentially dangerous dog. “I’m…”

Sergei took his wrist and guided his hand to him. “You say you’ve rarely had a chance to be with a man.” He brought Domenico’s hand down on his waist, letting it rest just above his hip. “Does that mean you’re a virgin?”

“No.” Domenico stared at him for a moment, as if drinking in the sight of him for the very first time. “Definitely… definitely not a virgin. It’s just been a while.” He took a breath. “I’ve seen you naked once already, but it’s different this time.” He met Sergei’s eyes. “I can touch you all I want.” He tensed a little. “Right?”

Please do.
Sergei licked his lips. “Yes.”

Most men would have gone straight for Sergei’s cock, or done some clumsy groping. Domenico was apparently not most men—the first thing he did was run the backs of his fingers down the center of Sergei’s chest. Creases formed between his eyebrows as he watched his hand drift down Sergei’s abs, and when the vaguely ticklish touch made Sergei’s muscles contract, Domenico pushed out a ragged breath.

He turned his hand over as he brought it back up, and this time, went all the way to the back of Sergei’s neck. For a split second, Sergei’s defenses surged up—that strong hand was too close to his throat—but Domenico changed direction and traced the length of his arm instead.

Sergei swallowed. “You said it’s been a while.”

Domenico nodded.

“How long is a while?”

“Too long.” Domenico met his gaze. “We both know what I am. Men like me aren’t gay. Not if they want to survive.”

Sergei nodded. “So I’ve heard. But… you are.”

Domenico nodded, his gaze drifting to Sergei’s erection. “Very.”

“That makes two of us.” Sergei stepped closer and ran his hand over the very prominent bulge in Domenico’s trousers, making the man gasp and squeeze his eyes shut. Sergei grinned. “But now you’ve seen me naked twice, and you still haven’t shown me anything, Domenico.”

Domenico flinched. He opened his eyes. “Just call me Dom.”

“Okay. Dom.” Sergei swept his tongue across his lips. “You haven’t shown me anything.” He lifted his hand away, and Domenico—Dom—tensed as if Sergei had smacked him. Speaking softly, Sergei said, “Let me see what you’re hiding under your suit.”

Dom hesitated. His Adam’s apple bobbed above his collar. Then he unbuttoned the collar. The next button. The one below that.

Sergei stepped back. He closed his fingers around his own cock and started stroking.

Dom’s lips parted. He fumbled with the next button, gaze fixed on Sergei’s dick while his motor skills seemed deteriorate a little more every time Sergei’s hand crested the head of his cock. Maybe it was the sight of a naked, aroused man, or maybe the realization that he was going to be able to do more than just look—whatever the case, Dom couldn’t have faked that level of distraction if he’d tried.

And that turned Sergei on something fierce. Reducing a client to a blubbering mess was part of his job. He was paid to tease them until they couldn’t see straight.

This was a man who knew he was going to have sex with Sergei tonight, and he was so nervous, turned on, excited that he couldn’t even work the buttons of a shirt he’d likely worn a million times.

“Am I distracting you?” Sergei asked.

“Just a little.” Dom cleared his throat and looked down, focusing on undoing the buttons instead of staring at Sergei’s cock. Once the buttons were undone, he took off one cufflink, then the other. Watching that fucked with Sergei’s head almost as much as his strokes had fucked with Dom’s—well-dressed men turned him on, and the little details made him dizzy. Cufflinks especially.

Dom took off his shirt and undershirt.

Sergei gulped. Holy fuck. There were men in this town who were just good racks for expensive suits. The suits made them irresistible, but as soon as they were off, Sergei’s erection was gone and so was he.

Dom was not one of those guys. He wore his Sicilian genes as well as he wore Armani, and a body like that would’ve been just as hot in a skintight wife beater. Tan skin. Muscles that didn’t quit. Enough dark hair to make sure Sergei hadn’t forgotten Dom was every bit a
man
.

And as Dom stripped out of his trousers and slipped off his boxers… yeah, Sergei could see why he’d picked up some Magnum condoms. Apparently small dicks
weren’t
mandatory for Maisanos after all.

Dom put the last of his clothes aside, and faced Sergei. With a note of nervous laughter in his voice, he held out his arms. “Well? Like what you see?”

Sergei laughed. He stepped closer and ran his hands up Dom’s bare chest, sliding his fingers through the thin hair. “I do like what I see.”

“Good.” Dom wrapped his arms around Sergei, his warm skin making Sergei’s pulse jump. “I hope you’re planning on doing more than just seeing it.”

“You’re damn right I’m—”

Dom cut him off with a kiss so soft it could almost have been mistaken for tenderness.

Sergei froze. That wasn’t a kiss that belonged… here. In a room like this. In an encounter like this.

Dom drew back a little. “Something wrong? You—”

Sergei grabbed him and pulled him back into a kiss, and Dom held him closer. Sergei pushed Dom’s lips apart with his tongue, and Dom’s fingers twitched against Sergei’s skin as the kiss deepened.

By now, they should have been in bed, making out and groping until one of them finally came up for air long enough to put on a condom. But they didn’t move. They stood in the middle of the room, skin to skin, arms around each other and kissing like… like…

Like this. It was as if no one had ever given Dom the memo about the difference between fucking and making love. About how to kiss a one night stand versus how to kiss a boyfriend.

Sergei wasn’t going to give him that memo, though. If it had been a long time since Dom had been with a man, it had been even longer since anyone had kissed Sergei like this.

He led Dom toward the bed. When they got there, before Sergei could pull away and suggest they move from vertical to horizontal, Dom cradled the back of his head in one hand, wrapped the other arm around his waist, and lowered him onto the mattress. Sergei’s pulse went crazy—as much as he liked to get down to business and get rough, he had a weakness for a man with a soft touch. A man who could be in bed with someone he may very well have viewed as a prostitute, and still hold onto him like he would have with someone he actually cared about.

Sergei hated larger men on top—it tripped every survival instinct he had. He didn’t like being pinned or cornered, and the laws of physics gave a bigger guy an advantage. But Dom’s body felt good on top of his. Being underneath a made man was dangerous, but there was something oddly… safe about him. Non-threatening, anyway, which was weird for a career criminal who was so much bigger and likely stronger than Sergei. The lion getting cuddly with the lamb—he didn’t need to know that the lamb was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

This was wrong. All wrong. Dom was one of them. He shouldn’t have… he…

He was kissing Sergei’s neck, soft lips and coarse stubble skating across flesh, and Sergei couldn’t stop himself from tilting his head back to expose more. It didn’t make any sense, baring his throat to a man like Dom, but those featherlight kisses were addictive.

Dom kissed him all over—down his throat, his chest, his abs. Every touch seemed genuinely appreciative, too. He’d press a soft kiss to Sergei’s skin, wait for a response—a hitch in his breath or a quiver of muscle—and then he’d move down a little and nip gently or flick his tongue, and again wait for a response.