If The Seas Catch Fire(121)

The first guy watched him go, then looked up at the yacht. Shaking his head, he stepped back from the rail and started toward the cabin. “You gentlemen, um, enjoy your… enjoy your day.” As he went back into the cabin with the other guy, he said, “Let’s move on. They’re good.”

The boat pulled away, and as the engines throttled up and they left, Dom stared at the boat and its growing wake.

“Worked like a charm,” Sergei said.

“Uh-huh.” Dom turned to him. “And what would you have done if they’d taken you up on the offer?”

“What do you think?” Sergei shrugged indifferently. “Turned up the music and had a foursome.”

“With how many kilos of coke onboard? Along with my bound and gagged cousin?”

Sergei’s lips quirked. “Well, now you’re just making it sound kinky.”

Dom stared at him. Sergei batted his eyes.

Finally, a laugh burst out of Dom, and he wrapped his arms around Sergei’s beautiful naked body. “That was a pretty genius plan.”

“You sound surprised.”

“No.” Dom drew him closer. “Not really.”

A kiss seemed out of place now, standing on Felice’s boat and ready to destroy the family that had broken them both. It was insane to be turned on or even affectionate, but what about this wasn’t insane? A moment of tenderness, playfulness, a promise of more if—when—they made it out of this alive didn’t seem like too much to ask.

So for that moment, Dom just lost himself in Sergei, and enjoyed it.



*



The sun was sinking into the sky when they tossed the last empty crab pot into the water.

“That’s all of them?” Sergei asked.

“Pretty sure it is. Even if it isn’t, I’d say it’s enough.”

“Good point. Back to shore?”

“Back to shore.”

It was completely dark when they made it back. Guided by the boat’s lights, Dom parked the yacht in its wide slip, and with Sergei’s help, tied it enough to keep it from leaving. If it banged against the dock, he really didn’t give a shit—Felice could take that up with his insurance company tomorrow if he was still breathing.

They made sure Felice was still securely bound and then left the boat. Raffaele Cusimano’s yacht was a few slips down. Like St. Leo’s, this was one of the few places where the families could cross paths peacefully. It was an unspoken rule—don’t f*ck with my shit, I won’t f*ck with yours—and everyone abided by it.

Usually.

Sergei made short work of the lock, and the door opened. He quickly disengaged the security system. They did a quick sweep to make sure the boat was empty, and Dom said, “We’re clear. Let’s move the cargo.”

It took a while, but they moved all the cocaine over to the other boat and neatly stacked it on the coffee table.

“All right.” Sergei dusted off his hands, probably shaking off the salt from the packages. “Shall we bring over the guest of honor?”

Dom put a hand on Sergei’s waist and kissed him lightly. “Why don’t you stay with the presents, and I’ll go get him?”

“What?” Sergei batted his eyes. “Don’t you trust me not to kill him?”

“I know you, Sergei.” He kissed him again. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

One last kiss, and Dom left the boat. He scanned the marina, double-checking that none of the men patrolling the docks were nearby. Certain he was in the clear, he boarded Felice’s yacht.

He unfastened Felice’s cuffs from the pipe and hauled him to his feet. “Time to go for a walk.”

Felice glared at him and muttered something around the gag.

“You’ve done enough talking.” Dom nudged him toward the steps. “Let’s go.”

Felice said something that sounded an awful lot like “Or what?”

Dom coolly drew his pistol and aimed it at his cousin’s groin. That got the message across—Felice started toward the steps. Damn. He really could learn a thing or two from Sergei, apparently.

They disembarked, and Dom directed his cousin down the dock. When they stopped in front of Cusimano’s yacht, he gestured for Felice to board.

Felice balked, eyes wide, and shook his head.

“I wasn’t asking, *.” Dom shoved him toward the boat, sending him stumbling over his feet and almost into the water. “Get on the f*cking boat.”

Felice planted his feet and turned around, eyes narrow.

Dom aimed the pistol below his cousin’s belt. “You really want to dance?”

Felice glanced down. Then he said something around the gag—no doubt something profane, though it was hard to tell which language it was—and continued up the ramp.

Inside, Sergei stood in front of the pile of cocaine, idly flipping a long knife between his fingers. He flashed a demonic grin. “Welcome aboard, Felice.”

“We’re going to do some talking in here,” Dom said to Felice. “I’m taking off your gag, and you’re going to answer my questions. You call for help, or try anything stupid, and I’ll let the Georgian take care of things.”

Felice’s eyes darted right to that knife, and Dom thought he actually heard his cousin’s balls jump into his body.