If The Seas Catch Fire(122)

“And go ahead and call for help,” Sergei said quietly. “Cusimano likes his boats with top of the line acoustics, just like you do. No one will hear a thing.”

Felice paled.

“I’m taking it off.” Dom untied the dirty rag and took off the handcuffs. “Now, the sooner you cooperate, the sooner we get off this boat. Because I don’t think Cusimano’s going to like seeing you in here with all his merchandise.”

“You’re on the boat too,” Felice said in a low growl, gingerly rubbing his bleeding arm.

“Yeah, and I have two functioning legs.”

Felice’s eyebrows rose. His Adam’s apple jumped, and Dom was satisfied the threat had hit its mark.

Felice shifted. “What the f*ck are you two doing? Are you insane?”

“No.” Dom looked him in the eye. “But what was your father’s philosophy? That a family is only as strong as its weakest member?”

“My father was a *,” Felice snarled. “He didn’t deserve the kind of power he had.”

“And your brother?”

Felice snorted. “Luciano was just like him.”

Dom’s temper tried to surge to the surface, but he slowly released his breath to keep himself calm. “I have some questions.”

“Fine. Ask. And then let’s get the f*ck—”

“The day Privitera died out on your boat,” Dom said. “You knew I was the target, didn’t you? Because you set up the hit?”

Felice’s features tightened.

“Oh hey, Dom?” Sergei cleared his throat, and the cousins both turned as he pulled a tightly wrapped kilo of coke off the pile. “I’m no expert, but this looks like some really nice cocaine.” He turned his knife emphatically between his fingers. “Would be awfully expensive if someone were to—”

“Jesus f*ck!” Felice put up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t cut into that. We can all just walk away, and Cusimano doesn’t need to know we were—”

“What’s wrong, Felice?” Dom asked. “I thought you wanted a war with him.”

“I want to take them down,” Felice said through clenched teeth. “They’re thieves and they have no business in this town. But that”—he gestured at Sergei—“is only going to give them an excuse to kill Maisanos.”

“No.” Sergei let the knife’s edge just tease the plastic. “It’s going to give them an excuse to kill you.”

Felice straightened. His eyes flicked toward Dom, then Sergei. “Just tell me what the f*ck you want so we can get out of here.”

“Tell me why you ordered him”—Dom nodded toward Sergei—“to kill me on the boat that day.”

Felice stared at him. Then, slowly, his eyes narrowed. “Anyone ever tell you it’s not wise to ask questions unless you want to know the answer?”

“Don’t test my patience, Felice,” Dom growled. “I know how this business works. Sometimes calls have to be made. Tell me why you made that call.”

Felice didn’t answer.

Dom exhaled. “Is it true you wanted me dead so your father would believe you had been the target? So he’d actually retaliate against the Cusimanos like you wanted him to?” He huffed sharply. “Way to look after family, Felice. Really, I’m—”

“Oh get off your high horse.” Felice’s lips pulled tight across his teeth. “You say you want diplomacy and to settle everything with words and negotiations, but you’re just a * like that son of a bitch who spawned you.”

Dom’s own teeth ached from clenching them. “I’m a *? Why? Because I haven’t murdered my way into power?”

“You don’t deserve—”

“One last question.” Dom stepped closer, making sure he loomed over Felice. “On the boat that day, why did you shoot the Korean?”

Felice laughed humorlessly. “You always did have a soft spot for the wetbacks, didn’t you?”

Dom grabbed his cousin by the wounded arm, and Felice choked on a scream.

Getting right in his face, Dom snarled, “Answer the f*cking question, Felice.”

His cousin moaned pitifully, and Sergei thought for a moment the man might throw up, especially as blood seeped through his sleeve.

“You know what?” Dom said. “I don’t even want to know. And quite frankly, regardless of what my father did or didn’t do, I’d rather be like him than be anything like you, you piece of shit.” He shoved Felice back and let him tumble into the pile of cocaine. “Even your own father didn’t see people as disposable to quite the extent that you do. And you know what? You wanted a war.” Dom tossed a cell phone to Sergei. “Looks like you’re about to have one.”

“What are—” Felice clutched his arm, and his eyes flicked toward the phone. “What are you talking about?”

Dom nodded toward Sergei. He watched Felice, and Felice watched Sergei.

“Mr. Cusimano?” Sergei asked with no trace of his accent. “This is Jimmy from the marina. I think there’s a problem with your boat.”

Felice’s eyes widened.

“Yeah,” Sergei went on. “The Merrietta. Don’t know. Someone was messing with—” He jerked the phone away from his ear, and the shouting on the other end was loud and clear even to Dom. “I don’t know. I saw them moving some bags of—” The shouting got even louder.