If The Seas Catch Fire(14)

“I know.” Dom rubbed his neck, which was a little stiff from trying to sleep comfortably with sore ribs. “I get it. I do. But it does put some pressure on when you’re trying to recover and look like you already have.”

Biaggio smiled and patted his leg. “It does. But you’re a tough one.” The smile faltered a bit. In a quiet voice, one that absolutely wouldn’t carry to anyone except for them, he added, “You’re definitely your father’s son.”

Dom winced, but said nothing. From anyone else, that would’ve been a grave insult, if not a threat. His father’s name was tarnished within this family, and being compared to him was never good. But Biaggio knew Dom, and he’d known his father, and when he said it, he meant the man they both knew Papa really was. Not a traitor. Not a coward.

“Your father was a good man,” Biaggio had once told him. “He made mistakes. He did things that can never be forgiven. But he had a good heart, and the world is a darker place without him.”

Biaggio squeezed Dom’s arm. “Your uncle will want to see you today. To see that you’re really back on your feet.”

Dom nodded, and they both got up. “All right. I guess I should go show my face, then.”

“Good idea.”

After all…

Image, image, image.



*



As Dom recovered from his injuries, life more or less returned to normal. After a couple of days, when he could move comfortably, he returned to the offices where he oversaw his pieces of the family business.

At his uncle’s urging, he also contacted Passantino to let him know he was all right, and that he’d make arrangements with Brigida again very soon. She didn’t need to see him when he was still battered like this, and he was in no mood or condition to try to woo anyone.

Not that it mattered—Passantino had sent all three of his daughters to Italy in the name of vacationing and visiting family. When Brigida was back in California, arrangements could be made.

“In the meantime,” Passantino told him, “we’re glad you’re all right. Give my regards to your uncle.”

Fine by me, Dom had thought after he’d hung up.

Felice and Corrado had ears to the ground and were scouring Cape Swan for whoever had put Floresta and Mandanici up to beating him, and everyone was searching for that mysterious man who’d killed the pair and saved Dom. Dom didn’t remember him, though. No name, no face—nothing. There’d been someone else, but he’d been too f*cked up to pick out any details.

So he told everyone, though.

His memory of that night was hazy, but there were bits and pieces that were crystal clear. Little sharply-focused frames of an otherwise blurry film. And in every one of them, that red-clad stripper featured prominently.

Who the hell was that guy?

The more he recovered, the more his curiosity came to life. He wanted to find the stripper, but not just for business reasons.

That bleach-blond, barely dressed kid hadn’t just saved his life—he’d awakened thoughts Dom had been trying to keep dormant for a long, long time. Those blue eyes, that lithe, strong body…

Dom pushed the thoughts away and forced himself to concentrate on the ledger in front of him.

Tried to, anyway.

Right or wrong, he desperately wanted to see that stripper again.

Who are you kidding? Get that close to a gorgeous man, you’re gonna want to do more than see him.

He shifted in his desk chair, glancing at the door in case someone had come strolling into his office. Even with the desk in front of him, he was sure his hardening cock would be conspicuous to anyone who wandered in. As if anyone in this office would dare.

He shook himself.

Jesus, Dom. What’s wrong with you?

It was dangerous to even entertain these thoughts. He’d learned that the hard way back in his younger days when he’d sneak off to San Francisco or LA or Vegas at every opportunity. He’d check in somewhere under a fake name, and get his rocks off with any willing set of cock and balls he could find.

He hadn’t gone back since he was twenty-one though. Nearly getting caught by a pair of Cusimanos had scared him right out of that sense of adventure. The Cusimano and Maisano families hated each other, and that had been during a period of violent strife between them. If the two goons had seen him and they hadn’t killed him themselves, they could’ve turned him over to his uncle and let him know they’d found him sucking a guy’s dick in the backseat of a cab.

Even today, the thought of his uncle finding out he was gay sent chills through him. He knew all too well what happened to cocksuckers in this family. To this day he was haunted by the night he’d had no choice but to carry out a contract on a cousin who’d been outed.

Dom shuddered and took a deep swallow from his glass. Nearly getting busted had scared all the horniness right out of him for a while, and being tasked with “removing that degenerate pervert from this town” had terrified him. There’d be no coming out. No exploring his remaining curiosity, or scratching the itch that a good-looking man had always aroused in him.

So he’d tamped it all down and ignored it, and he’d resigned himself to eventually marrying a woman just like he’d resigned himself to being his uncle’s hitman. He hated both roles, wasn’t made for either one, but there was no room in this family for men who couldn’t kill or men who wanted men, and there was no leaving this family either. He’d had no choice but to live and breathe as a straight Maisano.