If The Seas Catch Fire(28)

His phone buzzed. He jumped, and panic shot through him. Was Sergei canceling?

He dug his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

Shit—that wasn’t a call he could ignore.

“Hello, Biaggio. What’s—”

“Where have you been?” the consigliere snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past half hour.”

Dom gulped. “Sorry. I was out on the highway. No signal.”

Biaggio huffed sharply. “Well, I hope you’re back in town now. Your uncle wants to speak with you.”

Dom mouthed a curse. Unless he had a damn good reason—one that involved blood, in most cases—Corrado didn’t like excuses. If he wanted to speak with him, that meant now. Dom just hoped this meeting was a quick one.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“How long?”

“Thirty minutes. Forty-five tops.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Dom hung up and pulled out on the road again. He was only about twenty minutes away, but first, he needed to stop by his own place long enough to change his shirt. Better to walk into his uncle’s office a few minutes late than with semen on his shirt. While he was there, he grabbed some condoms and lube from the bedside table. One less stop to make en route to the motel, and thank God, the condoms weren’t expired.

Then he headed straight for his uncle’s house.



*



On the way down the hall toward Corrado’s office, Biaggio wrinkled his nose. “My God, Domenico. That cologne is horrible.”

Cologne? He wasn’t wearing any—

Dom took a breath and caught the lingering scents of leather, sweat, and—though he was probably imagining it, since he’d changed his shirt—other traces of Sergei. He cleared his throat. “Smelled better in the store, I guess.”

Biaggio clicked his tongue but let the subject go. In silence, they walked on, and when they reached the massive double doors, one of Corrado’s security guys pushed it open and gestured for them to go in.

The office was crowded with several of Corrado’s top men. Near the desk, Felice and Luciano hovered, speaking in hushed tones.

The air was tense. Something had happened.

Biaggio stepped around behind Corrado’s desk and whispered something to the old man. Corrado lifted his gaze, and looked right at Dom. Then he stood, waving a hand. “Luciano, Felice, Dom—stay. Everyone else—out.”

Immediately, everyone headed for the door, and within seconds, they were alone. Biaggio didn’t even stay, which was weird—he knew every bit of the family’s inner workings, and Corrado’s secrets were Biaggio’s secrets.

With only the immediate family remaining, Corrado sat back in his enormous leather chair. “Nicolá’s body was found early this morning.”

Dom’s stomach dropped. Death was a routine part of this life, but it was still hard to lose someone he knew. He turned to Luciano. “Does Serafina know yet?”

Grimacing, he nodded. “I told her this afternoon.”

“Is she…”

“She’s devastated,” he whispered.

Dom exhaled. As much as he disliked Luciano’s wife, she’d adored her brother. Hell, they all had. “You’ll give her my condolences?”

“I will. Thank you.”

Dom nodded, and turned back to his uncle. “What happened?”

“Run down out on the 103.” Corrado folded his long fingers, and his voice was nearly a growl as he added, “By a drunk Eugenio Cusimano.”

“Eugenio—” Dom inclined his head. “Run down? As in, on foot?”

Corrado scowled, and nodded slowly.

“What the hell was he doing out there?”

“We don’t know. It sounds like it happened last night, but it took until today to find the body. A medic stumbled across it, actually, while they were investigating a one-car ‘accident’ in the vicinity.”

Dom shifted his weight. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.” Corrado took in a long breath. “This was no accident, and someone is going to bleed for it.” The vicious undertone of his uncle’s voice made Dom’s skin crawl; he was only too aware of what Corrado was capable of.

“I’ve got ears open on the investigation.” Luciano spoke up, his voice quiet and calm despite the shock of his brother-in-law’s death. “But word is that Eugenio was drunk off his ass and—”

Felice laughed bitterly. “He’s always drunk. And if the Cusimanos won’t keep a leash on him, then we’ll have to take care of him before he kills another of our own. He’s f*cked up enough, Dad. It’s long past time to—”

Corrado put up a hand. “We’ll take care of him when I say we do, and that won’t be until after we’re certain of his connection to Nicolá’s death.”

Felice’s expression darkened. “Cusimano was found almost half a mile up the road in a ditch. With blood on the windshield and on the bumper. If that blood doesn’t match Nicolá, I’ll eat my hat.”

“Wait.” Dom grimaced. “A half mile up the road? So, he hit him and kept driving?”

“Yes,” Luciano said. “Don’t know if it was an accident or deliberate, but there’s no way he didn’t notice when he hit Nicolá. My contact says it wasn’t just a sideswipe.” An angry undercurrent was slowly working its way into Luciano’s voice. “He didn’t clip him—he hit him dead-on. Took him up on the windshield and tossed him into a ditch.”