If The Seas Catch Fire(37)

He was especially glad that Lorenzo Barcia had finally gotten what was coming to him, and he’d been thrilled to be the one to give it to him. Every Mafioso was a f*cking *, but there was a special place in hell for men like Barcia. Like many of his ilk, he made his money through narcotics and human trafficking, but he took it a step further. He saw nothing wrong with helping himself to the family’s merchandise, and not just cocaine. The women were terrified to do anything about it—he threatened them and their children if they crossed him—but a well-placed camera and some patience, followed by a damning video being “leaked” to the press, and the man’s fate was sealed. The video hadn’t shown everything—Sergei couldn’t do that to the woman—but there was enough to make it clear what Barcia intended to do once he’d dragged her onto that boat.

Legally, it was circumstantial evidence. As far as the Mafia was concerned, it was more than enough. The families put up with and committed a lot of crimes, but sexual assault was not tolerated.

The day after the video broke, the young woman was paid a small fortune to quietly leave Cape Swan, and that very night, Sergei was contracted to kill the bastard.

With pleasure.

So Barcia was out of the picture, and the idiot who’d taken his place wouldn’t be around long. It was all part of Sergei’s plan, and it was all happening the way he’d predicted.

Well, aside from the part where he was bedding a Mafioso. That had been… unforeseen.

He shifted his gaze to the top of the hierarchy chart. There, among the Maisano underbosses, was Dom. Below him, a small crew of lieutenants and soldiers who, like him, weren’t terribly significant. They all seemed to do Corrado’s bitch work. Administrative shit. Paperwork. Sergei understood that Dom handled some money laundering, and worked with the immigrants to get their debts paid and documents processed, but his hands weren’t in much of the more nefarious stuff.

Good. You stay over there and do your thing, and you won’t get caught in the crossfire.

Sergei’s stomach knotted. There were no guarantees that Dom wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. He was a made man. He was an underboss. By virtue of being Corrado’s adopted son, he was virtually untouchable.

But even untouchable men could be taken down. It meant a death sentence for the man who pulled the trigger, but it could be done.

Sergei tore his gaze away from Dom’s name and rolled up the chart. Yes, Dom could get killed. It was part of being in the Mafia.

And if he does get killed, so what? What do I care? He’s not the only gay man in this town.

Sergei swallowed as he tucked the chart back up under the bed. No, this wasn’t something he needed to think about tonight. He’d deal with it if the circumstances arose.

Tonight, Dom was alive and well.

And waiting for Sergei in a motel across town.

Sergei got up, gave himself a once-over in the mirror, and headed out to meet Dom.



*



Sergei had barely shut the motel room door before he and Dom were tangled up in a deep, hungry kiss. Dom had been here first, and he’d already stripped off his shirt and shoes, and Sergei immediately had his hands all over him as they kissed up against the door.

One thing was becoming abundantly clear—Dom loved kissing. It didn’t matter who was on top, or if they were dressed or naked, or standing in a cramped motel shower—every chance he had, it seemed, Dom was kissing Sergei. Frantically. Gently. Deeply. Softly. So much kissing.

And Sergei couldn’t get enough either. He loved the way Dom kissed.

Hell, who was he kidding?

As they tumbled into bed, half-dressed and fully hard, he didn’t just love the way Dom kissed. Everything the man did drove him insane. This was supposed to be for Dom’s benefit—getting gay sex out of his system before he married—but it was feeling less and less like charity with each passing night.

And this time, like every time, Dom touched and kissed Sergei as if this was the first time. Sometimes he’d watch his hands run over Sergei’s skin, as if marveling at the sight of himself touching another man. When they had sex, Dom never rushed, not even when he was trembling with arousal. He kissed him like he really wanted to taste him—gently exploring his mouth, cradling the back of his neck as if to say “stay here, just a moment longer.”

No wonder Sergei couldn’t help coming back for more.

“You want to be on top?” he murmured between kisses.

Dom moaned, shivering against him. “Yes please.”

They separated long enough to get a condom on. As Dom put on some lube, Sergei turned around on his hands and knees.

Sergei was usually on top, but more and more, he was enjoying letting Dom top him. The man took his time, tonight as always—easing himself in, giving Sergei time to yield to him and relax. Which was especially good because unlike some of the other men in his family, Dom was definitely not lacking below the belt. His cock was thick, stretching Sergei enough to make his eyes water, and Sergei clawed at the bed and rocked back against him, eager for more, more, more.

Dom steadied his hips and moved faster, not quite thrusting, but close. Sergei closed his eyes, gripping handfuls of the sheet and slurring curses as every stroke took his breath away.

“You’re so f*cking gorgeous,” Dom murmured, running his hands all over Sergei’s back. “Jesus, you’re—” His breath hitched. He picked up a little bit of speed, and whatever he said after that didn’t make it to Sergei’s brain.