If The Seas Catch Fire(39)

As always, there was already a line outside the door. A dozen or so tired, sun-beaten men waited, watching Dom stroll into the building while they clutched weathered papers and manila folders to their threadbare shirts.

He could guess why most of them were here. Some were making payments on their debts to the family. Some needed more time. Some could barely scratch the surface of what they owed, but their circumstances demanded they come here and put themselves even deeper into debt.

Each man who came through here was different, and each was the same. They hailed from South America, Russia, China, even the occasional escapee from North Korea, but they all had the same story. Desperation had forced them from their homeland, and they’d come to America looking for something better. Immigration wasn’t easy, though, and it wasn’t cheap.

That was where the Maisanos came in.

For a fee, the immigrant’s papers would be expedited. For an even bigger fee, the person would get more than a green card—citizenship and everything that came with it. And for a f*ckload of money, the immigrant’s family would be safely brought over and naturalized in a fraction of the time it would take through legitimate channels.

Felice’s crew oversaw the immigration arrangements. They issued the terms and handled the transportation of family members to the United States. Dom’s job was to disburse and receive money. He was the financial wizard—the man who could make dirty money disappear and resurface, clean as the day it was printed. When the debt was paid, he issued the people their paperwork, and sent them on their way as freshly minted American citizens.

As Dom settled in for the day, he caught himself wondering if Sergei was a citizen. He was obviously not American-born. Not with that accent. And sex workers in this town were often doing what they could to get by until they could get legitimate work.

Dom had a few Russian families on his payroll. He perused a few, looking to see if any had sons in their early twenties. With a click of a button, Dom could erase the family’s debt and expedite their paperwork.

No one came up, though.

Sergei had obviously been here a while. Long enough to soften his accent slightly.

Dom shook himself. Sergei was the last person he needed to be thinking about. Whatever went on between them, he needed to shut it out right now. He wanted to see Sergei again. He wanted a repeat of the night they’d spend in that godawful motel.

But he couldn’t let the lines blur between that life and this one, so he made himself focus. All day long, as he shunted money through channels that no fed would ever find, and updated ledgers for people indebted to the family, he forced himself not to think of Sergei.

Toward the middle of the morning, a tanned, gray-haired Chinese man named Dingxiang came in and sat across from him in his office.

“I just need some more time, sir,” the man pleaded. “My daughter, she had to go to the hospital last week. It was… it cost…” He shook his head.

Dom regarded him silently, keeping his sympathy hidden. He hated this, hated everything about it, but he had to keep his cards close to his vest. As much as he wanted to wipe the man’s ledger clean and let him leave without ever worrying again, he was already playing dangerous games with the accounting in the name of relieving people of their debts. He could only do so much without someone catching on.

Tone flat, he quietly said, “I’ve already given you extensions.”

“Yes, yes. And terribly… terribly sorry. But—”

Right then, Dom’s receptionist Daisy leaned in through the office door. “Excuse me, Mr. Maisano. Biaggio is on line three.”

“Thank you.” As she stepped back out, he turned to Dingxiang. “Give me just a moment.”

Dingxiang nodded.

Dom picked up the phone. “Yes, sir?”

“You have a meeting with your uncle at one o’clock.”

Dom glanced at this watch. That gave him just over an hour. “At the house?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there.”

Biaggio hung up without so much as a goodbye. That was normal for him—odds were, he had a hundred tasks to perform in the time a normal man would need to complete three. Pleasantries weren’t part of his tightly packed schedule.

Dom folded his hands and faced Dingxiang. “Listen, I’m going to waive your payment for this month, and this month only.”

The man exhaled with obvious relief. He undoubtedly knew there’d be conditions, strings that would make all but the most desperate man cringe, but almost anything was better than having a Maisano debt collector at his door.

Guilt tugged at Dom. It wasn’t at all below him to cancel an immigrant family’s debts and send them on their way with their papers in hand, but he’d already waived a substantial amount of money for another family this month. There was only so much he could do before even his financial wizardry couldn’t make the numbers line up, and then people would ask questions he couldn’t answer. If the truth ever came out, he wouldn’t put it past Corrado to find a family who’d been released from their debt, and use them to make a point.

He exhaled. “If the next payment is a minute late or a penny short, your interest rate will go up three percent.”

Dingxiang blinked. Dom swore he could feel the man’s heart drop. The interest rate was already high on the loan, and if it climbed much higher, repayment would be nearly impossible.