If The Seas Catch Fire(80)

“Anyone sees my face,” he’d warned Tumino a couple of years ago, “I’ll put a bullet in theirs, and in yours for good measure. Are we clear?”

“Clear. Absolutely clear.” The fact that Sergei’d been pressing a pistol to his forehead had probably made him reconsider arguing. That was the last time Tumino ever tried to sneak any of his people into the house.

Tonight, Sergei checked through the various windows, making sure the only person in the guest house was Tumino, who was reclining on the sofa with a glass of wine. Sergei had long ago placed tiny motion sensors in the hedge outside the house, and after he’d gone inside the perimeter, he activated them. No one would get near the guest house without him knowing about it.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, Sergei let himself in through the back door, and moved from the kitchen to the living room where Tumino waited for him.

As Sergei stepped into the room, the beast of a man grinned. “Dmitry! Right on time.”

“Of course I am.”

He gestured at an armchair. “Have a seat.”

Sergei didn’t move.

Tumino studied him for a moment, then sat back on the sofa, grimacing as he did. Even from here, Sergei could hear the man’s stomach gurgling and groaning.

God, please, don’t let him be having one of his “episodes” while I’m in the room again. I may have to shoot him this time.

A few of the Italians in Cape Swan were on the large end, especially the Tumino clan, but this guy always seemed bloated in a sickly way that made Sergei cringe. Not heavy, but distended and swollen, as if everything beneath his skin were battling over who could kill him first. How he’d lived this long was a mystery.

And Sergei had no desire to be here any longer than he had to be, so he held up the card Lorenzo had given him. “Let’s get down to business. You asked me here for a big job, I assume.”

“A very big one.” Tumino grinned again, despite his brow still pinched with discomfort. “This is the one that’ll make you a legend, kid.”

“I’d just as soon not be a legend. That means people know who I am.”

“They know you by reputation. And that reputation’s going to be immortal after this one.” He gestured at the chair again. “You really ought to sit down and get comfortable. We’ve got a lot of details to go over.”

Sergei planted his feet. “One question.”

“All right?”

“Who’s the mark?”

They locked eyes.

Sergei’s heart sped up.

Tumino’s lips pulled back across his teeth. “I think you know.”

Sergei swallowed. He’d had his suspicions. A dollar figure like that could only mean a handful of people. But he hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

Sergei took a seat, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward. “All right. Let’s talk.”

He could barely contain the giddiness fluttering his gut. This was the contract he’d been waiting for. Checkmate was no longer close—it was inevitable.

This is it, Mama. They’re all going down.





Chapter 22


Whenever Dom met with Sergei, he woke the next morning feeling blissed out and happy, with a side order of depressed as f*ck. It was impossible not to be almost giddy after a night like that, but reality was never far behind, always coming in and reminding him how short-lived this arrangement would be.

Last night had been different. He’d spent most of the night beside Sergei, worrying about him, watching for signs that the decompression sickness was getting worse. They’d barely touched.

And yet, a hint of that giddiness was there. Relief that Sergei was all right, no doubt. Nothing else made sense.

Today, Dom’s day had been a roller coaster. It started out well enough. Maybe none of that post-coital ache in every muscle of his body, without that stupid grin that always seemed to start before the coffee had even brewed, but like most mornings after, he was pretty damned certain the dark “this isn’t gonna last” cloud would catch up with him eventually.

So far so good, though. Maybe things with Sergei wouldn’t last—of course they wouldn’t—but just being in the same room with him for a while, sharing the company of someone who wasn’t caught up in the same spider web he was, did wonders for what was left of Dom’s sanity.

Then Corrado called him in, and the day went downhill fast. Dom had fully expected to be raked over the coals for not being here yesterday, front and center while Corrado tried to work out what had happened to Privitera, but his uncle skipped right over that part.

Instead, he went straight to pushing for a decision about Brigida Passantino.

“In light of the incident on my son’s boat,” Corrado had said over his immense desk, “I have to accept the possibility that we have traitors on the inside. Which means the Maisanos need all the allies we can get.”

“Understood,” Dom had responded quietly.

“We need the Passantinos as a friend, and the fastest, most effective means for sealing that friendship is with a marriage between our two families.”

The sick feeling had already taken up resident in Dom’s gut, and it just kept getting worse.

“Her father’s giving his blessing,” Corrado went on. “And Brigida herself is willing to go through with it.”