If The Seas Catch Fire(82)

“Are you feeling better tonight?” Dom asked between kisses. “After—”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” Sergei claimed another hard, demanding kiss. “You brought lube, right?”

“Absolutely. Are you in any hurry? To get anywhere?”

“Not anymore, no.” Sergei ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his lip. “Are you?”

“I was. But now that I’m here…”

Sergei grinned.

Dom combed his fingers through Sergei’s short hair. “God, this is insane. What we’re doing.” He paused. “But I think it’s the only sane part of my life right now.”

Sergei laughed, his devilish eyes sending a shiver through Dom. “I think this is the first time someone’s considered me a sane part of anything.”

“Their loss,” Dom whispered, and pulled him closer.

Sergei lifted his chin, and when their lips met, he wrapped his arms around Dom. As the kiss went on, as it deepened, they gathered handfuls of each other’s shirts but made no move to peel off any layers quite yet.

He had no idea who was leading or if their bodies were simply moving, but they inched toward the bed. And then they were on it—lying across the mattress, Sergei straddling Dom—and Dom finally managed to push Sergei’s shirt up and off. Christ, they were still mostly dressed and he was already lightheaded.

These nights with Sergei were unreal. It went beyond the sex, too. In here, within the walls of whatever cheap motel they’d chosen for the evening, nothing else existed. In here, Dom found a temporary escape from his bloody, violent world.

Sergei had undoubtedly saved his life that first night, but Dom was starting to think he did that every time they were together. He’d become a drug. Not a recreational one, but one that kept everything functioning the way it was supposed to.

I’m going to lose my mind without you.

He pulled Sergei closer, deepened the kiss, and held on. Sergei didn’t need to know that their arrangement’s days were seriously numbered. They’d both known there’d be an end to this at some point, but Dom had held out hope they’d have more time.

It wasn’t to be, though. The pressure was mounting, the end approaching too fast. Whether he liked it or not, this would be over very soon.

So Dom fully intended to do the one thing he could do—enjoy every second he had left with Sergei.

“We still have too many clothes on,” he murmured against Sergei’s lips.

Sergei pushed himself up and grinned. “We should do something about that.”



*



Biaggio spent most of his days at Corrado’s mansion, and many nights there, too, so he’d never really gone all-out with his own place. It was a modest Spanish-style villa overlooking the water, not far from where Corrado lived. No doubt so he could be at the boss’s front door within moments if needed.

Dom arrived a few minutes before eleven, and Biaggio’s maid showed him to the shaded terrace where he was waiting.

“Your uncle needs me this afternoon,” Biaggio said as Dom took a seat and the maid poured them some wine. “I’m afraid we’ll have to make this a somewhat short meal.”

“That’s fine. I still have some bookkeeping to catch up on.”

Biaggio nodded, holding Dom’s gaze. They both knew what “catching up on bookkeeping” really meant—cycling money through offshore accounts and various other channels until it came back, clean as a whistle. Luciano was set to receive almost three million dollars this afternoon for a massive shipment of cocaine and various contraband that had “disappeared” from Naples while a Chinese cargo ship was in port. By the time Dom had finished routing and rerouting that money, no one would ever be able to trace it back to its origin.

The maid offered them each their glasses, and after they’d thanked her, she went inside, presumably to finish preparing lunch. They were alone out here. Biaggio’s security presence was minimal, just a handful of men strategically stationed around the property. His bodyguard, Sal, stood back beside the sliding glass door, scanning the yard while Dom and Biaggio relaxed.

“Well, I suppose we should use what time we have, then.” Biaggio watched him over the top of his glass. “You said you needed some advice.”

“Yeah.” Dom absently ran his thumb along the edge of the wrought iron table. “It’s about Brigida Passantino.”

Biaggio nodded slowly. “I understand you’re going to give your uncle a final decision in a week.”

“He told you, then.”

“Yes.” The consigliere folded his hands in his lap. “Your uncle is concerned about you, Domenico.”

Dom gritted his teeth. “My uncle is concerned about my image.”

“But such is the reality of the circles we move in.” Biaggio shrugged tightly. “Alliances are necessary for survival. Sometimes the best way to seal those alliances are with marriages.”

“Arranged marriages are a little out of date, don’t you think?”

Biaggio laughed and reached up to pat Dom’s forearm. “Not in our world, Domenico. Not in our world. And besides, you could have married any woman you chose. If Luciano or Felice were still unmarried, their father would be pushing them into this arrangement. It just happens that you’ve been single long enough to raise eyebrows, and there’s an opportunity to use that to the organization’s advantage.”