If The Seas Catch Fire(9)

“You’d better go inside.” Biaggio gestured at the huge double doors to the dining room. “A lot of people are waiting to see if you’re okay.”

Dom smiled thinly. They were waiting for Corrado to see them waiting. But whatever. Image, image, image.

The second he walked in the door, someone called out, “There he is!”

Every head turned, and instantly, every made Maisano descended on him, shaking his hand and—carefully—clapping his shoulder. Such was the game they all played. The beaten had to show his face and prove he was all right, and anyone who wanted to be on Corrado Maisano’s Christmas card list had to show his face to make sure the old boss knew he was concerned. Image, image, f*cking image.

Aunt Marcella served everyone a massive lunch, and afterward, having played their part as concerned members of the family, the men left. Still in pain, still hazy from the pills, and now drowsy after eating, Dom wanted nothing more than to go back to bed.

But just as duty had called the troops into Corrado’s house, it called Dom into his uncle’s office.

Only Corrado’s innermost circle was invited to this meeting. Biaggio, of course. And Corrado’s sons, Luciano and Felice. Like everyone else, they’d all put on a show of strength and solidarity, laughing and carrying on over wine and antipasto, but now they were quiet and serious.

Corrado leaned back in his big leather chair, cradling a brandy glass between his fingers. “We need to discuss what happened last night.”

Luciano folded his arms. “If word got out that Dom was meeting with Passantino’s daughter, these goons might’ve been trying to interfere.”

Corrado set his glass down. “Biaggio, any word on the girl?”

The consigliere patted the air. “I spoke to Passantino last night. His daughter is at home and is fine. They both give Domenico their best.” With a faint laugh, he added, “She was pleased to know she hadn’t really been stood up.”

Dom didn’t dare laugh. He wouldn’t be doing much of that anyway until his ribs stopped feeling like they were on fire.

Corrado didn’t laugh either. “Well, once Domenico’s back on his feet, the two of them can arrange another date. Maybe one with more security.”

Can’t wait. Dom shifted around, and at least everyone in the room was likely to blame his grimace on the pain. As much as he’d been loath to meet with Brigida, this wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted to get out of a blind date. Thank God no one had laid a hand on her and she was all right. Initially irritated that she’d been stood up, no doubt, but all right.

At least no one knew that the date had been the reason the two *s had gotten the drop on him in the first place. He’d been nervous, almost sick to his stomach, and he hadn’t wanted to be there at all. He’d only been there because his uncle insisted it was time for him to get married, and a Passantino-Maisano marriage would be tremendously beneficial to both families. On his way from his car to the restaurant, Dom had been so distracted and queasy, Floresta and Mandanici had been able to get right up on him and—

And here he was.

He had no doubt that his uncle was serious about arranging something in the near future. Corrado and Passantino would undoubtedly have them meeting up again as soon as Dom could move. And as soon as he was presentable in public—nothing like a battered face to charm a lady.

Dom bit back a joke about this being a sign from God that maybe he wasn’t ready to get married. Corrado was in no mood for jokes right now. Not even to take the edge off. And as far as he was concerned, there was nothing funny about his nephew pushing thirty-five without a gold band on his finger.

“Doesn’t look good, Domenico,” he’d lectured him again a few nights ago. “Doesn’t look good at all.”

“Maybe I just haven’t found the right girl. People aren’t getting married so young anymore.”

Corrado had shaken his head and waved his hand in that dismissive way that meant the discussion was over. “You’re not most people. Image, my son.”

Image. Fuck image. Just one more thing to resent about this life.

Corrado sat up a little, resting his arms on the desk. “Domenico, I need you to think back to last night.”

“I’ve been thinking about it almost constantly.”

“Tell me again, everything you remember.”

Dom took a breath and told the story all over again. When he was through, his uncle scowled.

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Corrado drummed his fingers on the desk. “Either these idiots were too inept to kill you, or they just wanted to shake you up.”

Dom gritted his teeth, reminding himself that Corrado wasn’t actually angry or disappointed that they hadn’t finished the job. He was only trying to sort out what all of this meant. Such was the mind of a boss—a man in his position had to be this businesslike, so wrapped up in the politics and deeper meanings of every move anyone made that everything came down to numbers and messages instead of flesh and blood.

Corrado was quiet for a moment. “The men who attacked you. Are you sure you saw their faces?”

“Yeah. Floresta and Mandanici.”

Corrado and Luciano exchanged uneasy glances. Felice shifted his weight, watching his father and elder brother.

Luciano turned to Dom. “Are you sure it was Floresta and Mandanici?”