If The Seas Catch Fire(99)

He shuddered.

What do I do?

For now, he just needed to get out of this club and… and… think.

Sergei left the booth. He found Paco at the bar and pulled him aside. “I, uh… I need to go.”

“You okay?” He glanced past him. “That * rough you up or something? You need—”

“No. No.” Sergei thought quickly. “I got a text from the place that takes care of my mother. They—”

“Jesus, why didn’t you say so? Go!” Paco damn near shoved him toward the lockers. “Get out of here and make sure she’s all right.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going.” Relieved, Sergei hurried to his locker, took out his wallet and keys, and left.

He probably wasn’t in any state to be driving, but he didn’t know what else to do. Gripping the wheel tightly, he drove around with no particular destination. He just needed to move. To not be sitting still where a laser dot might find him.

Eventually, he found one of the beaches where he often came to compose himself after visiting Mama. No amount of venting his emotions would fix this, though.

Corrado’s hit was the one he’d been waiting for. The big contract, the one he’d use to topple the three families’ precarious house of cards. Launch the Maisanos into the chaos that was inevitable with Felice in charge. With a psychopath like him on top, the muzzles would come off, and the Maisanos would shake off that businesslike, diplomatic front Corrado had maintained. When they started killing each other, other carefully-positioned men—the stupid ones with no sense of strategy or reason—would move into place. The Cusimanos would take advantage of the internal strife and chaos and bring the Maisanos to their knees. Before long, the violence would bring the Passantinos into the mix.

Then the coup de grace: a folder full of names, names, and more names—not to mention the locations of bodies—mailed anonymously to the police with a copy sent to the FBI. Then the house of cards wouldn’t just topple, it would go down in flames, and Sergei would be smoke in the wind. Gone before anyone knew it was burning at all.

Corrado Maisano’s younger son was supposed to become the boss. That was how it worked, and Sergei’s plan had hinged on it, and he had no doubt Felice had been banking on it too. If things had worked out that way, the pieces would have gone down as planned.

But Corrado had played a wild card. Now Dom was a target because Felice didn’t have the power he needed to unwittingly put Sergei’s plan into action.

Secretly, behind closed doors, Dom had been named the heir. Now it was he, not his volatile cousin, who would ascend his uncle’s coveted throne.

And now, this contract. The one that would restore the equilibrium he had so carefully orchestrated so his plan could move forward.

The pressure would be on, too. Everything was touchy right now, everyone edgy from the recent violence, even more so than they’d been after bodies had started washing up earlier this summer. No one, least of all the snubbed Maisano heir, had any patience left.

There was no way out. Dom was marked. Sergei was contracted. For all intents and purposes, the bullet had already been fired.

Sergei slumped back against the driver seat, struggling to find his breath. His heart pounded, blood surging through his veins. He’d spent the last several years moving these pieces into place. Setting up the endgame on a bloodstained chessboard. Piling up kindling so he could watch the whole thing topple and burn.

And now he had the torch.

And the torch had been lit.

And there was no blowing it out.





Chapter 28


A police investigation was unavoidable. Gunfire in a public place, murder in broad daylight at a funeral—there was no escaping legal attention.

The cops were undoubtedly left frustrated, since no one in attendance had anything to say to law enforcement. Every last mourner was questioned, and as soon as they could, left the area of the church currently cordoned off by yellow tape.

Now, hours after Corrado’s death, every Maisano in town was at Felice’s place. Still dressed for grief and visibly rattled by Corrado’s death, they spoke in hushed tones while every woman in the family alternated between consoling Dom’s aunt and putting out food and wine.

Dom stayed away from everyone. The day had started out hellish. Between grieving Biaggio, killing Luciano, and leaving Sergei, he’d been a reeling mess before he’d even arrived at St. Leo’s. The service had been grueling as he forced himself to be stoic and strong for Biaggio’s wife.

And then… f*ck. It was the second time in a matter of days that a bullet had missed him by a wire-thin margin. He and Felice could’ve easily been killed today. Thank God Felice had only been hit but not killed. It was still a hell of wound, but nothing life-threatening. A blessing in the form of a well-placed bullet hole.

Right now, Felice was upstairs with Dr. Rojas, who’d treated the wound earlier and had come back to change the dressings. If he knew what was good for him, he’d brought more painkillers this time.

Dom drained his wine and went upstairs to see how his cousin was doing. Several of Felice’s associates were on their way down the hall, and they all looked right at Dom, locking their gazes on him for a few seconds and eyeing him coolly before they passed him by.

He paused and looked back, watching them leave. His stomach churned. Did Felice know yet? Had someone told him that Corrado had left the family in Dom’s hands?