If The Seas Catch Fire (27 page)

But the kids. Not the kids.

“Your car or mine?”

“Yours.” Luciano tugged at his sleeve, fussing with the cuff as if something so minor even mattered now. “People might get suspicious if we leave in my car and then I turn up dead.”

Dom’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Please, Domenico,” his cousin whispered. “We both know you have to do this. Let’s get it over with.”

God, forgive me…

He tucked his gun inside his jacket. “Let’s go.”

In silence, they left the bedroom, descended the grand staircase into the massive foyer, and stepped outside. Luciano’s house didn’t have a huge covered portico like his father’s, and they both put on sunglasses while they waited in the thick heat for someone to bring Dom’s car.

Neither of them spoke as Dom drove. It seemed like they should’ve been reminiscing about the good times, or talking about… well, anything. But conversation just felt macabre while Dom drove his cousin to the place where the cops would find him.

He parked at a remote beach a few miles out of town. As they followed a narrow, sandy path toward the shore, Luciano said, “My father’s life is going to be in danger now. You know that, right?”

“He’s always in danger.”

“I know. But things are getting bad. Sooner or later, someone’s going for the throat.”

Dom’s stomach lurched. “I’ll tell him to bring in more security. And lay low.”

“Good. Good idea. And be careful yourself. You’re too high up the food chain to—”

“I’m pretty sure everyone knows I’m your father’s pity case,” Dom said coldly. “I’m my father’s son. I’ve been watching my back since I was a child.”

Luciano sighed. “I know.” He turned to Dom as they stopped on the sand, and his eyes were filled with sadness now. “Makes you wonder how many generations will be paying for the sins of the father. None of us asked for this life.”

“Some did.”

Luciano seemed to mull that over, and then he shrugged. “They’re fucking idiots. But those of us who were born into this…” He gazed out at the water, but didn’t finish the thought.

They stood in tense silence. Dom’s spine tingled and his stomach twisted—there was no turning back, and they both knew it, but he couldn’t find the words to put Luciano on his knees, and couldn’t bring himself to just raised the gun and be done with it.

Luciano swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping. “May I have a moment?”

“Yeah.”

Dom stepped back to give his cousin some room.

For a long time, Luciano just stared out at the ocean. After a while, he knelt in the weedy sand, and Dom nearly started toward him again, but halted when his cousin folded his hands beneath his chin. Eyes closed, he moved his lips, though he didn’t make a sound.

Slowly, he lowered his hands. With one, he crossed himself. His eyes slid open, and he fixed his gaze on the ocean again. “I’m ready.”

Maybe you are, but I’m not
.

Dom withdrew the gun as he came closer. He clicked off the safety, the sound nearly lost in the crash of the waves not fifty feet away.

Wordlessly, he pressed the pistol to his cousin’s temple. He wondered if Luciano’s life was flashing before his eyes. His certainly was. Their childhood. Their teenage antics. The day Luciano proudly became a made man. The day he congratulated Dom for doing the same. When they’d both congratulated each other on joining a life they couldn’t escape, a life he doubted either of them had truly grasped back then.

And now…

Now this.

Dom swallowed. His finger was curled around the trigger, which the gunsmith had specifically set up to be only slightly less sensitive than a hair trigger. One twitch of Dom’s finger, and it would all be over. But he couldn’t move.

Luciano pulled in a deep breath through his nose. Eyes closed, he released it. “Just do it.”

The trigger was suddenly a hundred pounds. He had visions of the gun jamming. Backfiring. Exploding and taking them both out. Anything but doing what it had, without fail, done thousands of times before.

And still, his finger didn’t move.

Dom lowered the gun. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“Dom. Look at me.”

He lifted his gaze and met his cousin’s. Luciano swallowed. “You don’t have a choice. Either you kill me now, or my father kills us both.” He reached up and took Dom’s free hand. “I can’t let that happen. You’re like a brother. Always have been.”

A lump rose in Dom’s throat.

“If someone’s gotta take me out, then I’d rather it be you than anyone else.” He looked up, straight into Dom’s eyes. “At least I know you’ll make it quick. You know damn well my father wouldn’t do the same for either of us.”

Dom shuddered.

“I’m at peace with it.” Luciano squeezed his hand. “This isn’t your fault. We both know it isn’t. You’re caught in the machinery as much as I am.”

“How the fuck do I get out?”

Luciano laughed dryly. “If I knew, do you think we’d be here right now?”

Acid rose in Dom’s throat. “Did you ever wish you could—”

“All my life, Domenico. All my life. Now…” Luciano released his hand. He sat straighter, eyes closed and expression fully relaxed. “Please. Just do it.”

There was no avoiding it. And the longer Dom tried to talk himself out of it, the longer he tortured his cousin with the inevitable.

He aimed the pistol at Luciano’s temple, angling it slightly toward the back to maximize the damage and minimize Luciano’s chances of surviving, even for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Luciano.”

“I know.”

Luciano was perfectly still. So was Dom’s hand.

Holding his breath, Dom closed his eyes.

And squeezed the trigger.

Dom had deliberately foregone earplugs, and the gunshot temporarily deafened him. Long enough to almost completely silence his cousin’s body hitting the sand at his feet.

Ears ringing and jaw clenched, Dom opened his eyes. His aim had been true—from the hairline back, there was almost nothing left of Luciano’s skull. Blood, bone, and brain matter clung to vegetation and soaked up sand for several feet.

Just to be sure, though, Dom leaned down and touched beneath his cousin’s jaw. The skin was still warm, of course, but there was no pulse.

A nauseating sense of relief flooded through him. He couldn’t stomach the fact that he’d just killed his cousin, but thank God, Luciano had died quickly.

He rose and walked away. In the car, he put the gun under his seat—he’d toss it in the ocean once he was safely away from here—and drove, not completely sure where he was going yet. He didn’t get sick this time. He was too numb. Too fucked up in the head. His stomach would catch up once the booze started flowing, of that he was sure.

Tapping his fingers rapidly on the steering wheel, he drove away from the crime scene and didn’t look back. He didn’t speed. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t risk getting pulled over and having a record of his presence within close proximity to Luciano.

On one hand, he desperately needed the distraction only Sergei could offer. On the other, he couldn’t face him. Couldn’t touch Sergei with the same hand he’d used to pull the trigger, or the same hand he’d used to confirm Luciano’s pulse had stopped.

Not tonight. Tonight, he needed the longest, hottest shower he could stand, and then he was going to get drunk. As drunk as humanly possible. Until he blacked out. Then maybe he’d wake up and drink more.

For now, though, he had to get out of here. Away from Luciano’s corpse.

Luciano, I am so sorry
.

Tears stung his eyes. He’d filled more contracts than he cared to think about, but this one was his own cousin. He’d killed a son on the order of a father. Tomorrow, he’d stand beside Corrado while the family grieved Biaggio for his longtime service and loyalty to the family.

There wouldn’t be much of a funeral for Luciano. He’d have a Catholic funeral—even disgraced members of the family were buried according to Catholic traditions. Corrado believed men could be judged and dispatched here on Earth, but it was up to God to decide where they went afterward.

It hurt to know that Luciano wouldn’t be given the lavish funeral of Maisano royalty, that he would be buried somewhere besides the family crypt, but Dom was admittedly grateful that he wouldn’t have to stand beside Corrado and pretend he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger at the orders of the “grieving” father beside him.

Would Corrado grieve his son? Dom suspected he would. After all, killing him was just business. It didn’t mean Corrado
liked
it. Even if Luciano had betrayed the family enough to sign his own death warrant, the father would still mourn his son. Dom hoped, anyway.

God, grant Luciano that much justice
.

*              *              *

Heart thumping and stomach sick, Dom walked into Corrado’s office.

His uncle lifted his gaze. Dom stopped in front of the desk. They locked eyes, and neither spoke.

It was done. There was nothing left to say.

Dom fully expected a dismissal, but instead, Corrado cleared his throat as he pushed his chair back. Rising, he said, “We have a meeting, Domenico.”

Dom blinked. “A meeting? In the middle of all—”

“There are things that can’t wait.”

Not even long enough for me to take a fucking shower? I just killed your son!

Hell, why not? Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. Take a shower and rinse off his guilt and whatever came up during this meeting. With the way things were going these days, he couldn’t imagine this would be a benign discussion about crab pots and cargo ships. Especially if it couldn’t wait until Luciano was cooled and Biaggio was buried.

They moved into the dining room where Corrado held his larger meetings. The room was filled with familiar faces. Somber and serious, every one of them underbosses—the highest ranking members of Corrado’s inner circle. The uppermost echelon occupied most of the chairs around the table. Those lower on the food chain stood behind them.

Conspicuously absent were not only Luciano and Biaggio, but Felice.

Weird…

In front of them, the broad mahogany table was bare. No food had been laid out. No papers.

His uncle indicated an empty seat, which Dom took.

From the head of the table, Corrado cast a sweeping glance at the gathered men. “Now that we’re all here…” He squared his shoulders. “My elder son has betrayed the family. As you all know, I have… taken care of the situation.”

Leather protested as a few men shifted in their chairs.

“What this means is that my heir is dead. And, whether any of us like it or not, we have a war on our hands.”

Dom swallowed. He kept his gaze fixed right on his uncle, but the other men’s scrutiny prickled his skin.

“After the unfortunate events that have happened recently,” Corrado continued, “we have to consider that the family may find itself needing a new leader.”

The other men shifted some more, leather protesting and clothes hissing softly.

Corrado rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers as he looked Dom right in the eye. “You’ve come a long way from your father, Domenico. You’re a sane and reasonable leader.”

Oh God. Oh God, no…

“Particularly with Luciano…” Corrado paused, and then shook his head. “Given the current circumstances, in the event that something happens to me, I’m leaving the family to you.”

Dom’s mouth went dry.
No. No, please. Not this. Anything but this
. Ice cold panic surged through his veins. “I’m… I’m honored, but—”

“You are the best hope for the future of the Maisanos.” Corrado folded his hands and exhaled slowly. “My father and my grandfather worked their fingers to the bone to make this family what it is. I have to make sure that when my time is up, the family remains in good hands. Particularly with this… unfortunate turn of events with my son.”

Dom’s gut twisted. He fought the urge to look around the room. Beneath the table, he rubbed at his hand with his thumb, as if he could get rid of the gun residue that he swore he could feel climbing beneath his skin and into his bones.

“Felice, he’s…” Corrado shook his head. “I don’t know where I went wrong with him, Domenico, but he’s… well, he’s an idiot. He’s impulsive. Can’t be trusted to control himself, never mind lead an organization like this.”

Several men murmured with cautious agreement.

Eyes narrow, Corrado drummed his fingers on the table. “In a few years, if, God willing, I’m still here, Luciano’s son has the makings of an excellent leader. But”—he waved his hand—“Angelo has a lot of years ahead of him before he’s even ready to be made.”

The thought of his nephew going through that initiation—killing a man, being officially brought into this poisonous fold—made Dom’s stomach twist.

Tamping down the sick feeling in his chest, Dom took a breath. “Felice will never stand for this.”