If The Seas Catch Fire (3 page)

“What about his head?” Corrado asked. “That’s quite a bruise.”

“The concussion appears to be mild. I’ll come back in the morning and see how he is.” Dr. Rojas paused. “He can sleep, but check on him every couple of hours.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

They continued talking for a moment, but Dom was already starting to fade out. He had no idea if it was exhaustion or whatever was in those pills, and he really didn’t care.

Corrado touched his arm. “Your cousin will come tomorrow and bring you some fresh clothes.”

Dom nodded slowly. “Thanks.” He didn’t need to tell his uncle he’d sworn off clothing forever. There was no way it would be any less painful to dress than it had been to undress, and dressing meant eventually undressing anyway, so he was going to be a nudist for the rest of his life.

“Get some sleep, Domenico.” Corrado patted his arm gently. “We’ll discuss what happened in the morning.”

And that was the last thing Dom heard before everything went dark.

*              *              *

Though there’d only been a handful of people waiting when Dom arrived in the middle of the night, the house was crawling with them when he awoke the next day. That was what it sounded like, anyway. From what Biaggio told him, every Maisano within a hundred-mile radius, not to mention every lieutenant and soldier who wanted to stay in the boss’s good graces, had flocked to the mansion the minute they’d heard.

Though Dom wanted nothing more than to inhale painkillers and sleep until he was dead, he had no choice but to come out and show his face. He needed to give visual confirmation that last night’s “incident” hadn’t done any lasting damage, that he was still strong and on his feet. The longer he took to recover, the more word would spread that Floresta and Mandanici had brought him down a peg. A black eye and a cut lip were badges of honor so long as the man wearing them still faced the world like he was ready to take on an army. Image, image, image.

First things first, though—Dr. Rojas came by again to check on him. The doc was bleary-eyed and unshaven, but still looked a hell of a lot better than Dom felt.

“How are you doing?” Rojas asked as he checked Dom’s ribs.

“I’ll feel a lot better once you stop—” He hissed. “Fuck.”

“I’m not the one who beat you up.” Rojas pressed his thumb against a particularly tender spot, turning Dom’s vision white. “Don’t blame me.”

Dom tried to mutter about him being a son of a bitch, but he couldn’t breathe.

Rojas finally finished and sat back in the chair beside Dom’s bed. “You’re damn lucky they didn’t kill you.”

“Am I?”

They locked eyes, and Rojas sighed. Nothing needed to be said. Rojas wasn’t much older than Dom, and his involvement with the family had been about as voluntary as Dom’s. They’d surreptitiously had conversations like this for years. Rojas was probably the only man on earth who knew Dom would sell his soul to get the fuck out of the Maisano clan. The doc himself felt the same way. He didn’t have a drop of Sicilian blood, but his father had essentially sold him to the Maisanos. A desperate Colombian immigrant, the senior Rojas had bargained with Corrado to send his eldest son to medical school, on the condition that the newly minted doctor would, in addition to a legitimate career, be the family’s personal physician. Of course, he’d neglected to mention this to his son until the degree had been earned, at which point Dr. Rojas was caught up in someone else’s deal with the devil.

In the past, when they were sure no one was around to listen, Dom and Rojas had confessed how much they’d love to run away from all of this. Leave Cape Swan. Change their names. Start over.

But others had tried, and they’d been found. Dom had witnessed what Corrado did to, as he called them, apostates. Those screams were lodged deep enough into his psyche to both remind him why he wanted to leave and why he didn’t dare.

Rojas cleared his throat and stood. “I should get going. I’ll let your uncle know you’re recovering nicely.” He glanced at the door, and quietly added, “Unless you want me to tell him you’re in no condition to meet with visitors?”

Dom groaned. Right. He had to go out and show his face, didn’t he? And nothing short of being comatose in a body cast would be a severe enough injury to make it acceptable to be bedridden. The message
had
to be clear that Floresta and Mandanici
hadn’t
given him more than a schoolyard beating. “No, I’d better do this.”

“You sure?” The doctor’s brow knitted. “Wouldn’t take much to—”

“I know. But…” He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rojas left so Dom could make himself presentable. As promised, one of his cousins had brought him some clothes, and with the help of some more pain pills, Dom was able to shower, shave, and dress himself. Then he came out and followed the steady hum of voices toward the cavernous dining room where Corrado regularly held court.

Outside the room, Biaggio stopped him. “How are you feeling?” His brow creased, and the dark lines under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept at all. Guilt prodded at Dom—at Biaggio’s age, he couldn’t afford to sacrifice rest.

“I’m fine. They just knocked me around a bit.”

Biaggio sighed with relief and smiled, gently squeezing Dom’s arm. “Well, you must’ve had a guardian angel watching over you.”

The red-clad stripper flashed through Dom’s mind, and he suppressed a shiver. He didn’t tip his hand about the stripper. If he did, Corrado would send every Maisano in town looking for him, and either the kid would get roughed up until he told them everything he knew, or he’d coolly take out anyone who hassled him. The thing was, Dom did want answers from the kid, but he also owed him his life. He didn’t want to put a bull’s eye on his back or get anyone else killed who got too close if the stripper turned out to be a psychopath. He needed to find him and talk to him personally.

Yeah, someone was watching over me last night, but “angel” isn’t the word I’d use.

“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, fucking 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 assholes 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?”

“Absolutely sure. Why?”

“Because their bodies were found last night by Cape Swan PD.” Luciano locked eyes with Dom. “Two bullets apiece.” He tapped the center of his forehead. “And one of them took one to the knee too. From the gravel in the wound and the amount of blood he lost, it happened before they were put in the back of the car.”

Dom shuddered.

“They were killed in the car,” his cousin went on. “Somebody put them in the trunk, drove them down to the marina, and shot them both.”

“The marina?” Corrado’s eyes lost focus, and then his gaze slid toward Dom. “That’s not far from where Biaggio picked you up last night.”

“I know.” Dom shifted, wincing when his ribs protested. “And I remember getting out of a car, but not much else.”

Except that stripper. The blond stripper with a gun. The eyes. The accent. The stone-cold demeanor that was intimidating despite the guy’s small stature. Red leather wrapped around narrow hips and—

“We need more than that, goddammit.” Felice fidgeted impatiently. “Someone’s trying to send a message if they’re offing people that close to the marina. Or they’re trying to get cops down there to sniff around.”

“If he’d wanted to get cops sniffing around,” Corrado said, waving his hand, “he wouldn’t have taken them out in the parking lot. He’d have left them on the marina.”

Luciano nodded, folding his arms. “Either way, I think we need to increase security measures down there. We can’t take the risk of someone interfering with supply lines or leading cops anywhere near the merchandise.”

Corrado grunted. “Agreed.”

Dom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, the concern was about supply lines and merchandise. Beating him up was well and good as long as nobody got too close to the stream of cocaine and immigrants flowing through Cape Swan via Maisano hands.