Biaggio came into the living room. “Well, well. Look who’s up and moving.”
“Eh, sort of.” Dom shifted gingerly. “Doc says I’ll make it, so…”
“I should hope so.” The consigliere chuckled, but genuine concern creased his forehead. “We were all worried there for a couple of days.”
“Tell me about it,” Dom muttered. “But I’m good. Much better.”
Biaggio smiled down at him. “Very good.”
“Yeah. Nice to be functional without pain pills.” Dom looked at Rojas and smirked. “But now that I think about it, if you do have a few extras…”
The doc laughed. He patted Dom’s forearm, and rose. “When you run out, let me know, and we’ll see how you’re feeling.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to get back to my clinic, though. I’ll come by in a few days and check on you again.”
Dom nodded. “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
Rojas flashed him a slight smile. Then he shook hands with both men, gathered his things, and left.
Biaggio sat beside Dom. “Your uncle will be pleased.”
Dom gritted his teeth. “Yeah. He’ll be thrilled to have me back on my feet and not making the Maisanos look like weaklings.”
The old man shrugged. “It’s part of the game, Domenico. We have enemies, and we can’t risk looking weak. If they think a beating is enough to hobble one of us, then it’ll be open season on the whole family.”
“I know.” Dom rubbed his neck, which was a little stiff from trying to sleep comfortably with sore ribs. “I get it. I do. But it does put some pressure on when you’re trying to recover and look like you already have.”
Biaggio smiled and patted his leg. “It does. But you’re a tough one.” The smile faltered a bit. In a quiet voice, one that absolutely wouldn’t carry to anyone except for them, he added, “You’re definitely your father’s son.”
Dom winced, but said nothing. From anyone else, that would’ve been a grave insult, if not a threat. His father’s name was tarnished within this family, and being compared to him was never good. But Biaggio knew Dom, and he’d known his father, and when he said it, he meant the man they both knew Papa really was. Not a traitor. Not a coward.
“Your father was a good man,” Biaggio had once told him. “He made mistakes. He did things that can never be forgiven. But he had a good heart, and the world is a darker place without him.”
Biaggio squeezed Dom’s arm. “Your uncle will want to see you today. To see that you’re really back on your feet.”
Dom nodded, and they both got up. “All right. I guess I should go show my face, then.”
“Good idea.”
After all…
Image, image, image.
*
As Dom recovered from his injuries, life more or less returned to normal. After a couple of days, when he could move comfortably, he returned to the offices where he oversaw his pieces of the family business.
At his uncle’s urging, he also contacted Passantino to let him know he was all right, and that he’d make arrangements with Brigida again very soon. She didn’t need to see him when he was still battered like this, and he was in no mood or condition to try to woo anyone.
Not that it mattered—Passantino had sent all three of his daughters to Italy in the name of vacationing and visiting family. When Brigida was back in California, arrangements could be made.
“In the meantime,” Passantino told him, “we’re glad you’re all right. Give my regards to your uncle.”
Fine by me, Dom had thought after he’d hung up.
Felice and Corrado had ears to the ground and were scouring Cape Swan for whoever had put Floresta and Mandanici up to beating him, and everyone was searching for that mysterious man who’d killed the pair and saved Dom. Dom didn’t remember him, though. No name, no face—nothing. There’d been someone else, but he’d been too fucked up to pick out any details.
So he told everyone, though.
His memory of that night was hazy, but there were bits and pieces that were crystal clear. Little sharply-focused frames of an otherwise blurry film. And in every one of them, that red-clad stripper featured prominently.
Who the hell was that guy?
The more he recovered, the more his curiosity came to life. He wanted to find the stripper, but not just for business reasons.
That bleach-blond, barely dressed kid hadn’t just saved his life—he’d awakened thoughts Dom had been trying to keep dormant for a long, long time. Those blue eyes, that lithe, strong body…
Dom pushed the thoughts away and forced himself to concentrate on the ledger in front of him.
Tried to, anyway.
Right or wrong, he desperately wanted to see that stripper again.
Who are you kidding? Get that close to a gorgeous man, you’re gonna want to do more than see him.
He shifted in his desk chair, glancing at the door in case someone had come strolling into his office. Even with the desk in front of him, he was sure his hardening cock would be conspicuous to anyone who wandered in. As if anyone in this office would dare.
He shook himself.