“That’ll be all,” Corrado said. “And be vigilant, Domenico. The violence is getting worse, and we might have a war on our hands before all this is over.”
“Understood,” Dom whispered. There hadn’t been a turf war in this town in decades, and the last one had left scores of bodies in its wake. The Frazzano family had been wiped off the map, and the Passantinos had taken years to recover. Strong as the Maisanos were, no one wanted that degree of bloodshed again.
“Before you go,” Corrado said, “there’s one more thing.”
Dom fought the urge to check his watch. Sergei would be leaving the club soon, and he doubted he’d wait around if he showed up to the motel and Dom wasn’t there.
Corrado studied him for a few long seconds. “You’ve been out of sorts lately. Ever since the incident with Floresta and Mandanici.”
Dom shrugged, avoiding his uncle’s gaze. “Just keep rethinking that night, trying to figure out how they got the drop on me.”
“How did they get the drop on you?” The accusation wasn’t overt, but it was there.
“I’m still not sure, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Good.” Which, from Corrado, meant, You’d damn well better figure it out, idiot. “Have you made arrangements to see Brigida Passantino?”
Dom fought the urge to shift his weight, and lifted his gaze. “She’s in Italy. Her father insisted, just in case there was more violence.”
Corrado grunted, nodding slightly. “I suppose that’s prudent.”
“I agree. When she comes back, though, I’ll make arrangements.”
“Good.” Sooner than later, if you know what’s good for you.
And once he did see Brigida, the pressure would be on for them to get married and cement the civil relations between the two families.
And now he suddenly needed this night with Sergei even more. The hit wasn’t official, but he’d have been an idiot to think it wasn’t coming, and that it wasn’t coming soon. There was no avoiding it. There was no avoiding any murder his uncle ordered him to commit. Whether he liked it or not—and he didn’t—Dom was going to have more blood on his hands soon.
Corrado leaned back in his chair. “When I know for certain Eugenio took out Nicolá, I’ll let you know. At this point, focus on picking up where you left off with Brigida. Understand?”
“Yes.”
His uncle waved him toward the door. “We’ll speak soon.” Translation: Get the hell out of my office.
Dom didn’t wait around. He left Corrado’s house and put the pedal to the floor. The motel was on the other side of town, and even a small town like Cape Swan still took time to cross. Thank God there weren’t many other cars out this time of night.
On the way, he tried to focus on the job Corrado would be giving him soon, but it was pointless. Tonight, he had other things on his mind. Tomorrow, he’d work out exactly how to remove Eugenio Cusimano when the time came.
On the other side of town, he drove past the agreed-upon motel and parked a few blocks down. Then he walked back, eyeing his surroundings just in case anyone had followed him or suddenly took a nefarious interest in him. No one did. No one was around at all. The whole place was silent except for some crickets in the bushes and the tinny, muffled sound of a TV in someone’s room.
A green neon Vacancy sign buzzed halfheartedly above the office. Dom paid cash for the room and gave the receptionist the fake name, and she gave him the key. Upstairs, he let himself into the room. It was small, not particularly nice, but it had a bed and a shower, so it would do.
All he needed now was Sergei.
It was creeping up on one forty-five in the morning, so hopefully Sergei hadn’t already been there and gone. On the other hand, he might very well have been there, waiting for Dom to get them a room, and he would materialize from the shadows when he was ready to be seen.
For now, Dom shrugged off his jacket. Set the condoms and lube on the table.
And waited.
Chapter 9
Per their agreement, Sergei picked up the room key from the half-asleep receptionist. She didn’t ask for an ID and didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow over the false name he gave her. This was the kind of shithole where rooms were rented by the hour and bodies were occasionally found, so she was probably unflappable by this point.
Just as well.
Keep your head down, sweetheart. The less you see around here, the better.
The room was on the second floor with an interior entrance. Good—places like this didn’t have cameras, and interior hallways meant fewer witnesses. Not that he and Domenico were doing anything illegal, but for those dancing the dangerous dance of contract work for the Mafia, there was something to be said for not being seen slipping into a motel room with a made man at two thirty in the morning.