And it was all in pencil because it changed constantly, in no small part because of strings Sergei had been quietly pulling.
He’d erased Lorenzo Barcia’s name the night he’d tossed the fucker into the harbor. Tonight, thanks to some info that had trickled his way from one of his contacts, he put a new name in that space—Rico Barcia. The asshole’s very own brother, and an idiot and a hothead. Not someone who needed to be in a position of power, but there he was.
Rico wouldn’t last long. Sergei wouldn’t even need to do anything to put a target on that fucker’s head. As a soldier, he was a benign, if annoying presence. As a lieutenant, he could cause some actual headache for the Maisanos and Passantinos. It wouldn’t be long before he was removed from the hierarchy. Sergei probably wouldn’t even be the one to take him out—there were plenty of other hitmen in this town who’d do it for half the price.
And once he was out of the way, his replacement would come from a pool of even less competent hotheads. Which one? Sergei couldn’t say for sure. Didn’t matter. What mattered was that the more effective leadership had been removed, which would steadily weaken the entire power structure. He’d done the same with the other families—setting up the men who needed to be removed, removing them himself if he was assigned the contract, and watching the idiots and assholes move up into the newly vacated places.
He was especially glad that Lorenzo Barcia had finally gotten what was coming to him, and he’d been thrilled to be the one to give it to him. Every Mafioso was a fucking asshole, but there was a special place in hell for men like Barcia. Like many of his ilk, he made his money through narcotics and human trafficking, but he took it a step further. He saw nothing wrong with helping himself to the family’s merchandise, and not just cocaine. The women were terrified to do anything about it—he threatened them and their children if they crossed him—but a well-placed camera and some patience, followed by a damning video being “leaked” to the press, and the man’s fate was sealed. The video hadn’t shown everything—Sergei couldn’t do that to the woman—but there was enough to make it clear what Barcia intended to do once he’d dragged her onto that boat.
Legally, it was circumstantial evidence. As far as the Mafia was concerned, it was more than enough. The families put up with and committed a lot of crimes, but sexual assault was not tolerated.
The day after the video broke, the young woman was paid a small fortune to quietly leave Cape Swan, and that very night, Sergei was contracted to kill the bastard.
With pleasure.
So Barcia was out of the picture, and the idiot who’d taken his place wouldn’t be around long. It was all part of Sergei’s plan, and it was all happening the way he’d predicted.
Well, aside from the part where he was bedding a Mafioso. That had been… unforeseen.
He shifted his gaze to the top of the hierarchy chart. There, among the Maisano underbosses, was Dom. Below him, a small crew of lieutenants and soldiers who, like him, weren’t terribly significant. They all seemed to do Corrado’s bitch work. Administrative shit. Paperwork. Sergei understood that Dom handled some money laundering, and worked with the immigrants to get their debts paid and documents processed, but his hands weren’t in much of the more nefarious stuff.
Good. You stay over there and do your thing, and you won’t get caught in the crossfire.
Sergei’s stomach knotted. There were no guarantees that Dom wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. He was a made man. He was an underboss. By virtue of being Corrado’s adopted son, he was virtually untouchable.
But even untouchable men could be taken down. It meant a death sentence for the man who pulled the trigger, but it could be done.
Sergei tore his gaze away from Dom’s name and rolled up the chart. Yes, Dom could get killed. It was part of being in the Mafia.
And if he does get killed, so what? What do I care? He’s not the only gay man in this town.
Sergei swallowed as he tucked the chart back up under the bed. No, this wasn’t something he needed to think about tonight. He’d deal with it if the circumstances arose.
Tonight, Dom was alive and well.
And waiting for Sergei in a motel across town.
Sergei got up, gave himself a once-over in the mirror, and headed out to meet Dom.
*
Sergei had barely shut the motel room door before he and Dom were tangled up in a deep, hungry kiss. Dom had been here first, and he’d already stripped off his shirt and shoes, and Sergei immediately had his hands all over him as they kissed up against the door.
One thing was becoming abundantly clear—Dom loved kissing. It didn’t matter who was on top, or if they were dressed or naked, or standing in a cramped motel shower—every chance he had, it seemed, Dom was kissing Sergei. Frantically. Gently. Deeply. Softly. So much kissing.
And Sergei couldn’t get enough either. He loved the way Dom kissed.