Dom tilted his head. “Since when did Nicolá get involved in that shit?”
Corrado sighed, running a hand through his thinning white hair. “It’s hard to say, Domenico. Sal Greco overdosed on heroin last year, and none of us ever knew he touched it.”
“But if Nicolá was bound and drugged,” Dom said, “then it’s pretty clearly murder.” Bile burned its way up the back of his throat. If one of their own had been murdered, then Corrado wouldn’t let that murder go unanswered. And Dom wouldn’t be able to say no. It was as inevitable as it was sickening.
“Unless he was into one of those weird sex clubs that have been popping up downtown,” Luciano said.
“No way,” Felice said. “Nicolá wouldn’t go near a place like that.”
Luciano eyed him. “You don’t know—”
“Nicolá was last seen alive at church!” Felice said. “They found his goddamned car there.”
“Yes. He was there several hours before the estimated time of death. He could have gone anywhere with anyone during that time, and the ME thinks he’d been drugged for quite some time before he was killed.”
Felice shook his head. “No way in hell he’d go from there to… one of those places. And even if he did, Eugenio Cusimano still ran him down on the highway.”
“Question is,” Luciano said softly, “was it deliberate?”
Felice slammed his fist down on the desk. “Whether he meant to do it or not, this is murder. We have got to send a message to the Cusimanos, and take out—”
“I know what we need to do, Felice,” Corrado said coolly.
Gritting his teeth against the nausea, Dom closed the police report. “There’s got to be a way to settle this without more violence.”
Felice rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Dom. What do you want to do? Ask them to write a heartfelt apology?” He laughed, shaking his head. “We gotta send a message here, not * foot around.”
“No,” Dom said. “But as volatile as things have been lately, this could snowball into a shootout right in the middle of downtown.”
“Felice is right, Domenico.” Corrado glanced at his younger son, then shifted his gaze to Dom. “Whether Nicolá was killed deliberately or not, we have conclusive proof he was killed by Eugenio Cusimano. I’m not interested in his intent. I’m interested in the fact that he’s taken out one of my men. A member of my family.”
“I can have him dead before dawn,” Felice said through gritted teeth. “Just say the—”
His father’s upraised hand stopped him. “You’ll do what you’re ordered to, and nothing more. Am I clear?”
Felice bristled, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet, but didn’t comment any further. Dom wished like hell Corrado would send his younger son on one of these hits. The only reason he never actually suggested it was that Felice was the kind of psychopath who’d make his mark suffer. At least taking the job himself, Dom could end it quickly, cleanly, and painlessly. Felice would torture the guy for hours. Like father, like son.
“Eugenio Cusimano killed Nicolá Cannizzaro,” Corrado went on, calmly and evenly. “This will not go unanswered. If Nicolá’s death goes unpunished, the Cusimanos will think they can take out Maisanos with impunity. Felice is right—we need to send a message. A strong one.”
Corrado looked Dom right in the eye and gave him a subtle nod.
And that was that. The contract was issued. Corrado had deliberately groomed Dom to pick up certain cues. Even if they were in the middle of a room packed with cops, bugs, and federal agents, he could order Dom to take out a hit, and no one would know except for them. Law enforcement couldn’t overhear conversations that didn’t happen.
Corrado issued his orders via subtext and subtle gestures, and Dom carried them out without ever breathing a word to anyone. With equally subtle cues, he’d let Corrado know when the deed was carried out. Nothing spoken. Nothing written.
There’d be no evidence except the body and the ever-increasing amount of blood on Dom’s hands.
*
Eugenio Cusimano was a drunken idiot, but the family had him on a tight leash after the accident. He didn’t go near bars anymore. Didn’t drink. He still had his habits and haunts, but he started varying his routes. When he visited his girlfriend in Crescent City, he never returned via the same road, and that was a challenge considering just how few roads went in and out of Cape Swan.
Dom monitored him, stalked him, memorized his every move. He barely had time to go into the office—as always when he was hunting someone down, most of Dom’s waking hours were spoken for.