“I’d just as soon not be a legend. That means people know who I am.”
“They know you by reputation. And that reputation’s going to be immortal after this one.” He gestured at the chair again. “You really ought to sit down and get comfortable. We’ve got a lot of details to go over.”
Sergei planted his feet. “One question.”
“All right?”
“Who’s the mark?”
They locked eyes.
Sergei’s heart sped up.
Tumino’s lips pulled back across his teeth. “I think you know.”
Sergei swallowed. He’d had his suspicions. A dollar figure like that could only mean a handful of people. But he hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up. “You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
Sergei took a seat, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward. “All right. Let’s talk.”
He could barely contain the giddiness fluttering his gut. This was the contract he’d been waiting for. Checkmate was no longer close—it was inevitable.
This is it, Mama. They’re all going down.
Chapter 22
Whenever Dom met with Sergei, he woke the next morning feeling blissed out and happy, with a side order of depressed as fuck. It was impossible not to be almost giddy after a night like that, but reality was never far behind, always coming in and reminding him how short-lived this arrangement would be.
Last night had been different. He’d spent most of the night beside Sergei, worrying about him, watching for signs that the decompression sickness was getting worse. They’d barely touched.
And yet, a hint of that giddiness was there. Relief that Sergei was all right, no doubt. Nothing else made sense.
Today, Dom’s day had been a roller coaster. It started out well enough. Maybe none of that post-coital ache in every muscle of his body, without that stupid grin that always seemed to start before the coffee had even brewed, but like most mornings after, he was pretty damned certain the dark “this isn’t gonna last” cloud would catch up with him eventually.
So far so good, though. Maybe things with Sergei wouldn’t last—of course they wouldn’t—but just being in the same room with him for a while, sharing the company of someone who wasn’t caught up in the same spider web he was, did wonders for what was left of Dom’s sanity.
Then Corrado called him in, and the day went downhill fast. Dom had fully expected to be raked over the coals for not being here yesterday, front and center while Corrado tried to work out what had happened to Privitera, but his uncle skipped right over that part.
Instead, he went straight to pushing for a decision about Brigida Passantino.
“In light of the incident on my son’s boat,” Corrado had said over his immense desk, “I have to accept the possibility that we have traitors on the inside. Which means the Maisanos need all the allies we can get.”
“Understood,” Dom had responded quietly.
“We need the Passantinos as a friend, and the fastest, most effective means for sealing that friendship is with a marriage between our two families.”
The sick feeling had already taken up resident in Dom’s gut, and it just kept getting worse.
“Her father’s giving his blessing,” Corrado went on. “And Brigida herself is willing to go through with it.”
Great. Just what Dom always wanted. A marriage to a woman whose enthusiasm came down to being willing to go through with it. Wouldn’t they be an apathetically well-matched pair?
But what could he say that hadn’t already been said? Especially with Corrado’s warning in the back of his mind, that bachelors who showed no interest in beautiful, connected women like Brigida raised questions.
So he’d released a breath and held his uncle’s gaze. “Can I have some more time to think about it?”
“Domenico.” Corrado closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as if this conversation were giving him a migraine. “How much time do you need? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
And I’m not exactly ready to be put out to pasture either.
“Give me a week.” He felt like a fucking hostage negotiator. “One week from today, I’ll have an answer for you.”
His uncle lowered his hands and locked eyes with him again. “One week, Domenico.”
Dom nodded. “Okay. I’ll, um, give Brigida a call. We’ll do dinner as soon as she’s available. And we’ll talk about things.”
Corrado studied him for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “All right.”
So he had a week. Seven days. Enough time to come to terms with this marriage, maybe. Perhaps the best way to spend that week would be with Brigida so they could both be damn sure they were “willing to go through with it.”
But no.
The door to Corrado’s office hadn’t even closed before he’d texted Sergei.
How are you feeling?
Moments later: Much better. Meet tonight?