Dark Soul Vol. 2 (3 page)

“It’s okay. It fucking hurts, but it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, Silvio.”

I know. It’s not my fault, it’s not your fault. This shit just happens.

“I’m wiped out. And I need a shower.”

“Sleep well. Make sure you call me every now and then, just to keep in touch, nothing more.”

Yeah, so the sex just now had also been one of those accidents.

“Will do. Must be late over there. Catch some sleep.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

Silvio pressed the red button on the handset, then dropped it to the side on the couch. He was too sated to care much about the ache in his heart. He wasn’t over Battista, but had this helped or made things worse?

He closed his eyes again, breathing deeply.

A noise woke him so suddenly his heart pounded in his chest and his hand reached for a weapon. He jerked fully awake when he couldn’t find it.

“Don’t shoot me.” Stefano.

Silvio lay back with a groan, saw Stefano just a few steps away, a black case in his hand. Silvio felt the man’s gaze on him, and thought he must look a picture of debauchery, naked, stretched out on the couch, a glass dildo at his side and the smell of sex and cooled sweat in the air. Silvio lifted the dildo up. “With this? Out of bullets.”

Stefano stared at him as if unsure whether he’d made a joke. “You . . . okay to talk?”

“Yeah. I’ll grab a shower. Ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

Silvio gathered up his clothes, relishing the pleasant ache in his body. He could have taken the bag, too, but maybe Stefano wanted to have a look inside while he was gone. He did take the dildo, though, before he marched into the bedroom and on into the en suite.

The shower revived him, beat back sleep, and he quickly toweled and dressed in chinos and a t-shirt before padding back into the living room.

Stefano sat close enough to the bag to have examined it, his light eyes drinking Silvio up. “I wanted to give you this in person.” He opened the black case and turned it toward him, rather like a man turning a jewel box to his girl.

“Beretta’s my favorite,” Silvio said.

“They’ll customize it, like your original weapon.”

Stefano had noticed? Silvio arched an eyebrow. “I’ll just need new grips.”

“You can meet our contact tomorrow. He’ll give you whatever other weapons you need or want.”

Silvio sat down and took the Beretta from its foam casing, fingers working of their own volition, sliding, testing. “Are you going to take me there?” Only good thing about not having a bike.

“Yes, I’ll do that.” Stefano’s gaze was on his hands, but Silvio sensed the man’s suppressed arousal. It was like a tang on the air, not unlike blood or the smell of sex.

He smiled at the thought.

You’re getting better at the chase.

“How will I pay you back?”

Stefano shivered. “You’re taking care of my problem.” He glanced up, as if realizing that this did sound an awful lot like innuendo. “I mean the Russians.”

“I know what you meant.” Silvio pushed the Beretta back into the foam cushioning. With a weapon close, he already felt much better.

Just in case anybody tried to get him. Not Diego, but there might be others like him. Always the possibility. “Thanks.”

Stefano ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture that gave away how rattled he was. Just from seeing some flesh and toys? Silvio placed the tip of his tongue at the corner of his mouth. “You’re turned on.”

Stefano stared at him, confirming his suspicion by not immediately denying it. “I’m not . . . ready yet.”

“Your wife.”

“Yes.” Stefano stood and wiped his hands on his trousers. “I don’t feel like I’m in control.”

“And you want to be.”

Silvio met his eyes. Stefano, unlike many people, managed to answer that gaze. He wasn’t one to lose a staring contest lightly, that one. Eventually Silvio looked away, mostly to put him at ease. “There’s one simple solution. Just be in control. Make me do what you want.”

Stefano shifted uneasily. “Right now, I’m trying not to do what I want.” He breathed deeply and shook his head. “Goddamn you, Silvio.”

Silvio smiled and stood. “That’s about right.” He reached for the gun case and closed it, placed one hand on it, sensing the gun inside like a still heart in a ribcage. “I’ll need a shooting range.”

“Vince is going to drive you there tomorrow.” Stefano didn’t take his eyes off him. “What were you . . . imagining?”

Silvio smiled and glanced back to the couch. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

Ask me again when you’re inside me, and I might even whisper the
truth.

Dark Night

tefano could barely resist the buzz from the phone as it sat there flashing its screen against the white tablecloth. He tapped his Sfingers restlessly, because the source of most text messages was sitting opposite him, taking a sip from her wine glass. They only did this twice a month. Donata didn’t appreciate any interruptions on date night.

“Go on, take it,” she said. “It might be important.” A lift of the eyebrow indicated he was on dangerous ground. How easily women could lure you into a situation and then slap you down when you only did what they told you.

“It’s a text.”

“I know.” She lifted her hands as if to show she couldn’t possibly have sent it. “Do you want the
mousse au chocolat
? I’ll have a lick of that.”

“I’ll go with the
torroncino
.” The half-frozen nougat doused in hot espresso exemplified all that was perfect about Italian cooking in his book. “But if you want the mousse, have it.”

She smoothed one hand down over her flat stomach in something akin to outrage. “After the pesto chicken?”
With all the olive oil and
pine kernels
, she meant.

Stefano smiled. “I promise you’ll work it off later in the hotel. It won’t make a difference at al .”

Donata beamed at him, and God, but he loved her. She ran long-distance and worked out, ate lots of protein and very little in the way of carbs and sugar, but this was date night, and if she wanted the damned chocolate, she should have it. She flagged down the waiter and ordered, which gave Stefano a moment to check his phone.

Gone out figure you wont need me. Silvio.

“So, who is it?”

“Silvio. Taking some time off.”

“Good. He’s been cooped up too long in that bungalow. He’s young, he should enjoy the nightlife.”

Only what did “enjoying the nightlife” mean? It wasn’t any of his business, but he pictured Silvio in the arms of a stranger, and he didn’t like that one bit. The city had a vibrant gay scene, but he’d been too nervous to even set a foot into any of those places. He was a married man, and his father would have skinned him alive if he’d known. With Donata, it was easy enough to push those thoughts away, most of the time.

“At least he got that bike delivered yesterday,” Stefano added, unwilling to talk about Silvio’s tastes or how he might spend the evening and night. And early morning.
My own damned fault. If I
kept him closer, he wouldn’t go out to fuck strangers.
“What do you think of him?”

She glanced up and smiled. “In what way?”

“Just, you know, as a person.”

“Oh, he’s intense. Different. I like him.”

“Do you?”

“You’re not asking this because you’re jealous?”

“No. He’s . . .” Stefano shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, he’s drop-dead gorgeous—in his own way. Not like you at al .”

Stefano reached for the wine again and paused when the waiter brought the desserts. Her
mousse au chocolat
was arranged in two small balls with some chocolate syrup tracing abstract patterns on the large, white, empty plate in between. The
torroncino
came in a small bowl, the espresso in an espresso cup. He poured the dark liquid with the golden
crema
on top over the nougat, watching it melt and pool and turn the color of milk coffee.

“Yes, he’s striking.”
Though drop-dead gorgeous
is
a good expression
for a killer.
“Some people find him unnerving.”

“Hmm, I could see that. He’s quite in-your-face, but otherwise he’s nice. And he has really, really good taste.” She leaned closer. “Very well dressed, clean fingernails, great haircut.”

Had she spotted Silvio was gay? “Metrosexual?”

“Yes, that’s a good word.” She sounded perfectly innocent, saying that. Like she’d commented on that English footballer’s sense of style.

Stefano took a couple spoonfuls of his liquefying dessert and watched Donata eat some of hers. She’d never finish it, but she enjoyed the little she had.

“I might assign him on security to you at times. Vince deserves a few weeks off one of these days.”

“Oh. No, I don’t mind. I guess I could go shopping with him.”

“It’s important that security guys have their hands free,” he warned, but she smiled. She knew that.

Then it registered. She had to think Silvio was gay. What other man would go shopping for clothes and jewelry? Or be any good at it? Did she? Damn, this whole topic was just too difficult. All he’d wanted was her opinion to cross-check his own. His was addled with that gut-churning desire when Silvio was in the room. He’d thought she might be more levelheaded. But she just “liked” him. What had Silvio said? He was “playing the field.” Not just gay, then. More like him, only he wasn’t really “playing” outside his marriage. He didn’t even have a mistress.
Because one woman is plenty for you,
a little voice taunted.

Was that because he actually didn’t want women at al ? Was he fooling himself?

He wasn’t. The sex was great. He loved her. He did want children and all that, wanted to stay faithful. Just a modern kind of husband, with a strong, independent woman who could hold her own. He didn’t want to micromanage her. He trusted Donata with his feelings and with his business, but then, she was from the family herself, good Italian-American stock, grown up in the double culture of respectability on the outside and
respectability
on the inside. She knew better than to do anything that would reflect badly on him.

“Want anything else?”

“Not here.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and licked it.

He paid the bill, got their coats and led her outside, where they waited for Cesare to bring the car round. Vince was close, but stayed in the background, attentive and silent.

Vince opened the Mercedes door for them, and Stefano held Donata’s hand while she maneuvered her long legs on those high heels inside. He walked around the car and got in.

They weaved into the stream of cars and made good progress toward the hotel when the traffic suddenly slowed to a crawl.

“I think there was an accident further up. They’ve blocked the whole street,” Cesare said. He put on the radio, and the confirmation came a few minutes later. “Yeah, they’re shutting the street down. I’ll go the other way.”

“Fine.” Stefano shrugged.

Cesare squeezed the big car into the other lane, cutting across to get out of the snarl on the road, but half the other drivers had the very same idea. When the traffic began to flow again, it was a relief, but of course it couldn’t last. Only a red light this time. Maybe just another ten minutes to the hotel now, but Donata couldn’t walk it in her killer heels. Stefano tapped his knee, mind already at the hotel suite and what he’d do to her there, when something rammed them hard from the back.

Stefano turned around, immediately feeling the jolt in his neck muscles, and heard Donata gasp in surprise.

“The fucker!” Cesare cursed and pushed the door open.

“Don’t!” Stefano half-shouted, half-croaked, a feeling like cold black ice sliding down his back as four men emerged from the black van that had rammed them, and two purposefully strode toward Cesare.

“Vince! Get the car moving! Drive!”

“What’s wrong, honey?”

Vince was just unbuckling his seatbelt to get into the driver’s seat when one of the strangers lifted an arm and shot Cesare in the face.

Twice. Somebody, somewhere, shrieked.

Vince pulled his gun from the holster, but the stranger was already pointing a large pistol at his face before he could line it up.

Vince’s eyes were wide, his skin sickly pale.

“Get out,” somebody said, and pulled Vince from the car by his shoulder, then twisted his arm to make him let go of his weapon.

One man held Vince down over the hood, and all Stefano saw was the pained face of his bodyguard.

One of the strangers opened Stefano’s car door. “Step out.” Thick, guttural voice. He had pale eyes, short-shorn hair, Slavic features. “Or we’ll cut your bitch.”

Donata stared at him. “Don’t.”

Stefano took her hand and squeezed it, quickly pul ing his phone from his pocket. “Call Silvio. Go to a public place, wait there for—”

“Get the fuck out!” The attacker shouted, pointing the gun at his face.

Stefano stepped out, hands lifted. He noticed some people were staring at them from the pavement, but nobody moved or interfered.

“Move,
suka
,” his attacker ordered and grabbed him by the neck, gun pressed between his shoulder blades. Then he growled, “Tap the cocksucker.”

A shot rang out, and Stefano twisted—enough to see Vince slump down near the front wheel. His gut clenched when Vince’s blood spread on the asphalt, but his captor forced him toward the van before he could confirm whether Vince was dead or alive.

One of the other goons slid the side door open, and his captor pushed him inside, almost climbing on top of him. Then everybody jumped back in the car. Stefano lay face-down on the metal floor, arms twisted behind his back. Plastic restraints zipped closed around his wrists, biting into his flesh.
Fuck.

The van reversed sharply, screeching past a few cars so closely it must’ve taken their paintjobs clean off. The driver made it into calmer areas before a single siren became audible. Damn, but they were good.

The men stayed silent. The only thing Stefano heard was them reloading their pistols. Why hadn’t they blindfolded him? Did that mean he wasn’t coming back?

That thought was like a block of ice in his stomach, only heated by the outrage that they’d kill two of his men and snatch him off the street like this. But at least they hadn’t harmed Donata. Maybe they had at least that much honor. He tried to keep his breathing even, but he was shit-scared inside.