“What about you?”
“I know more about the big families than the Marinos. But I did follow the trial of the Marino
consigliere,
Rodolfo ‘Rude Boy’
Mancini.”
“And?”
“He had some moral fiber, but not in the right places. He didn’t sell his boss to the police and claimed up to the last minute that he was a victim of a miscarriage of justice. I’d expect him to claim that still, if anybody’s listening. It’s gone quiet about him recently.”
“He’s a model prisoner,” Mary said. She reached over for a bottle of water and offered it to him. He nodded, and she poured them two tall glasses. “We don’t know who’s taken his place in the organization.”
Stefano watched her drink, then took his own glass, thoughts whirling. He marshaled them back into line, but maybe it was all so raw and right under the surface because of that latest therapy experiment.
“What are you thinking?”
“That the case might be too important to not go to the best person in the office,” he said slowly, fighting back the desire to beg her for it. Yes, he did believe he was the best one in the office, but he was younger and less experienced than just about everybody else. What qualified him apart from his obsession with the
Cosa Nostra
?
Exactly
that. For anybody else, it would be just one of those other cases. But this one was special. The body count alone was enormous, quite possibly the crime of the decade in the district. Which, he reflected glumly, was exactly why he wouldn’t get it. Who trusted a rookie, even if he was eager and smart and ambitious?
He inhaled deeply. “I’d love that case.” He’d never say,
I’d kill
for this case.
Not ever. Killing wasn’t something spoken of or offered lightly.
“I just need to know, why? What are your motivations? I know you have history. Family history.”
Of course it had to come up, and it was clearly the reason she’d put him at ease first before talking about the case. Did she have any doubts about him? He nodded. “If anything, it makes me a better hunter. I know how these people think, how they respond. I took this poison in with my mother’s milk.”
And with every black-eyed
stare from my father.
“Which makes me immune to it.”
Please, give
me the case.
He folded his hands between his legs, leaned forward on his elbows. “I know how to take them, too. It’s what I’ve been waiting for.”
What I studied law for. Take them all down, rebalance
the scales of justice and fate.
“I can work with the Feds on this and get an indictment, Mary.” He looked up, met her eyes. He tried a small smile, but knew it did nothing to diffuse his intensity. “It would also get me out of Irene’s hair for a while, so she can finish her work. I’m ready for this.”
Please.
Mary sighed, stood and came over to him, placed a hand on his shoulder. “What about your family? Will they be involved?”
“As far as I’m concerned, I only have my wife and her parents for family. I haven’t been in touch with anybody else for years.”
He shrugged. “I’m past this, Mary. I’ve chosen between my blood relations and the law, and I can’t say I’ve regretted it for one day.”
“If you need help at any stage, call me. You know I’ll be here to support you.” She nodded and removed her hand. “Tomorrow morning you’ll find the files on your desk.”
Stefano groaned when Silvio moved on him, sliding slowly down on his dick, clearly relishing every motion. His hands were on the back of the sofa left and right of Stefano’s head, close enough that Stefano could have kissed them.
Silvio was facing him, completely naked, just like Stefano, their bodies joined. Only Silvio really moved, while Stefano dug his fingers into Silvio’s sleek powerful thighs that opened over his. Every movement came from them, the flex and relax of the big muscles accompanying the delicious tension of fucking.
Silvio moved with the deliberation and concentration of a dancer, his long lean upper body taut with the effort and gleaming with sweat. For Silvio, going slow was incredibly difficult, but wow, did he give it his best shot now.
Stefano reached over and grabbed Silvio’s neck, pulled him even closer, Silvio’s breath cool and hot on his face, before he kissed him deeply. Right now, rapt in pleasure, Silvio was utterly pliant, completely focused on the sensations, on moving with the utmost deliberation, riding him as slowly as he’d ordered. And what kind of power trip was it to force Silvio to prolong the sex. His face empty of any other emotion, just pleasure, strangely turned inward as if trapped in his own mind.
“Silvio.”
Black eyes flickered to him as Silvio arched against him. No response, though, just an acknowledgement of the name.
Stefano decided he’d tortured them both enough and wrapped his hand around Silvio’s dick. No lube; Silvio rather enjoyed the dry friction, and Stefano loved that tinge of discomfort that Silvio couldn’t deny. He began to pump him, and Silvio promptly arched against him, offering everything, from his dick to his flat muscular belly to his pecs and that long neck.
Stefano gripped Silvio’s neck harder and bit into his throat, hard enough to cause real pain. Silvio jerked and tightened, thrust forward, and came against Stefano’s belly. Stefano released him and thrust up, forcing Silvio to bounce on his dick until he was done.
With a groan, he came, crushing the lean body to him, feeling sweat and cum mingle between them.
It was Silvio who moved first—lifting a damp hand to brush some hair from Stefano’s forehead. But he didn’t leave his place on Stefano’s lap.
Stefano blew out a breath. “Shit, that was good.”
Silvio nodded and ran his hand over his flushed face. “Starting to get sore,” he muttered, but it was just a random observation, hardly a criticism.
“We are making good progress on that box of condoms.” Speaking of which. Stefano reached down and secured the condom with one hand, prodding Silvio with the other to get off him.
He got rid of it in the bathroom, splashed some water on his face, then dried himself.
Fourth day of his self-chosen exile, and Silvio and he had mostly spent the time fucking each other’s brains out. Well, it was really him who did the fucking, despite Silvio’s not-so-subtle offers that they could turn the tables.
Living with Silvio in one hotel suite was really like being sixteen again—constant hard-ons, and that mix of trepidation, outright horror, and attraction when it came to sex. By now, though, he figured he had a decent enough idea how to make love with a man. To a man.
Whatever. His brain had stopped stumbling over the idea. Secluded away from the rest of the world, he really didn’t care if anybody thought of him as a faggot. Not if Silvio came with that faggot deal.
He returned to the living room, where Silvio was just getting into his jeans, making himself decent. Not that there was anything decent about his upper body, or the livid bruise blooming on his throat.
“Damn, I’ve . . .” Stefano was about to indicate his own throat, but aborted the motion and walked over to Silvio instead to touch the bruise. “Oops.”
Silvio smiled tiredly and closed the top button of his jeans. “I look worse after a caning. Don’t worry about it.”
“That something you want me to do?”
Silvio glanced up. “Maybe. I’ll have to show you how. It’s a bit of an art form.”
“Did Falchi do that?”
Gianbattista Falchi still stood between them. Like his ghost was lingering around Silvio, and Stefano wished he knew how to dispel it. Then again, maybe Donata was his ghost and Silvio sensed her.
Against that, the thought of Falchi became so much smaller. The one thing he really wanted was to make things right again between Donata and Silvio and himself.
“Yeah, sometimes. When he figured I needed some real pain. He could make me come like that.”
Stefano licked his lips, tried to imagine Silvio being beaten and coming from it, that expression of pain-ecstasy; the image came easily enough. “Do you need that? I can learn.”
Silvio smiled at him and kissed him. “Right now, I’m good.”
Did that translate into
You’re sufficient
?
“If Gianbattista did it for you . . .”
Silvio shrugged. “Not here.”
“Why not?”
“Just not safe enough. I gotta fall deep into myself, and I can’t do that where Di— people could just show up.”
“Diego? Carbone? He’s dead.”
Silvio looked away, then back at him. “The place I go when I’m caned or tied up, that place doesn’t remember he’s dead. He could still be around the corner. Waiting.”
How odd to see Silvio so evasive. Silvio took everything else head-on. More, he never cared about consequences. What had made him so wary about Carbone? “What did he do?”
Silvio reached for his black T-shirt. “Nearly killed me, that’s what he did.”
“Silvio. Would that really still linger? What did he do?”
“Tortured me.”
Silvio’s voice was so flat and weak that Stefano only made out the word by combining what was left of the consonants. “Shit. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Silvio swallowed and shook his head. “Took Battista forever to get that out of me. He talked to the doctor who treated me after.
Gave him an advantage. He always has that, right?”
Sly way to change the topic away from something that Silvio still wasn’t done with. Silvio didn’t want to linger, and it might be best to simply let him move on. Dragging him back to the only thing he’d ever shown fear of didn’t seem fair. No doubt he’d brought Gianbattista up because he made him feel safe.
Stefano shook his head to clear his thoughts and focus on Silvio.
“The advantage? Yes, he does.” In any competition, whether it was about power or being Silvio’s lover. Gianbattista would always win out, even if he was now just the ex-lover.
And yet, he told you what Falchi had to dig out of him. He simply
told you when you asked.
Silvio smiled weakly. “Can’t keep a secret from him. Man deals in secrets.”
“Yeah, he’s a shark.” Stefano shrugged and stepped closer, drawn into Silvio’s magnetic field yet again. “Let’s get cleaned up and find a place to eat.”
He ran his fingers over Silvio’s chest, thrilled and nearly incredulous at the ease with which he could touch him these days.
Natural. Real. Honest. Like he had a right to. Like there was nobody out there who would kill them both for it.
“This is gold dust,” Sebastiano muttered, and looked up when Irene stepped up to the kitchen table.
She and her paper mountains and piles of books had taken over the study they shared, so he worked in the kitchen when he could, spreading his notes and files across the vast expanses of wood. They could have fed ten people at that table with ample space to spare, but it also provided a good place for photographs, diagrams, and piles of paper, this time his own.
“He’s a good-looking man,” she commented.
“Stefano Marino?” He glanced over at the photograph. “I guess if you like the Mafia type.”
“Figures,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d brought him home for his looks.”
Sebastiano scoffed. “Want to play the game?”
“Sure.” She settled next to him, tea mug in hand. “What’s the angle you’re working?”
“Right now, I’m trying to understand how it all fits together. I’m pretty sure Pretty Boy Marino’s the boss.”
“Is that his nickname?”
“No, but I could see the press cal ing him that when they catch him outside the court building. His father was the boss before him, but the last member of the family we could hang anything on was his grandfather, who, insiders told us, was a member of the Commission.
But we have nothing on Pretty Boy here. Not even a speeding ticket.”
“What kind of car does he drive?”
“There’s a big Mercedes limo registered in his name, and a Porsche 911.”
She smiled. “He’s bought the cops. With a toy like that, it’s nearly impossible not to go too fast every now and then. Even you would get a speeding ticket with such a temperamental little car, my solid, boring husband.” She kissed his cheek.
“Yes, that fits what we have on the local police chief.”
“So he’s the angle?”
“It’s still a bit thin. Marino can’t really be traced to the bribes.”
“So, what’s he done?”
“Remember the killings of the Russians in that cemetery? Took out a whole criminal gang and then some.” He breathed deeply.
“The Feds have been investigating the Russians for months. They even embedded a mole. Well, just after the mole found an in with one of the gangsters and offered him a deal in return for protection, everybody died in the attack, and now the Fed’s all about vengeance for their fallen comrade. They can’t bring in the Russians anymore, so they very much want the guy who’s behind it.”
“And that’s Marino?”
“Well, the Russians were muscling in on the local
Cosa Nostra
territory. I have the tapes, the translations. It was a gang war, and now the Feds really want to bring in the other side. After things went so spectacularly wrong, the assigned US attorney got too busy to work this case, so they assigned me. Bottom line, this was a lucky coincidence, but it sure is good enough for me.”
She whistled. “Col ateral damage. I like it.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty ironic. Now I only have to figure out how I’m working him.”
“What loose ends does he have hanging around?”
“His father’s
consigliere
is serving time. I’ll start with him. After that many years in prison, he’s probably a bit less tough.”
She sipped her tea. “You going to cut him a deal?”
“No.” Sebastiano inhaled deeply. “I’m going to threaten to move him to a different prison. Aging Italian in a dangerous prison full of young hoods, without his hard-won network . . . He knows he won’t last long there, and I’m going to use his fear against him.”