Burn this City by Aleksandr Voinov

15

One glance at the number and Jack knew Beth had kept her promise. He’d doubted she would, but being proved wrong didn’t come as a relief.

I can explain this better when I’ve slept. I’ll call you, okay? Tomorrow?

And no, of course she wasn’t in his contacts, for exactly this reason. Any connection to him exposed her to danger. If he’d had an alternative, he’d never have pulled her into any of this, though at least if she’d accepted, he could have made things official and extended protection to her.

The same protection that had failed Caterina Rausa.

The thought made his stomach churn. Some bastard had assassinated the wife of a boss or underboss. Who could blame Rausa for wanting revenge? If it had been a love match, Jack couldn’t fathom the pain of losing a wife. Even if it hadn’t been a love match, the level of disrespect couldn’t be borne. It irked him that traditions thought a man’s honor and respect more worthy than the life of a woman.

Too bad there was no way he could tell Beth not to call and not to come by. He could only hope she was too busy or that Rausa would be done with him by the time she showed up to check on him. Though she’d give him space for a week or so if he didn’t respond—and by then, it would all be over.

And then that unexpected gut punch.

“Oh yeah, and we fucked last night, but I guess you knew that.”

He’d had a strange sense of too much familiarity between Rausa and Enzo. The first few times he’d put it down to them being good friends or relatives, but there was a current between them that wasn’t accounted for by those options. At first, he’d thought he was seeing things that weren’t there, and pushed it all aside because it wasn’t immediately important. But it had crept back every time Rausa laid his hands on Jack, which he seemed to do a lot of.

It was a display of power and of strength, but even knowing that, it raised Jack’s hackles, especially because Rausa’s hands felt good on his skin. His synapses had to be fried from lack of sleep and yesterday’s bump on the head, because enjoying touches that promised pain and eventual annihilation nauseated him to his soul. He had to remind himself that Rausa wasn’t touching him to touch him, but to control and intimidate him, and he still bristled at both.

From a straight man, such touches were definitely threatening, meant to belittle and provoke. But Rausa wasn’t straight—Jack didn’t imagine that fucking his capo was an option of last resort. Both of them could have their pick of people. Considering that being anything but straight got you killed in their circles, the open way he’d said it was yet another provocation. Rausa’s defiance and courage made Jack heartsick.

He could imagine how Andrea would react if he ever learn about that. Not that he would, from Jack at least, even if by some miracle he survived.

When Rausa returned, Jack forced himself to meet his gaze. Rausa settled on the rim of the Jacuzzi and regarded Jack evenly. Enzo was nowhere in Jack’s field of vision, and Jack couldn’t hear any rustling steps on the plastic sheet.

“Let’s try this again,” Rausa said, sounding as reasonable as if he had come to a negotiation table.

Jack flexed his fingers. Even though the restraints weren’t digging into his flesh, his wrists were sore and too warm, and his shoulders screamed for a stretch. His body ached and throbbed with deep and shallow bruises.

He was thirsty, but the most pressing message from his body was about his bladder. Rausa didn’t seem like the kind of interrogator who’d allow him a toilet break, though.

Rausa smiled at him, and that hateful heat was tempered to something like warmth. Lines around his eyes betrayed that Rausa knew how to laugh, and Jack found himself momentarily lost in the cast of his strong forehead and nose. His profile was classic Roman, and hewn into that white marble, he could easily have been one of those murderous Praetorian guardsmen who’d knifed the emperor to take his place.

“You know what I want, Barsanti, or are you going to make me ask again? And I hear you. I know you want to keep the peace, but that’s not on the table.”

“You already said you’ll kill me, and all that’s on offer is you’ll make it quick.”

Rausa nodded. “While that’s not very appealing right now, trust me, it will be.”

Jack had no idea how long he’d hold out, or even if he would, but as much as the prospect terrified him, he couldn’t overcome all his internal obstacles spurred on by threats alone.

“You’ve got heart, Barsanti, I’ll give you that.” Rausa rose and patted Jack on the shoulder, as if approving. Touching again, though.

“More a curse than a blessing,” Jack offered.

“I still don’t get why you would let yourself be butchered to protect a man like Andrea.” Rausa stood to his side, keeping that heavy strong hand on his shoulder. “I guess he chose his consigliere well.”

Jack lowered his head, processing that double-edged compliment. It was pointless to ponder what would have happened if Andrea had appointed someone else after his father’s death—or if Vic Decesare had served a few more years. They wouldn’t be here, for one. Maybe the War would have flared up again and more men would be dead. Including him.

“You don’t seem to have a consigliere,” Jack observed. “Why not?”

“I don’t see the need to outsource.”

“And no need to negotiate anything.”

“No.” Rausa patted his shoulder again. “We’re readying for war. I need soldiers, not negotiators.”

“And then? When you’ve wiped out the Lo Cascio? Attack the Dommarco next? You think they’ll sit on the sidelines?”

“Depends what this victory costs me.” Rausa leaned forward. “Whether I’m strong enough to take them next.”

“What about the cops? The Feds?”

“As I said. It depends on what this victory costs.” Rausa straightened and stepped aside.

“Boss.” Enzo returned to the bathroom and handed a cell phone to Rausa, who paused and read whatever was on the screen. “Marty texted and said he’s available.”

“Okay. I’ll head into town and get him.” Rausa nodded toward Jack. “Keep him like that. Want anything?”

“No, I’m good.” Enzo lifted the phone in his hand. “I’ll forward you the text.”

“Great.” When Rausa left, Jack really didn’t like the pleased look on his face.