Burn this City by Aleksandr Voinov

31

Jack hoped the shop assistant in the local Apple store earned a commission, considering she’d remained perfectly helpful even though he’d squeezed in ten minutes before the shop closed to replace both the laptop and his phone. He’d waved her off when she’d offered to check whether their “broken” predecessors were still under warranty.

He dashed to his house in Port Francis proper. With its barely 1,300 square feet, these days it would be pitched toward two young working adults on moderate salaries looking for their first home. Jack had bought it because it was close to some business interests at the docks and was only a fifteen-minute drive to the much grander residence Andrea’s father had bought for his family. Besides, the neighborhood appealed to him—both old and young were unfailingly polite if he encountered them on the street. It wasn’t because everybody knew who he was, (though the Sicilians certainly did), it was also just that kind of place. It was also that kind of neighborhood where old people kept an eye on strangers or cars they hadn’t seen before.

In turn, Jack kept an eye on the neighborhood. He’d single-handedly headed off attempts to build a huge modern apartment complex right in the center of it, and had instead pushed for the vacant lots to be turned into a community space with a park and a mini golf. Ever since then, he’d never had to worry about mowing his own grass out front, or cutting his hedges—it all got done quietly and invisibly, and nobody ever presented a bill. Jack suspected the retired couple next door.

In any case, it was a place where he could safely leave his car parked on the street. He still locked it and hurried inside.

After he’d dumped his various gadget packages on the kitchen table, he quickly plugged everything in. The devices walked him through the setup process, though it took effort to focus on it. He did need access to his files, and a way to be reached, and he urgently needed to safeguard as much money as he could.

With a sigh, Jack touched the tender side of his face, and prodded the bruise again to confirm it still hurt. He was tempted to grab a suitcase of clothes and vanish to the North Pole while Sal ripped the city apart. The best-case scenario would be a decisive victory—whichever way the dice fell. The way these things had played out ever since the three families had taken hold of Port Francis, the Rausa and the Lo Cascio would weaken each other, and the Dommarco would swoop in. Nobody had ever managed to take over completely. The closest they’d come to changing the landscape was when the Rausa had withdrawn into obscurity. Turned out that wasn’t permanent, and the expression “with a vengeance” came to mind.

At the same time, his own hands were tied. Jack assumed Sal had more important things to worry about than Jack, but for now, in his kitchen, he could appreciate how merciful Sal had been. He could have simply killed Jack right there in his own bathroom and left it at that. Jack didn’t believe his execution had merely been postponed, but that didn’t mean that Sal would necessarily spare or even protect him.

He could try to hide here and extend his “break”, pretending ignorance, claiming nothing had happened. But he somehow doubted that would be enough to protect him. The only real option was to meet Andrea and keep doing his job, and then act once he knew his options and could more accurately gauge Andrea’s response.

He could even claim that somebody had stolen his laptop and phone and indicate that Rausa was going to make a move. Would that be enough to get him in the clear? Probably not. Worst case, Andrea wouldn’t buy it. Best case, it made Jack look weak and pathetic—and Andrea’s first response to weakness wasn’t compassion or extending a helping hand. Plus he’d have questions about Jack’s bruises.

He typed Andrea’s number into his new phone, then tapped “Call”. No response. Jack didn’t leave a message, but sent a text: New phone. Jack here.

Restlessly, he downloaded all his files onto the laptop from his Apple account. His memory was hazy, but he didn’t think Sal had asked him for his own, personal accounts, but he still checked them for recent transactions and then changed all passwords. Then he did what he could to secure the family’s money. He needed to maintain a façade of normality for a few more days. That way, he could prepare his exit while making good on his promise. If he stayed calm, he could pull off both. His main worry was that Andrea had already tried to call him and was pissed that Jack hadn’t answered.

He toyed with the burner phone and tapped it on the surface of the kitchen table, trying to decide. Finally, he typed Sal’s number, and his heart beat up into his throat while he listened to the ring tone.

“Yes?” Short, snappy.

“Jack here.”

A few moments of silence, enough for Jack to ask himself what the hell he was doing, and begin convincing himself that he’d misread Sal’s signals, and that Sal Rausa didn’t particularly care about collateral damage such as a compromised consigliere.

“I’m listening.”

“Have you started your war yet?”

“Anybody with you?”

“No, I’m alone.”

“Right.” Sal sounded tense. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I’ll have to talk to Andrea soon, and I need to know what kind of situation I’m walking into.”

Sal hummed softly, and the sound somehow hit Jack low in the gut, but in a sweet, sensuous way. “What will you tell him?”

“You worried I’ll tell him you punked me?” The prison term sounded harsh in his own ears, but the alternative was to ask whether Sal was worried for his safety. The deck had been reshuffled so thoroughly over the past few hours that Jack found himself reeling. “It’s not an option. He’d take me out like trash.”

“Good. And … we’ll talk about this, Jack. With time, and once this is all done. I owe you an apology and a few explanations. Shit, you could come over and stay here.”

Crawl into the protection of the one man who’d made that protection necessary. Tempting, but no. If not for his inability to pretend to be normal, or drag Beth into a life of misery and fear, or strike a deal with a woman who’d take the money in return for playing his doting wife—because he could already see a hundred ways that would only stall the catastrophe—Jack would never have become so vulnerable. He’d brought this upon himself, he needed to deal with it. At the same time, those considerations somehow didn’t mean a thing when he closed his eyes and remembered the feeling of Sal Rausa’s naked skin against his own.

He wanted that, wanted more of it, and maybe something was seriously broken about him, but he couldn’t hate himself or Sal for it.

“Jack, you listening?”

“Yes. I’m thinking.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow. On his normal schedule, that’s around ten or so.”

“Talk about what?”

“Report in after my break away from everything. My vacation.”

A soft, toneless laugh. “Sorry for fucking that one up for you.”

“Yeah, well.” And again, weirdly, he felt Sal meant it, but Jack still couldn’t wait to call the company looking after the house and telling them to scrub the place top to bottom to eliminate all traces of that weekend. They were discreet too—from what Jack gathered, they had a department dealing with sites where people had died, and that included those where a body had been found only after several weeks or months.

“Listen, Jack, I’d prefer it if you don’t show your face in this city for two weeks, but …”

“I can’t do that.” He couldn’t control anything that was going to happen, but if he hid, that was blood in the water. If anything, he had to be as visible as possible now or he’d be done in Port Francis. Maybe it was sheer pride that overrode the fear, maybe he was stupid for not grabbing a suitcase full of money—metaphorically only, because he kept his legal money in various places he could access from anywhere—and run now, while he could.

“Yeah. Just call me if you change your mind.”

Again, the temptation to throw everything away and join Sal—despite everything. Because of everything. But what he needed even more than reassurances from Sal, more than cashing out the promises that Sal had made with his touches and those kisses, he needed to keep his wits about him and play this exactly right. He couldn’t be at the wrong place at the wrong time and vanish behind bars again. He couldn’t trip up and lose the standing for which he’d sacrificed so much already. He needed time to think, recover, and figure out what the ground was like that he stood on before he could take a single step forward.

“I’ll call.” He ended the call to begin the painstaking work of repairing as much damage as he could. Right now, the best he could do was deny Sal a part of his victory and move the money beyond his reach. Money was leverage, was freedom, and it gave him options. It was also a great reason to meet Andrea tomorrow and give him an update and get the lay of the land.