Burn this City by Aleksandr Voinov
34
If it was weird to begin the day watching the man who was now at war with his family have sex with another man, and relive the best bits under the shower, Jack didn’t care to be normal anymore. He’d never have imagined watching a “performer” he knew outside of the videos could be hot, but Sal Rausa fucked pretty much the same way he fought—whole-heartedly, passionately, and fiercely.
“Feel free to go at your own pace.”
The video was shot with the same man. Though, arguably, determining whether the owner of that cock from the first video was the same guy who held Sal Rausa down on the bed while piledriving into his body in the second was impossible—angle and all. Whoever he was, he was very nice to look at, but Jack found that 95% of his attention was on Sal—every breath, sound, twitch, groan or thrust.
What made Jack even more breathless was that the video featured kissing. It was impossible to tell whether the man was a boyfriend or lover or one-night stand, because if he could tell one thing, both from experience and after watching Sal, it was that he seemed to consider kissing simply part of sex. Even in the middle of a brutal onslaught, he slowed down to grab his partner’s head and devour his mouth.
His partner was into it, and if anything, Sal’s sole focus seemed to be on blowing the man’s mind. That was what surprised him about the video—if pressed, Jack would have assumed that a guy like Sal Rausa would seize and keep control, but the blowjob video and the one where he got fucked showed Sal in a very different light, and he seemed to enjoy that too. A lot.
Jack had questions.
He shook his head, then checked his phone for the other text message. This one from Andrea.
Breakfast, my place, @10
He didn’t have to confirm that he’d be there. Andrea assumed he would be, and in all those past years, Jack had never disappointed. Turning it over in his head, the text message was no different from hundreds of others. On the surface, there was no need to be anxious, and yet …
Getting a solid eight hours of sleep had recharged Jack’s batteries, and so had Sal Rausa’s teasing and flirting. He had to force himself to hold back—the next few days would be dangerous for everybody—but Sal made him believe that there would be a future, and Jack couldn’t figure out how he did it. For the first time, there seemed to be something to look forward to, instead of constantly re-evaluating the past and, clinging to the moment because the endless now had to be endured for as long as possible.
The possibilities were dizzying.
He arrived at Andrea’s house at ten o’clock sharp, and for what felt like the first time took conscious note of the security personnel in the outsized grounds. The house had already been too large for Andrea’s father, and that was before Andrea had torn down part of it and then added two wings, filled in the original pool, and added a heated pool that was three times the size of the previous one.
Ironically, considering Andrea’s house was large enough for a televangelist’s ego and a harem of toys, it remained largely empty. Of the thirty or so bedrooms, only three were used regularly, and a fourth seemed to be used whenever Petra or Andrea weren’t using the master bedroom. Once upon a time, Andrea had imagined that some rooms could serve live-in nannies or live-in security, but all personnel left at the end of their work day. Security wasn’t so tight that the men couldn’t go home when the night shift or the day shift had arrived. Jack lived so close that he didn’t have to stay overnight when Andrea and he worked late—in all those years, he’d stayed four times in total, and every time he’d woken up, gotten dressed, and headed home before Andrea stirred.
Security was light because nobody in their right mind would consider touching Andrea’s property, so while the security firm was qualified, they’d never had to deal with a real, live threat. Jack usually checked in with the current team head and asked for an update. Very rarely was there anything of note, but Jack made a point of showing interest.
He continued on toward the house proper, where a maid informed him that Mr. Lo Cascio was taking breakfast on the terrace on the first floor. He gave her his own breakfast order and went up the stairs to one of the tastefully decorated sitting rooms that were never used for anything but as space to walk through on the way to the terrace. The double doors were open.
Andrea lounged at a formally set round table, along with a tablecloth and silverware, and acknowledged him with a startled frown. “What the fuck happened to your face?”
Jack grimaced. “Slipped getting out of the Jacuzzi. Banged my head, and was damned lucky I didn’t knock out a tooth or two.”
“The fuck. You look like you’ve been in a car wreck.”
“No, the car is fine. So’s the Jacuzzi.” Jack shrugged and sat down where the second plate was laid. “I don’t know, I could pass it off as a battle wound?”
“Doesn’t suit you,” Andrea stated bluntly. “Good that the kids aren’t around with you looking like that.”
“Believe me, I feel stupid enough.” He angled his body to present the better side to Andrea as if he had something to hide. “What’s up?”
“Well, good you’re back. Did you deal with whatever you had to deal with?”
“Yes, all done.” He leaned back when the maid showed up with a warm croissant and coffee. He waited until she was gone, then took a sip. Andrea, being at home, rarely bothered to get dressed. He’d thrown on a track suit, though he didn’t work out until later in the afternoon. Petra dressed him, but left to his own devices, Andrea reverted to bachelor comfort. That alone told Jack that Petra wasn’t around, or she’d have pressured Andrea at least into some kind of designer jeans and a T-shirt.
“Does that include sorting out your situation?”
“My …” Of course, he’d barely thought of anything else, but he had to make it look casual. “Oh, you mean getting married. Yes, I’ve brought it up with my girlfriend.”
Andrea regarded him with raised eyebrows. “You never mentioned her.”
“She’s an outsider,” Jack murmured. “She thinks I’m consulting for your companies, and for the foreseeable future, that’s exactly as it should be. I’m not quite as lucky as you are.”
Oh, Andrea liked that, based on how he leaned back smugly. “Yeah, my wife’s special. So, what’s the timing on the wedding?”
“First, we’re engaged. Wedding next May.”
Andrea’s gaze went to the coffee cup that Jack was lifting. “She happy with the ring?”
“Thrilled. Two-carat solitaire in platinum.”
“Good work. Petra will be happy. You have to bring her around so we can get to know her. It’ll be important to Petra.”
“I appreciate that.”
“What’s her name? Tell me about her?”
“Ah, she’s a good girl. Popping the question came as a surprise. For some reason, Beth thought I had commitment issues.” Using Beth’s name felt much more natural than any other name he’d rolled around on his tongue. It was also the only women’s name that he knew he’d respond to if Andrea or anybody else spoke it around him, and quick, natural responses would be important, especially if he was otherwise distracted.
“Trust me, wives like a husband who is married to his job. Petra likes a lot of time to herself, at least.”
Jack didn’t detect any emotional disturbance, so Petra’s absence wasn’t anything special. “Where is she, anyway?”
“Off to some yoga retreat out of state. I couldn’t give less of a fuck about all the chakra shit, but at least the yoga makes her so I can bend her whichever way I want.” Andrea took a bite from his croissant. “Here’s an idea for you: your Betty and her can go do that stuff together. Bond some, you know.”
“I think Beth would love that.” He wasn’t going to rise to that wrong name—he didn’t think Andrea was testing him, just that he literally didn’t give enough of a fuck about any future wife’s name or personality, as long as her presence meant that Jack was no longer suspicious.
He took his time eating the croissant while Andrea seemed to consider several things. But the fact that he seemed extremely comfortable in his skin and relaxed was reassuring. It didn’t mean that Andrea’s next words wouldn’t be stupid or rash, but whatever he said next wouldn’t come from a place of rage at least. In some ways Jack could never relax. Not even now. Especially not now, knowing either Sal Rausa or Andrea wouldn’t live to see next month. Or even next week.
“There’s going to be a party in the club tonight. Upstairs. Might be a good idea for you to show up. Also …” Andrea cast him a sly smile. “It’s not exactly stuff for fiancées or wives. A couple business friends, and plenty of girls.”
Jack’s stomach dropped. “Business friends?”
“Entertaining some guys who’ll invest in that venture I’m working on.” Ah, yes, Andrea had mentioned he was going to “befriend” some legit businessmen and convince them to put up some cash for the modernization of the Lo Cascio controlled docks. Andrea had always hemmed and hawed about putting up all the money himself; he preferred to have others pay for these things and then take a disproportionate slice of the cake. All business as usual. “I could use your head there.”
Which meant he had to attend—to rein Andrea back in if necessary, but also to show his face so he could manage the business relationship. Speaking of which. “You sure I should show up looking like this?”
Andrea waved his concern away and laughed. “Oh sure. Tell them a pro boxer caught you wrong in sparring. Say you told him not to go easy on you. You’re good at serving up the bullshit.”
Now that he was married and settled, Andrea’s parties rarely happened at his estate; he usually used one of their clubs and kept the alcohol flowing for everybody.
“Sure, I’ll be there.”
“Starts at ten. Entertainment is arranged.”
“Understood.”
Then Andrea gave him an update about business—a few phone calls he’d had, and his future plans for the redevelopment. Jack forced himself to pay attention, just in case Andrea lived to see it happen. Jack, for his part, informed Andrea that he’d changed passwords and money around purely out of an abundance of caution. He shared the passwords with Andrea and was prepared to show his boss the accounts and changes in case he flipped out about them. He waited for Andrea to call him a “dumbass”, but it seemed Andrea was too preoccupied with the party tonight and what he planned to achieve there to care about much else.
Despite everything, Jack didn’t hate Andrea. He’d worked hard to respect him even in his worst moments, of which there had been many. Andrea could be generous and energetic instead of petty and raging, and the good times had been good. He was willing to make tough decisions and live with the consequences, which was the trait that Jack respected most, and also the one that had made him believe Andrea would definitely have him removed if he didn’t fall in line.
Now, the only decision left to make was when to kill Andrea instead. Without Sal, Jack stood no real chance—he’d still be forced to run or fight a battle against Andrea loyalists.
And how completely the tables had turned. Here he sat, listening to his enemy over breakfast while Sal Rausa was his one remaining ally. More than two decades of his life turned inside out.
A few times, he considered bringing up Sal—but the moment never seemed quite right. Maybe superstitiously, any question in that direction could alert Andrea that Sal Rausa still existed, and why would his consigliere mention him now? And when Sal made his move, wouldn’t Andrea realize that Jack had something to do with it? No, Andrea needed to be more relaxed, less sharp, and ideally distracted. He’d try digging for answers about Catia’s death at the party.
He excused himself a little later, and, at the wheel of the car, texted Sal: Need to meet. It was a crazy thing to do. He could have used the burner phone to convey the information he had, but with everything now on the knife’s edge, he wanted to look into Sal Rausa’s eyes when he talked to him. But really it was just an excuse to meet him again, without being drugged, exhausted, scared and in pain. That would be a very different experience.