Burn this City by Aleksandr Voinov

35

Spadaro hadn’t even taken off the biker suit, but at least the helmet rested on the table in the living room. A little arsenal of weaponry and ammo covered the rest.

Sal especially liked the part of Enzo’s and Spadaro’s plan where the targets would receive delivery messages from a courier with a link to a spoofed website that confirmed the delivery, and was also loaded with some handy malware that would allow them to track or access the phone in case things went wrong. Spadaro or somebody else posed as the courier requiring a signature, which got him close enough to strike either right then or later if the situation required it.

Spadaro had eventually settled on taking out the capos in a specific order, while Enzo and the other boys were going to focus on the soldiers. Sal wasn’t worried about the associates—those might report to soldiers and capos, but from the way Jack had told it, none of them had a specific investment in Andrea as boss, or even the Lo Cascio. If they received the same back-up, support, or simple pressure from any other family, they’d fall into whatever hand was open to receive them. They’d be approached and taken in when the time was right.

His phone buzzed.

Need to meet.

Spadaro remained laser focused on the map of Port Francis they’d pinned to the wall. They still had to decide when to deal with Andrea—though Spadaro had checked out his estate that morning and noted it offered several usable approaches to take him out in his own home.

Sal texted Jack the address and added: I’ll pick you up in the garage downstairs.

The response came immediately: En route. Twenty minutes.

“Jack’s coming.”

Enzo tilted his head. “Asking for protection?”

Now Spadaro also turned away from his map and regarded Sal. “The consigliere?”

“Yes. And I don’t know.” Sal slipped the phone back into his pocket. “In any case, he’s under my protection, but he might have an idea how to finish Andrea. Or additional targets who were involved with the murder of my wife.”

That last bit was more directed at Spadaro, whose dark eyes didn’t betray what he thought; he soaked up information without displaying any emotion. Still, Sal gathered that Spadaro loved his job the same way he loved fast bikes and Berettas. He didn’t tell war stories, but the kind of questions he asked, the way he approached everything here betrayed a ruthless intelligence that never rested, never paused, and had no ability to compute either hesitation or mercy. As a human being, Spadaro was clearly seriously damaged. As an executioner, he was perfect.

“Who’s going to kill Lo Cascio?” Spadaro turned his dark gaze on Sal. “Any specific thoughts about it?”

Over the years, Sal had entertained a lot of revenge fantasies. At first, they’d focused on Andrea, but they’d widened—not only was Andrea going to die, but everything he’d built, and his family had built, his very legacy would be scrubbed off the map. Ten years from now, people would barely remember his name. Whether he’d do it with his own hands, though, was a different matter. Spadaro was likely better equipped, considering he wouldn’t be blinded by rage.

“No, but if you end up doing it, send me a photo of the body.”

Spadaro flashed one of his cold, bright smiles, all teeth, and none of it reached his eyes. “Will do.”

“Why do they call you the Barracuda?” Enzo suddenly asked. “That’s an ugly fucking fish.”

Spadaro gave a small nod. “Because they only attack once.”

Enzo pursed his lips in an “okay, I’m impressed” expression.

“And they’re fast.” Spadaro shrugged. “Battista’s idea.”

That made sense. Plus, the man’s coldness and expressionless face made that nickname even more fitting. As far as Cosa Nostra nicknames went, this one was both flattering and accurate.

Spadaro cast another glance at his map. “When do you want me to start?”

“You could take today to familiarize yourself some more if you need.”

Spadaro shrugged. “I’m all set.”

“Enzo?”

“I’ll start tonight. Late enough so most civilians are off the streets. Some guys might be off to clubs, but we’ve given them the opportunity to schedule a one-hour same-day delivery slot, so hopefully they’ll use that.” Enzo laughed, shaking his head, so clearly in love with his idea and contribution that it made Sal smile. “So we can be sure our courier will catch them.”

Spadaro smirked. “We are ambush hunters. Always good to know where the prey will be.”

“I’m glad you both are having fun,” Sal muttered, but found himself enjoying this part of plotting the mass-murder of the whole Lo Cascio clan. His phone buzzed again. “I’ll go pick up Jack.”

He checked the screen on the way down, but it was just Jack telling him he’d arrived outside the garage, so Sal phoned security and told them to let the silver Porsche inside. He headed toward the parking spaces marked “Guests”, and there Jack was, closing the car door behind himself with a satisfying thud. Sal’s heart skipped a painful beat, and his fingers tingled with the urge to touch him. That was unlike him. He could lust over lovers, enjoy the anticipation of meeting a hook-up, wholly feast on an attractive couple hosting him at their house, but he

Instead of walking up to Jack and grabbing him in a tight hug, he let him come toward him. Despite the tension around Jack’s lips, he couldn’t help but smile. The harsh neon lights of the car park were decidedly unkind to Jack—they made him look pale, and the bruises looked more serious. It would take weeks for the discoloration to vanish, though the swelling was definitely down. But despite all that, Jack still looked amazing in his classic suit and shirt. “Let’s go to the elevator.” Because I don’t know what I’ll do if we don’t get away from any potentially curious eyes.

“Yeah, good idea.” Jack sounded a little breathless himself.

Sal stepped into the elevator first and hit the button once Jack had joined him. The moment the doors closed, Jack shifted his weight uneasily and then hit the “stop” button. He turned around and the last thing Sal saw before Jack was right up in his space and kissed him was an expression somewhere between despair and pure need.

“Fuck,” he muttered before he kissed him back. This kind of kiss—both of them clear-headed, or as clear-headed as they could possibly be, given the circumstances—made his soul feel raw.

Emboldened, Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back against the wall of the cabin, and Sal loved that urgency. He didn’t fight him, but grabbed Jack’s belt and pulled him even closer, until their bodies were grinding together. Jack gasped, broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against Sal’s. “You’re trying to destroy my sanity, aren’t you?”

“Why, is it working?” Sal grinned and grabbed Jack by the neck. “And are you enjoying it?”

“It scares me to death.”

“That makes two of us, but we got this.”

“You think?”

“I do.” Sal pushed Jack back enough so he could look him in the eyes. “Why are you here? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I needed to see you. And Andrea’s going to have a party tonight, and I have to be there. And maybe you can do something with that.” Jack closed his eyes. “But mostly I needed to see you. After last night …”

“Liked the videos?”

Jack nodded. “I want …”

Sal almost didn’t expect Jack to say the words. What the man needed was plenty clear from the way he sought every bit of contact he could get, that shine in his eyes, and a slight flush that spoke of a need so strong it was melting his barriers from the inside. Getting somebody like Jack—who’d denied himself for so long—to such a state took some doing, but Sal didn’t gloat. He found it both terribly endearing and hot as hell that Jack had come to him not just willingly, but clearly craving him, and this moment was the payoff he’d been after ever since he’d decided he’d try to seduce the man, mind and body and soul.

Jack tried to collect himself, swallowed. “I want you. Like that. If I can.”

“Anything specific?”

“No. All of it. I need to know what it feels like, what you feel like.” He looked almost sheepish then, as if he seriously thought Sal might be toying with him. “If I’m going to die, worst-case scenario, if everything goes sideways and I catch a bullet, I want to know what it’s like to … have sex with a man.” Another hard swallow. “With you.”

This wasn’t the first time that Sal had been propositioned in an elevator, but definitely the sweetest and most heart-felt one. “Same. With you. I know what it’s like, but I’m definitely up to fuck you specifically.”

“Oh, thank God,” Jack muttered, and Sal chuckled.

“I’m not playing. You need to know that before we get out of this elevator and into my bedroom.” He reached past Jack and hit the stop button again, and with a small jerk, the cabin resumed its smooth movement. “They check on elevators quickly here, and the technicians can have the door open in less than a minute, so we should have this conversation upstairs.”

“All right.” Jack straightened his suit but looked very flustered. “I still feel … stupid. Insecure. Worried. You’re right, how can I get this old and …”

“It’s hot.” Sal winked at him. “You won’t have any bad sexual habits to unlearn, for one. It gets tiring really fucking quickly if a partner has a script in their head about how sex is supposed to go. You don’t have that. And that’s hot.”

“I know porn isn’t actual sex …”

“I noticed that you prefer the amateur stuff anyway.”

“How …”

“I own that site, and a few others. Compared to some other business interests, it’s good, clean fun.” Sal kept his hand on Jack’s shoulder even when the door opened, guided him along the corridor, and then opened the door to the penthouse. “Enzo and another guy are in the apartment making plans. They both know who you are.”

“You own that site? Wow.”

“I’ll tell you that story some other time, but yeah. I like this kind of stuff because it can’t be disrupted easily.” A lot of classic Cosa Nostra activities had translated pretty well—gambling, loan sharking, prostitution, and any number of frauds and scams. Of course, Sal wasn’t the only one in that space by far, but he’d moved into it the most aggressively.

Both Spadaro and Enzo looked up when Sal came back to the living room. “Guys, Jack Barsanti.”

Enzo gave a lopsided grin. “I think we should go grab that Thai you wanted, eh, Barracuda?”

Spadaro glanced quizzically at him.

Thanks for making this awkward, Enzo.“Let’s hear first what Jack has to say first. Or maybe we should do that when you come back.” Arguably torturing Jack even more was completely unnecessary at this point, but he might be less distracted after Sal was done with him.

“It’s okay, boss.” Enzo stood and grabbed his wallet and jacket. “Silvio here claims the Thai in London is better than anything we have.”

“I hope you’re taking him to the Ayutthaya?” Jack asked.

“You bet your ass I am.” Enzo sized up Spadaro, who was slowly rising from his seat. “Port Francis is small but mighty.”

“Challenge accepted,” Spadaro stated bluntly.

“Full tasting menu, then,” Jack added.

“Definitely.” Enzo nodded to Jack with a co-conspirator’s smirk, and then looked at Sal. “Two hours.”

“Noted.” Sal waited for the door to close behind the unlikely late lunch companions, then smiled at Jack, who seemed both amused and embarrassed. “Good old reliable Enzo. Bedroom?”

“He’s okay with this?”

“More than okay. Enzo and I are … not boyfriends, or partners, or even really lovers. It’s complex, but jealousy doesn’t play a part in it.”

“I want to know everything.” Jack’s tone suggested a dozen meanings. Sal all but pushed him toward the bedroom, and for some added privacy—Enzo had keys to the penthouse—locked the door behind them.