Burn this City by Aleksandr Voinov

37

Jack was still shuddering long after Sal had taken off the ropes and removed the massager. Sal had quickly checked Jack’s skin for rope marks, but while bruises and rope burns could happen when things got too heated, there wasn’t a trace on his body, at least nothing that wouldn’t vanish over the next few minutes. Now Jack was lying on his side, legs pulled up, hands still in front of his body, gaze completely turned inward.

Clearly, he was crashing hard, if those shudders were anything to go by. Sal stretched out and ran a hand over the side of Jack’s neck, to his shoulders, down to his elbow. He kept the touch light, but noticeable, and remained so close that Jack would be able to feel his body even if he didn’t currently want to communicate. Some people needed to stay in that place a while longer, others dropped right off to sleep, others shrugged it off under a shower. Catia had dozed a little and then awoken with such a boundless appetite that Sal had taken to checking the contents of the fridge before they played, though he didn’t have to worry—Catia usually kept bites and snacks on hand for both of them when it was clear neither of them would be terribly interested in food preparation that day or night or weekend.

After a while, Sal moved closer and placed a kiss on Jack’s forehead. “Need anything?”

No response, but when he pulled back, Jack’s hand closed around his wrist. “Just you.”

Sal let him have the hand and relaxed, though he pulled Jack onto his shoulder. The shivers became less noticeable and then stopped.

“You weren’t joking,” Jack eventually said.

“About it being intense? I don’t joke about that kind of stuff. You all right?”

“A bit light-headed, I think.”

“Yeah, I should have asked whether you’d eaten anything. Wait here.” He slid out from under Jack, then slipped into his pants and left the bedroom, but kept the door open a crack, and then processed that there were voices coming from the living room—Enzo and Spadaro. Shit. He must have lost track of time. He walked to the kitchen, poured some juice and found sliced ham and cheese as well as a handful of chilled grapes. He wasn’t familiar enough with Jack to know what he considered a snack (aside from his stack of protein drinks in his fridge at home), but the salt and sugar might be just the thing. At least, they appealed a lot to Sal.

He did check in the living room, to find Enzo and Spadaro apparently going over the plans again.

“When did you come back?”

“After two hours.” Enzo’s grin was a marked contrast to Spadaro’s total blank.

“Ah. You hear anything?”

“Sounded like ‘Sal at work’.” Enzo chuckled.

“He actually said that,” Spadaro assisted, still with a completely straight face. Remarkably, Spadaro didn’t mind—not that he seemed to mind much in general, as if shooting several men represented nothing but a fun challenge for him—but that was a remarkably good poker face. He couldn’t be that ignorant, which left politeness—after all, it wasn’t his business to comment on the sexuality of a boss, especially if it was out of the norm. Another option was that Falchi had briefed him, though again Sal wondered how much insight Il Gentiluomo had into Sal’s preferences.

Sal shook his head. “So, the London/Port Francis face-off—who wins?”

Enzo’s grin broadened.

Spadaro’s façade cracked. “That was a good meal. You’ll have to come to London—the Indian place there will equalize in the second round.”

“I’ll leave the discussions about the re-match to you,” Sal said. “Let me check on Jack and we’ll finalize plans.”

Neither protested, so he walked back into the kitchen, loaded up on the snacks and juice and returned to the bedroom. Jack stirred and sat up, still bleary-eyed, but he was getting sharper around the edges, and reached eagerly for the juice when Sal offered it. Sal also adjusted the shutters to let in some more light. Then he sat down and put the plate on the bed. Relief flooded him when Jack recovered so quickly, eating and drinking.

“Better?”

“Worried?”

“A little, yeah.”

“It was … emotionally overwhelming.” Jack smiled and cast down his eyes as if shy about talking feelings. “But I think I know what you meant, that it’s better to experience it. It’s … unlike anything else.”

“But you liked it?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Jack looked up and grinned. “We could do that again.” A hint of caution in that sentence, as if he expected rejection or qualification, but Sal didn’t have either for him. He normally let these kinds of connections develop on their own, took it one day at a time, happy to commit for another day or night, and also to walk away if things no longer worked, no hard feelings. But Jack … Jack had no experience with relationships, didn’t do serious or casual, barely even did.

“Yes, we can.” Sal helped him polish off the plate of ham and cheese and grapes, then stood. “Grab a shower and get dressed. I think Enzo and the Barracuda might have some questions.”

“That’s Silvio Spadaro? Giabattista Falchi’s hitman?”

“Yeah, we needed another capable pair of hands. Falchi was apparently fond of my wife, so …”

“I see.” Jack got off the bed. “Back to work.”

Sal grabbed and kissed him. “Appreciate it.” He let Jack have the en suite, and used the guest shower, because he knew that showering together meant they’d let Enzo and Spadaro wait even longer. Sal would definitely get sidetracked and distracted trying to be close to Jack and learn everything there was to be learned about him. He’d pulled so many people into his plans and would expose them to danger. The least he could do was refocus his attention on the war.

And what strange luck that his quest to avenge his wife had brought him close to a man he could easily fall for.

If he hadn’t already.

None of his casual encounters or hook-ups had got so close so quickly, but of course with Jack there was much less of the usual subterfuge. Jack had already seen him at his worst, knew the truth about him and none of the usual barriers applied. They were both men forged in similar fires, raised with similar codes and delusions, and both of them had reached the very limits of what they could bear. Andrea had no idea how valuable an asset Jack was.

When he dressed and combed back his hair, some water drops were still running into his neck, but he was impatient to get back, so he joined the others around the table. About five minutes later, Jack appeared, flushed from the shower, but awake and energized. He walked in, fully suited, cast a glance across the map, then seemingly forced himself to not look too closely.

Leaned back, one arm on the back of the couch, Spadaro watched him, then looked at Sal. “Who’s going to kill Lo Cascio and when?”

Jack cleared his throat. “He’s going to have a party tonight at his club starting at ten. There will be businessmen, girls, lots of alcohol. He insisted I join him.” Tension around his lips signaled disgust.

Spadaro placed his flat hands together as if in prayer and tapped his thin lips a few times. “Girls, you say?”

Jack drew a deep breath and nodded. “His wife’s out of town, so he’ll take one or two, and the others are for his business contacts. I’m hoping I can pretend I’m too drunk.” He was clearly aiming for a neutral tone, but Sal heard the loathing underneath. “Unless you manage to kill him before the party.”

“What about you? Did you never want to pull the trigger?” Spadaro asked.

Jack blinked a few times. “If there is no other way.”

Spadaro looked back at Sal. “I’ll handle it.”

Sal nodded. “I think that’s the best approach.” Jack was capable of it, but Sal didn’t feel he killed as easily as Spadaro did, and considering Andrea was his boss, he might hesitate or have second thoughts. Always easier to kill a stranger, though in their circles, Jack had very likely been involved in the killing of people he’d known well.

“How are you going to do it?” Jack remained tense around the shoulders.

Spadaro stood. “You’ll help me get me in there. Call Andrea, say you’re bringing a girl to the party. Tell him whatever you need to get past security.”

“Hold on, what girl?”

“The girl’s me.” Spadaro gave one of those unsettling, all-teeth barracuda grins. “Done it before, killed half a dozen Russians. Stupid men don’t feel threatened by a girl.”

Jack frowned but didn’t seem to have an immediate response.

Even Sal needed a moment to compute what Spadaro had said, but unlike Jack, he assumed, he could see it. Spadaro’s slim build with his long legs, smooth skin and androgynous features already took him halfway there, so who knew what Spadaro could do with some makeup and a wig? “I like it. Can you demonstrate the look?”

“Sure can.” Spadaro picked up his helmet. “I’ll need to get a few things. Does he have any preference? Is there a dress code?”

“Uhm. Blonde. No dress code. Sexy, I guess.”

Spadaro acknowledged that with a nod and was out of the door. They all looked at each other for a few seconds. “I can’t show up with a drag act,” Jack finally said. “If Andrea has even the slightest suspicion, I’m dead. And so’s he.”

“Let’s see what he comes up with. If it’s not good enough to fool Andrea long enough to get close to him, we’ll come up with a different idea.” Sal leaned back in his chair. “Though I’ll say I like the idea that Andrea will get killed by a guy in dress.”

“I hope he blows Andrea’s head off while he’s groping him.” Enzo laughed.

Sal grinned, though based on the caution in Jack’s eyes, Jack didn’t find it funny. Hopefully he would in time.