Page 28 of Burn this City

“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.

16

Sal contemplated whether he should take the truck—Enzo would hardly need it for the moment, but when he stepped out of the door, Barsanti’s silver Porsche was practically flirting, the way the sun sparked off it like it was winking at him.

The keys weren’t hard to find, and the car might look sleek and compact, but Sal found it had a surprising amount of leg room. A quick search indicated that Barsanti was as obsessively clean and tidy with his car as he was about his house. No discarded receipts, food wrappers, or so much as a stray water bottle. Enzo’s blue Nissan Rogue, by contrast, would allow someone to piece together every meal and all his shopping over the past week.

Barsanti had good taste in cars. At first, the steering felt sensitive, even skittish, but a few miles later, Sal realized that all it required was a lighter, gentler hand. The Porsche responded beautifully—what a marked contrast to its owner, who practically begged to be tortured.

So maybe it was slightly reckless to show his face in town driving Barsanti’s car, but if Sal knew one thing it was that their kind, as a general rule, didn’t rise early on a Sunday. He briefly played through in his head what would happen if he was spotted, or of the cops IDed him driving Barsanti’s car just before his disappearance—all while taking the Porsche around the curves of the road cutting through the forest, using two or maybe three fingers at most. Great car for recreational driving, and he imagined that Barsanti must have gotten quite a bit of pleasure from it. The house, the food, the car, the coffee machine, the view—the man clearly liked refined and beautiful things. But he himself wasn’t delicate or refined to the point of vulnerability. He took his beatings.

If Sal was spotted, fine. His men were ready for the inevitable battle. Enzo would deal with whoever came to the house to check on Barsanti. Besides, Sal would be there, and the doc would join him. Between them, they’d defend their ground. Not a problem—just an acceleration.

“Or sometimes, you need to show the world it can’t fuck with you, Salvo, don’t you?”

Yeah, that. Catia had been the first person in his life whogothim. Hell, he’d fallen for her the moment he’d seen her, but he fell easily, he knew that much. They’d progressed at lightning speed, no masquerading necessary—with her family in the business and him an up-and-coming man of honor, the stakes had been clear from the start. He’d asked her later whether she’d bet on him like on a winning horse in order to secure herself power and standing.

“No, but what I like about you will definitely lead you to the top. And you’re more of a challenge.”

She’d liked those, and she went for the jugular if she spotted so much as a flicker of insecurity or felt somebody else waver. He’d never forget that first time in the car, when she’d straddled him, kissing him wildly, and taken him right then and there, recklessly and breathlessly. Maybe it was weird to call it “taking”, but that was exactly what it had felt like—she’d made it clear that she was in charge and he’d better comply. It was both electrifying and vaguely scary being with a woman with such a healthy appetite, who’d demanded sex right then, and that was even before the ropes and leather appeared in their bedroom. She’d thoroughly tested their compatibility before they’d married, he knew that now, but the real journey had begun over glasses of chilled white wine and a seafood dinner on the veranda of that honeymoon villa in Hawaii. Ocean breathing so close they could almost feel the spray, they’d had The Talk.

“I love you, Salvo. I always will. And I love how you are in bed. But there are things you need to know, and if I’m to fulfill those wedding vows to make you happy and you me, we can’t have secrets between us. I don’t want to go outside and get what I need from somebody else. And the same goes for you. Whatever it is you want, even your dirtiest fantasies, things you haven’t done with anybody else, it’s all on the table. Now, talk to me.”

Of course, he hadn’t been able to confess anything. It didn’t seem necessary. She could be soft in bed, submissive, or take him the way she’d taken him in the car. He was pretty good at responding to her moods. Mostly, he counted himself lucky to have found a beautiful, smart wife who was just as horny as he was.

So she’d been the one to start it. Over another bottle of wine, they’d traded fantasies like poker players. Some things he was definitely on board with—hell, a second woman with her? Bring it. Others he was willing to trade for—she declared that if he wanted to take her ass, she’d do the same to his.

He faintly remembered two of his guys making a joke about anal sex and laughed with them mostly because they had no idea what mind-blowing orgasms they were missing out on. His men did notice he was keen to get home after business, and they grinned knowingly at each other—newly married, yadda, yadda—what they didn’t know was that he couldn’t wait to check the little blue-glazed bowl in the hall. She’d drop a hint as to what awaited him upstairs, or what role he was supposed to play when he came up.

They’d run through a whole catalogue of fantasies. Sometimes she was the barely legal daughter of a friend. The next night she was a bored businesswoman who’d hired an escort with clear and exacting requirements. Sometimes, she braided her long hair tightly, put on that makeup that made her lips stand out blood red, and that was when wanted the dominance games—leather, PVC, and corset included. He was never bored because he never had any idea of what awaited him, what toys or elaborate roleplay.

A couple years in, they hired a professional to explore her bisexual side. It had been his idea. Apart from the second-hand thrill of watching her with another woman, he genuinely wanted her to be happy, and she’d told him that being with another woman was totally different from being with him. Eventually, he encouraged her to look for a girlfriend to keep her company, whether he was there or not.

Two false starts, and then Julia entered their lives, though admittedly mostly Catia’s. Julia went to college in town, collecting a range of STEM qualifications, and she’d first drawn Catia’s eye because she was looking for a “Sugar Mommy”. At Sal’s dumbfounded expression, Catia explained that there were “Sugar Babies” out there looking for a Mommy or Daddy to pay the bills and spoil them and appreciate them, and these arrangements could, but didn’t have to, involve sex.

When they met, the chemistry between Catia and Julia was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Sal also got to appreciate what a skilled huntress Catia was. How Julia resisted the onslaught of Catia’s headgames and pure sexual energy was a miracle, but Sal assumed that her academic commitments kept her grounded enough. She was looking for something casual too—which was what she got, and also wasn’t at all. But their relationship wasn’t just about the sex. Catia was only four years older than Julia, but it turned out those four years could count for decades. Catia was strong-willed and also the head of a Cosa Nostra household, so she fixed problems and did it often with an invisible hand.

No, Barsanti, I don’t have a consigliere because she was murdered, and I couldn’t replace her.

Sometimes, a memory came back of them cuddling on the couch, Julia exhausted post-exams in Catia’s arms, woolen blanket spread over both of them. He’d loved seeing them like that, so tender and strong. Weirdly, he’d never felt jealous. Sal felt he saw different sides in Catia when she was with her girlfriend, a softer, more feminine side, maybe.

The truth was, it took months before he even figured in their sex—Catia insisted they should get to know each other better first, but once the trust was established, Julia added a new dimension. And he wasn’t always invited—or rather, he knew they spent time together when they left the city for a long weekend, or he was away on business. He was glad they had each other.

Since he knew it was one of her fantasies, he hired the best male sex worker he could find for one Valentine’s Day. He’d spent a week browsing profiles, trying to guess what type she’d want. Also what type he wanted to see with her.

While she’d loved his Valentine’s Day gift, she’d asked for the guy to give Sal a blowjob the morning after, which put paid to anything Sal had ever said about not being into men. At all.