Page 3 of Burn this City

Of course, the event would go on into the night, so the nanny was looking after the kids. Andrea had his faults, but the birth of his children had turned him into a fiercely proud father—and both his son and daughter were cute kids, as far as Jack was concerned. He himself played a distant role as uncle, and was happy to agree with Andrea’s strong opinion that his children were beautiful and talented. Every father thought so during those years before his children turned rebellious or contemptuous.

“Jack.” Still that paternal glow on his face, Andrea waved him closer. “Had to check in on the kids. Hard not to get fond of the little fuckers,” he said, as if grasping for that much more hardened part of himself. “You should get a couple. Would do you a world of good.”

Jack nodded noncommittally. “I’ll be sure to pick up one or two with a sixpack and a loaf of bread.”

Normally, that would put an end to that particular suggestion. The birth of his son had kicked off an occasional prodding from Andrea, such as telling him that, one day, Andrea’s son would play with Jack’s son, and that they’d be like brothers. When Andrea had achieved the provision of a sibling a year later, he’d teased Jack that he was now “two ahead”. Considering how competitive the man was, Jack had been happy to let him revel in his superior masculine fertility.

This time, though, Andrea’s jaw set in that stubborn way that told Jack he was being serious. “As I said,” his boss said slowly, firmly, as if he were talking to a dumb soldier. “It would do you good.”

Keeping his face blank, Jack nodded, as he usually did when Andrea had a truly awful idea.

“Because, see, you’re family, Jack. You’re the guy I have to trust one hundred thousand percent with my life. With Petra. With my kids.” A noticeable vibrato in his voice on the last word betrayed how much of a gap in Andrea’s emotional armor his kids were—he loved his wife, but he adored and worshipped his children. That slight tremble in Andrea’s voice made Jack’s hair stand up on his arms and on his neck. There was less emotion in a kill order, a lot less emotion whenever he talked about business or vast amounts of money.

“I know you do. And you know I’m loyal.”

“Yeah, listen. I want to think you are. You have a good head, and I need that.” Andrea pushed out a breath that was almost more a hiss. “I have to be able to trust you with my children. You’re their uncle. So …” He grimaced. “I don’t want to think you’re somehow not right when it comes to them, understand.”

Holy. Mother. Of. God.

Jack’s blood ran so cold he half turned away in case Andrea could read the shock on his features. The first thought he could string together was to wonder how long Andrea had harbored that suspicion, and how much damage it had already done. His second thought drew him right back to the darkest hours of his life. The night spent staring into an icy spring-swollen river which had been more inviting than waking up the next morning. He’d battled that black abyss, barely escaping with his life. But it had cost him. He tried to shake off the full-body memory. The thing was, he couldn’t back out of this: unwittingly or not, Andrea had cut off all his escape routes.

“I know you don’t have much of a private life. Petra says the same. You’ve been married to your job, and it’s appreciated. We’re lucky to have you, you hear?”

“I do.” Jack drew a deep breath and faced Andrea again. “Sorry, I’m just surprised. I never wanted to … never wanted you to think less of me.”

“I don’t.” Andrea walked up to him and drew him into one of his fraternal hugs, but Jack’s skin crawled when he felt Andrea’s body heat. Hard slaps between the shoulder blades followed. “Get some of those apps. People meet each other on those dating apps all the time. Worst case, I’ll ask my aunt and she can point you at any number of girls with the right kind of pedigree.” Girls from the right families, those who already knew what was going on and who didn’t have to be brought in or taught not to put their pretty noses in their husband’s business.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Andrea held him firmly by the arms and pushed back to look Jack in the eye. “We all want you happy, okay?”

Jack forced a smile. “Thanks, Andrea.”

Andrea slapped him on the shoulder a couple of times. “Good man. Have you seen my wife?”

Jack forced his mind to work, tried to recover his internal composure, tried to not show how much this short exchange had unnerved him. “Downstairs.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find her.” Andrea rushed off, giving Jack time to put his game face back on. But it took a while.

2

Aweek after the wedding, Jack chose to take the long way around the bay. The silver-grey Porsche 718 Cayman handled like a dream even on wet leaves, and normally he’d have enjoyed taking the car out for a spin. Letting let the sound system blast every last thought from his mind for an unnecessary 45-minute detour through the forest was the closest he got to taking a vacation these days. But the album he’d been listening to had grated, so he now drove in silence, peering every now and then at the phone in its holder, half-worried he might be called back for something urgent.

Come to think of it, he’d lived the past few years like a top-rated neurosurgeon, always on call, never able to relax because things always deteriorated when he turned his back.

The darkness robbed him of the beautiful fall colors and the way the rust and yellows contrasted with the refreshing blue shades of the bay.

He thought he saw lights from some yachts further out, though this time of the year, the richest inhabitants of the bay were beginning to decamp to their winter haunts of the Caribbean or St. Moritz. Besides the asphalt in front of him and a glimpse of a lighter darkness between the trees, his only company was the headlights following in his wake, though not close enough to blind him. Mauro had no reason to trail him that closely—if this trip had been dangerous enough to justify somebody hugging his rear tires, he would have had Mauro sit right next to him, riding shotgun.

Mauro was one of the soldiers who provided Jack’s personal security whenever necessary. Seemed he was concerned enough about the risk of an ambush and the relatively remote location of Jack’s house up in the hills to insist on following him and checking on the house.

Earlier this day, during their catch-up, Andrea had been very relaxed about the missing Dommarco associate, which made Jack believe that his boss really knew nothing about the matter, and also that he didn’t understand its significance. Had it been otherwise, Andrea would have been angrier and more accusatory.

“Maybe he’s just fucked off to Vegas for a week, how’s that my problem?”

Jack drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel, both impatient to arrive at the house and not quite willing to face the consequences of the decisions he needed to make. It was almost midnight, and Jack couldn’t wait to get to the house and rest. Back in town, Andrea would obviously be still awake for a few more hours. The man rarely went to bed before three in the morning and didn’t rise before noon. Jack guessed that worked for some if they were still in their thirties. By now, Andrea should have adapted his lifestyle to fit his family’s, after all, he was married and had two children under the age of five, but Jack could imagine how any such suggestion would be taken. Whether Petra had tried to rein him in or not, Andrea kept up his wild bachelor lifestyle and assumed that everybody did the same.

But Jack had just turned 45, and he required the assistance of very serious quantities of espresso to keep up with Andrea’s schedule, even if he managed to hide it. Andrea would consider it a sign of weakness.

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