Page 70 of Burn this City

“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 insightIl Gentiluomohad 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 seriousorcasual, barely evendid.

“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.

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