Page 72 of Burn this City

“Andrea and me, that’s it. There’s an accountant if we need him, but I’m handling all that. Andrea never let anybody else get near the money.”

“He should have respected you more, then,” Sal said. “Right?”

“Right.” Andrea and Jack had both held the power to destroy each other, and really, Jack was just acting before Andrea could. “I think I should leave you to it—I could use a workout to calm down. Can you give Spadaro my phone number so we can arrange to meet?”

“You sure you want to leave?” Sal asked.

“I don’t, but I’ll be useless for the planning, and I’d rather not know. If there’s anything, Spadaro can tell me. I should keep up my normal routine, which at this point is to have a workout and make a few calls.” The building tension was settling in his bones and muscles, though thankfully there was no guilt. The most he felt was a kind of hollow regret, maybe a sense of failure, but a part of him was already moving the puzzle pieces to understand a world without the Lo Cascio.

With Andrea gone, the remaining reins all gathered in Jack’s hands, and he’d have to play everything in the right order, with the right touch, to not be compromised himself in case somebody realized he was the traitor. Another thing he needed to get ready was his escape. If it all went south, if Sal did turn against him, he’d still make it out alive, and with enough money to hide for the rest of his life.

“Okay. I’ll see you out.”

Jack nodded, then paused and turned toward Enzo. “Good luck.”

Enzo looked up and gave him a grin. “See you at the victory party, Jack. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

Sal took his hand off Jack’s shoulder blades once they were in the elevator, but he remained very close. After a little while, he cleared his throat. “I’ll let Spadaro know it’s more important to protect you than kill Andrea.”

Jack found himself smiling. “I can protect myself.”

“Still.” Sal looked up to the ceiling of the cabin, and then back down. “You’re really quite special. I hate sending you into danger.”

“And that’s notyourcall, Sal.”

“Yeah, but still …”

“There’s no viable alternative. You do your part, I’m doing my part, Spadaro and Enzo do theirs, and we’ll see how the chips fall.” He pulled Sal into a kiss, enjoyed his smell, and taste, and the strong body against him, then separated too quickly and strode out of the elevator as the doors chimed open.

Head in the game.

And he managed it, mostly. The drive grounded him, the need to focus on the traffic, then to pick up his workout clothes, and another short drive to the local high-end gym. He could have driven to Andrea’s estate and used the gym there, like he’d often done in the past, but that ran the risk of having Andrea attempt to compete against him—“friendly”, of course, and the quandary whether he should let him “win”. Andrea seemed to believe that the few years of age difference entitled him to victory in all disciplines. He did have more energy and he was strong, but he’d never learned to pace himself.

What Jack didn’t want right now was to have Andrea spot him or ask him to do it. He’d drop the weight on Andrea’s throat himself if given half a chance, or beat him to death with a barbell, just to be done with it. Not because he hated him, but it would release the stress trapped in his muscles and that was screaming to get out.

In the gym, he picked up one of the resident personal trainers along with his day pass, but she quickly realized he knew what he was doing and mostly held a towel and a water bottle for him. She caught on that he wasn’t feeling chatty. He was grateful for her help though when it came to stretching.

He changed into his “party” clothes after the shower, massage, and haircut all under the same roof, forcing himself to not check the phone. Nobody called or messaged him during his “wellness break”, which was a relief.

To start off the evening, he settled in one of his favorite restaurants and ordered a small flock of tapas. He ate slowly, enjoying the post-workout and post-massage buzz, but nothing quite touched the delicious memory of ropes holding him while Sal Rausa teased wholly new and unimagined sensations from his body. He had to turn away and look out of the window so no one thought he was smiling that way atthem.

His phone buzzed—unknown caller ID—and he answered. “Yes?”

“I’m outside the coffee shop on Admiral Drive.” The voice was husky but sounded enough like Silvio Spadaro that Jack didn’t have to ask stupid questions. “Same dress.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Silver Porsche.”

“They’ll think you’re picking up a hooker.” A small, throaty laugh.

“That works.” A guy in his forties, a car with power under the hood, and a leggy girl in a short dress. He’d look like one of an estimated hundred thousand well-to-do middle managers in this town grabbing some extra-marital action.

When he paid for his meal, he tipped even more generously than usual for good luck, and returned to the car. Admiral Drive was one of the main shopping areas of Port Francis, and the road and parking spaces were designed to drop off people or pick them up, and the best area for that was the coffee shop.

He spotted the Barracuda outside, standing easily and gracefully in Louboutin heels. The area should have been too busy and crowded for Spadaro to attract too much attention, but a couple of young men—young professionals by the look of them—were clearly on the way to the watering holes downtown, and had paused to leer at her. At this point, even attempting to think of Spadaro as “him” seemed like an extra effort, and making the switch would help with pulling off the plan.

“Seriously?” Jack muttered to himself, halted the car in the middle of the road without bothering to park, and pushed open the door. Spadaro didn’t seem to spot him, instead watching the boys who stalked around her, unaware that they were literally flirting with death. Jack left the car and strode toward Spadaro.

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