Read Online Dark Soul Vol. 3 by Aleksandr Voinov - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Aleksandr Voinov
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Marino placed two fingers under the bottom of the wineglass to steady it for the pouring—the gesture not unlike that of a man lifting a woman’s chin to kiss her. Franco’s mouth was suddenly dry, and why was that affecting him so? Marino focused on the glass, pouring deliberately, but flashed him a quick glance, waiting for his cue. Franco cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
Marino lifted the bottle while turning it, not spilling a drop of wine on the expensive carpet. He put the bottle back on the table and lifted his own glass again.
Silvio watched them both, and Franco knew without a shadow of doubt that his brother was reading him. “Silvio says you might be able to get us two Bushmasters. And a clean car we can ditch.”
Marino nodded. “Any particular specifications?”
“A small van or SUV would do it, especially if we can rip out some seats and drill a few holes in the back.”
“Will you shoot from there?”
“Yes.” Franco took a long, steadying breath, not unlike readying himself to shoot.
“No, I’ll do it.” Silvio leaned closer. “It’s my idea, I’ll kill the bastard.”
Franco shook his head. “I would only let you out killing somebody protected by pros after weeks of training. I’m not risking your life, Silvio.”
“Bullshit. I can do the shooting just as well as you.”
“It’s not your usual weapon. You can’t make any mistakes with this, and I’ve done it a lot more than you.”
“I won’t make any mistakes,” Silvio snapped.
Franco glanced at Marino, who sipped his wine and seemed undisturbed, as though they were quarrelling about a soccer game.
He sighed. “I’ll pull the trigger. You’ll have to identify my target, act as the spotter, keep my back clear, drive the car.”
“Fuck this!” Silvio hissed and shot to his feet. “I’m not pul ing you into this. I’m not!”
I’m already deep in it, and I’ll be damned if I know how that happened. “You’re my brother. I’m already part of it.” He glanced at Marino, whose lips quirked with a soft smile that nevertheless lacked malice or triumph.
“I’ll get the weapons and car, Franco.” Marino put his wineglass down and offered Franco his hand. Franco took it and was surprised when the man held it with both of his, covering his hand completely.
An oddly protective, paternal gesture—only, of course, that his father would never have done anything like this. Their eyes met for that long moment, and something like an electric current closed between eyes and hands and everything else. Franco forced himself to stand his ground, forced himself to acknowledge his response, but didn’t allow it to cloud his emotions.
Silvio stared at Marino. “He’s not part of this, Stefano.”
Marino turned to face Silvio. “Your brother cares a great deal about you. He wants to help.”
“And what is he getting out of it? Huh?”
“Whatever he wants.” Marino looked at Franco. “I mean it, Franco. I’ll owe you a big favor.”
Whatever he wants. What a temptation for a man who knew what he wanted. Too bad I’m not one of those men .
Silvio narrowed his eyes, then pushed his chin forward in that old gesture of defiance and turned on his heel to leave. Franco looked after him, but let him go. When he turned back, Marino was pouring them both more wine.
“How angry is your brother?”
“He’ll calm down,” Franco said, and accepted his refilled glass from Marino’s hand. Seemed Marino saw wine as a good interrogation technique. He didn’t believe that the wiseguy was just trying to finish off the bottle. “When he storms off like that, best let him go.”
Marino nodded and leaned against the table. “How long since you’ve seen each other?”
“About eight years.” Franco stared into his wine. “But if you want to know anything more about him, ask him yourself.” Because I’m not my brother’s weak flank. I’m not selling him to you.
“Oh. No. I want to know more about
Marino placed two fingers under the bottom of the wineglass to steady it for the pouring—the gesture not unlike that of a man lifting a woman’s chin to kiss her. Franco’s mouth was suddenly dry, and why was that affecting him so? Marino focused on the glass, pouring deliberately, but flashed him a quick glance, waiting for his cue. Franco cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
Marino lifted the bottle while turning it, not spilling a drop of wine on the expensive carpet. He put the bottle back on the table and lifted his own glass again.
Silvio watched them both, and Franco knew without a shadow of doubt that his brother was reading him. “Silvio says you might be able to get us two Bushmasters. And a clean car we can ditch.”
Marino nodded. “Any particular specifications?”
“A small van or SUV would do it, especially if we can rip out some seats and drill a few holes in the back.”
“Will you shoot from there?”
“Yes.” Franco took a long, steadying breath, not unlike readying himself to shoot.
“No, I’ll do it.” Silvio leaned closer. “It’s my idea, I’ll kill the bastard.”
Franco shook his head. “I would only let you out killing somebody protected by pros after weeks of training. I’m not risking your life, Silvio.”
“Bullshit. I can do the shooting just as well as you.”
“It’s not your usual weapon. You can’t make any mistakes with this, and I’ve done it a lot more than you.”
“I won’t make any mistakes,” Silvio snapped.
Franco glanced at Marino, who sipped his wine and seemed undisturbed, as though they were quarrelling about a soccer game.
He sighed. “I’ll pull the trigger. You’ll have to identify my target, act as the spotter, keep my back clear, drive the car.”
“Fuck this!” Silvio hissed and shot to his feet. “I’m not pul ing you into this. I’m not!”
I’m already deep in it, and I’ll be damned if I know how that happened. “You’re my brother. I’m already part of it.” He glanced at Marino, whose lips quirked with a soft smile that nevertheless lacked malice or triumph.
“I’ll get the weapons and car, Franco.” Marino put his wineglass down and offered Franco his hand. Franco took it and was surprised when the man held it with both of his, covering his hand completely.
An oddly protective, paternal gesture—only, of course, that his father would never have done anything like this. Their eyes met for that long moment, and something like an electric current closed between eyes and hands and everything else. Franco forced himself to stand his ground, forced himself to acknowledge his response, but didn’t allow it to cloud his emotions.
Silvio stared at Marino. “He’s not part of this, Stefano.”
Marino turned to face Silvio. “Your brother cares a great deal about you. He wants to help.”
“And what is he getting out of it? Huh?”
“Whatever he wants.” Marino looked at Franco. “I mean it, Franco. I’ll owe you a big favor.”
Whatever he wants. What a temptation for a man who knew what he wanted. Too bad I’m not one of those men .
Silvio narrowed his eyes, then pushed his chin forward in that old gesture of defiance and turned on his heel to leave. Franco looked after him, but let him go. When he turned back, Marino was pouring them both more wine.
“How angry is your brother?”
“He’ll calm down,” Franco said, and accepted his refilled glass from Marino’s hand. Seemed Marino saw wine as a good interrogation technique. He didn’t believe that the wiseguy was just trying to finish off the bottle. “When he storms off like that, best let him go.”
Marino nodded and leaned against the table. “How long since you’ve seen each other?”
“About eight years.” Franco stared into his wine. “But if you want to know anything more about him, ask him yourself.” Because I’m not my brother’s weak flank. I’m not selling him to you.
“Oh. No. I want to know more about
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