Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4) (20 page)

This night was definitely creepy, and Bev was glad to turn the sign and then the lock at midnight. She knelt in the nearest booth so she could close the little café curtains, but Smash said, “Don’t. Leave ‘em open.”

She obeyed. He must have felt the creep-out a little, too. As she went back behind the counter, Donnie passed her, headed to the back, probably to check the alley again.

Everything next happened too quickly to process, but there was a loud crash, and then a series of bangs louder than anything Bev had ever heard before, and Smash was on the floor, his chest soaking quickly with blood. Bev hadn’t even had the sense or the chance to duck. Or to scream. She’d just stood there, staring dumbly, as three men with big guns—shotguns?—stormed into the diner. Smash had shot one before he was shot in the chest.

Then one of them said, “That’s her!” and came for her. She turned and tried to run around the other end of the counter, but her feet landed in a sea of broken glass and slid out from under her. She fell onto the body of the man Smash had gotten. Before she could stand again, ignoring the sudden pain from piercing glass, a hand grabbed hold of the bun she’d wrapped her hair into and yanked her to her feet.

~oOo~

There had been four of them; now there were two. One had come from the back, and Donnie had killed him. But when he’d run in for Bev, the man who had her had shoved a knife under her chin and backed Donnie off.

Bruce had been in his office. He’d fought, swinging his aluminum bat and catching one of the men across the back, but the blow hadn’t been enough to disable him. Now Bruce was down in the storeroom with a shotgun blast to his stomach.

Dink had clocked out at eleven, so only Bev and Bruce had still been on the clock. Now she and Donnie were on the floor, propped up against a steel cupboard, their hands bound. The men hadn’t done or said anything to indicate what they wanted. They’d taken their phones and Donnie’s weapons. And then one of them had made a call on his own phone.

Bev was chanting in her head, trying to stay calm, trying to make her troubles weightless, but these troubles were made of lead and curled over her shoulders like claws.

Donnie leaned over and spoke quietly in Bev’s ear. “Bev, listen. Nick will come for you. I know he will. So be strong. I don’t think these guys intend to take you anywhere. If they did, they would have. They can’t be here for information—we don’t have any. This is a message. So keep in your head that Nick is coming.”

Bev turned to him, trying to understand what any of that meant. Donnie smiled at her, and it was so clear he was trying to give her strength that she almost collapsed into tears at the sight. He was about to say more when one of the men strode over and grabbed him up by one arm.

Donnie shouted, “If you hurt her, Nick will spread your parts all over the coast. And then he’ll kill you!”

The other turned the grill on.

~oOo~

The smell of burnt meat was strong, and Bev’s throat was hoarse from her screams. If it had been two weeks later, maybe Gannet Street wouldn’t have been a ghost town, maybe someone would have been around to hear. But it wasn’t two weeks later. It was now.

They dropped Donnie at her side. His face—God, his face.

The men had said nothing to them. They’d just turned the grill on and forced Donnie’s face down on it. They’d let it heat up while they held him down.

He’d been struggling but quiet, and then he’d started to scream. Bev joined him. And then she could smell it, and she screamed until something gave in her throat and she tasted blood.

Now he was lying on the floor at her side, panting and moaning but awake. The side of his face was—she couldn’t even look at it.

“Donnie, oh God! Donnie!” Her throat protested her words, but she got them out.

“It’s okay, Bev,” he gasped. “I wasn’t that pretty anyway. Just be strong. Nick’s coming. When I don’t call that we’re on our way home, he’ll come right away. Not long now.”

They came for her then, dragging her along the floor by her hair, and she heard Donnie say again, “Not long now, Bev.”

She had no idea how long it actually was.

It seemed like forever.

~ 13 ~

Matty grabbed Nick’s arm and pulled him back, then shoved him hard in the chest to keep him back. “You don’t go in first, boss.” He put both hands around his Glock and followed Sam through the open back door of the diner.

“Fuck! Jesus fuck!” Matty’s voice sounded furious and horrified in equal measure.

Nick had known by twelve-forty that something was up. Donnie always called when they were leaving the diner, and on weeknights, they almost always were finished and ready to go early, by twelve-forty at the latest. Donnie had taken to calling around twelve-thirty if it looked like it would be later, and then calling again when they left.

When he hadn’t heard by twelve-forty, he called. He’d called Beverly, and Donnie, and Smash, and all three had gone to voice mail. Then he’d called the diner itself. And then he’d called for backup.

When they’d arrived and found a body in the alley, something in Nick’s head had shifted.

In his life he had done unspeakably violent things. He had witnessed others. He had suffered loss. And yet he had never lost his cool. Vowing to be better than his father in all things, he had always kept his head, no matter what. He could not be goaded. Instead, he’d filed it all away, used it to become stronger, to know more, to understand more. He had refused to allow pain to have sway over him and had instead made it inspire him. What made Nick good at what he did was his invulnerable ability to set emotion aside in favor of reason. To see rather than to feel. To leave feeling for private moments without risk.

That ability had once been invulnerable, but lately cracks had been forming. When he walked through the back door of Sassy Sal’s, a crack opened wide. Rage unlike he had ever known coursed from his heart and through his veins, and he felt his hands shake.

Beverly was on the floor, lying over Donnie. Her uniform was torn open and soaked with blood. Her face was red and swollen, her mouth and cheek bleeding. She’d been beaten and fuck knew what else. But she was alive and conscious, and when she saw him, she began to sob.

“Nick…” The word came out like a croak.

“I’m here,
bella
.” He went to her and knelt at her side. When he tried to pull her close, though, she held him off. Her wrists were bruised; she had been bound.

Through her sobs and swollen mouth, forcing the words past an obviously damaged throat, she said, “Donnie…he needs help. And Bruce—they left him in the storeroom. I don’t know if he’s alive. They shot him.”

Nick realized that he had not taken stock of the situation at all—he’d seen Beverly and forgotten everything else, even Donnie, lying with her. Now he turned and saw that Donnie was unconscious. The side of his face and head was a melted horror. His ear was nothing but a blob. His cheekbone was completely exposed; the skin and meat over it had been burned away.

“Jesus.” He forced himself to ignore his pounding heart. There was no place now to feel. “Matty, report.”

Matty came from the counter. “We’re clear. Smash is dead—took a shotgun to the chest. He musta got one of the assholes first, though. There’s a guy on the floor by the door. It’s a fucking mess up here, boss—the door’s blown out, glass and blood everywhere.”

Sam came from the storeroom, his eyes wide and his complexion pale as he stared down at Donnie. “The owner’s in here—he’s alive, but he’s gutshot and looks not long for the world. No live bad guys.”

“We have to call this in. No cleaner on the planet is going to make this go away. And we need ambulances. Kerr can’t handle all this.” Holding Beverly close with one hand, he pulled his phone with the other and dialed Irv Lumley. The Quiet Cove Chief of Police was a family friend. He’d work with Nick to shape the story.

He spoke briefly and vaguely to the chief and got him moving. And then, finally, he turned back to Beverly, who’d been lying in his arms, no longer crying, but now listless. He tried to take calm stock of her injuries, but when he tried to pull her torn uniform back so he could find where all the blood was coming from, she moaned and clutched it more tightly closed. He didn’t force her. She had been forced enough, and Nick knew that if he saw what was under her dress, he would lose the hold he had on his calm. So he simply held her and let his mind work.

“I’m here,
bella
. You’re safe.”

Her eyes closed, she turned in his arms and buried her face against his chest. “They never said anything. They just—hurt us and left. I don’t understand.”

Nick understood. They had shut Church off from his New York connections as well. They had finally done him and all of his associates irreparable damage. Though Church had not yet surrendered, the Paganos and the families behind them had won the war. Now, Church was acting out of rage and panic, doing the only thing he had power left to do—causing personal hurt. Leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Calling Nick out.

Sirens wailed in the distance and Beverly stirred again in his arms. “No—Nick, please, no. I don’t—I can’t…”

She was growing panicky, and more pale. She needed to stay calm; he didn’t know how severely she’d been hurt, or how much blood she was still losing. Nick brushed her matted hair back from her bruised face. “Shh. What is it?”

“No hospital. I can’t…I can’t have all those people. Please. Nick, please.”

“Okay.” He looked around, made himself focus and see. “Matty.”

“Yeah, boss.” Matty squatted at Nick’s side.

“I’m taking her out of this. You’re on point. Irv knows the score. I’ll call and have him meet me later. The scene tells the right story already—it was a break-in. Keep somebody with Bruce—if he wakes up, he needs to keep his mouth shut until we talk to him.”

“Okay. Nick—you can’t go anywhere without backup.”

“I know. Sam, let’s go.” He kissed Beverly’s hot forehead. “Can you walk,
bella
?”

“I…don’t know. I hurt.”

“Then you don’t have to walk.” He stood and carried her in his arms out of the diner.

~oOo~

He called his uncle as soon as he got Beverly into his SUV and had him call Dennis Kerr, the family doctor. Nick was taking Beverly there. He’d already had his mother brought over. He needed the women to take care of Beverly, and he needed his mother safe.

By the time they’d made the short drive up Greenback Hill, Aunt Angie and his mother were ready. They met him in the hallway and directed him upstairs to one of the guestrooms, already made up and turned down, the bedding covered with plastic and towels.

Beverly was waxy-pale and had lost consciousness on the ride, and Nick hadn’t been able to rouse her. He wanted to sit with her until Dennis arrived, but the old women literally pushed him out of the room. He went downstairs as Ben greeted the doctor.

Nick gave Kerr the information about her condition that he had, and then watched him walk up the sweeping center staircase. When the doctor was inside the room where Beverly lay, Nick looked at his uncle. “I’m going for Church. Now.”

“Which is what he wants.” Ben put his wizened hand on Nick’s arm. “Let’s sit and talk, nephew.”

Nick shrugged his uncle off. “He must answer for this.”

“Of course he must. But if you find him right now, it will be because he wants you to. Because he’s ready for you.” Again, Ben took Nick’s arm, and this time his hand clamped down with strength. “Come and sit. Tell me everything. We’ll make a plan.”

Nick allowed himself to be led into his uncle’s study, and he sat down on one of the sofas. “A plan. More waiting. More letting that piece of shit hurt innocent people. We have no more time for planning. From the first, he’s targeted innocents. We’ve never made him play our game.”

Ben poured two glasses of scotch and handed one to Nick, then sat across from him.

Nick set his down. He didn’t want to drink; he wanted to kill. His uncle eyed the rejected glass. “Drink with me, Nick.”

Nick met his uncle’s steely gaze for a few seconds, and then he drank.

Ben nodded his approval of that choice. “It’s not like you to be rash, but I understand. I’m livid myself. You know my feelings about women being hurt. When I saw you carrying your girl—Beverly—into the house, a powerful memory slapped me in the face. You remember what happened to my Lita?”

Ben’s oldest daughter, Lita, had been brutalized by her college boyfriend and his fraternity brothers. Lita was older than Nick; he had only been fourteen at the time. But he remembered. The story of Ben’s retribution had become lore, and every bit of it was true. Nick nodded. “I remember.”

“That was my own girl. Do you not think I was enraged? The rage I felt that day, when I carried my daughter into this house as you carried your woman in tonight—bruised and bleeding, brutalized—I feel that rage now even as I speak of it, thirty-one years later. Nothing else has ever made me feel its like. And I avenged her. The beasts who hurt Lita had no power. They weren’t players in our world—not yet, at least. They were not dangerous to anyone but innocents. They were little more than boys. That made no difference to me. They paid for what they did. They paid screaming.”

“And yet you’re stopping me from doing the same.”

“No. Your anger is clouding your eyes, Nick. I’m disappointed. Church will pay. You will have your revenge—for your father, for Brian, for Beverly. For every person we love that he took or hurt to do us harm. But you need to clear your eyes. Your cool assessment is one of your greatest strengths because it is a rare gift. We have beaten Church—he has no more business. This is his last gasp. He’s trying to provoke you—it’s all he has left. If you had come in on this night as an observer, you would see this. If you go after him right now, even expecting a trap, then he has set the terms. Give it a few days. Let’s make arrangements. Let his friends realize that he is ruined. Let them turn their backs—maybe even turn to us. Let him see that, feel that. And then go for him and make him see and feel everything else. That would be the counsel you’d give another, wouldn’t it?”

His uncle was right. This frantic need to do harm, to do it now, was an alien presence in Nick’s mind. But Ben was right. He was hearing the counsel he’d make to another. “Yes.”

“So we make a plan, and we make Church’s ruination complete. I’ll bring the capos in for a breakfast meeting. In the meantime, you see to your woman. She needs you.”

Nick nodded. “Thank you, Uncle.” He set his empty glass down and stood.

As he reached the door, his uncle called to him. “You should marry that girl.”

He stopped and turned back, honestly shocked. “Please?”

“You’re changed since you met her. Only real love or real pain changes a man. Sometimes, both.”

Speechless in the face of his uncle’s reasoning, Nick simply shook his head and went out of his study.

He headed straight upstairs, needing to know how Beverly was. He’d opened her uniform on the ride, but her chest had been covered in blood, so he still wasn’t sure of the damage. He’d seen one deep, long cut on the side of one breast, still oozing blood, and he had an idea what it meant, but he’d not yet been able to allow himself to imagine it. He would need to. When he faced Church, he would need to be able to visualize every second that Beverly had spent with the men who’d hurt her.

He knocked on the guestroom door and opened it. What he saw drew him up short: Beverly lying naked on the bed, unconscious, his aunt and his mother holding her legs up and open while Kerr sat between them. She was still covered in blood, her breast swathed in seeping gauze. Kerr made a sort of pulling or sweeping gesture with his hand, and Nick’s eyes went back to him. Jesus. He was sewing.

“God.”

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken until his aunt looked up. “Nicky, get out. You shouldn’t see this.”

His mother turned. “Nicky, no.” She grabbed a pillow from the floor and propped Beverly’s leg with that. “Come on,
caro
. Come with me. We’ll make espresso. No one is sleeping any more tonight, I think.”