Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4) (28 page)

What they had now was different from what they’d just started building before. She was different. And
he
was different. He was different with her. He was always Good Nick now, kind and patient, gentle and careful. He was the half of himself that her half-self needed. But she didn’t want to be her half-self, and she didn’t want half of him.

She just didn’t know how to put their pieces back.

~oOo~

Bev had never been to a Catholic service before. In some ways it was familiar, harkening back to the United Church of Christ services her mother would sometimes drag her to, when she’d get a rare itch to be a better person. But in most ways, Catholic worship was different. There was a lot more ceremony and ritual. And, strangely, people were, as a whole, dressed more casually.

Except the Paganos. They were all dressed in Sunday best—but for one guy, one of Nick’s cousins, she guessed, across the aisle. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt. The rest of the men were in suits.

After the service, there was more ritual, as everyone milled around outside and waited, apparently, for their chance to speak with the priest. Ben and Angie didn’t have to wait. And Nick, Betty, and Bev, too, were next.

And then it was time to meet the rest of his family. There were so many of them! Feeling shy and nervous, she shook hands and accepted hugs from a nearly endless line of men and women. There were children, too, a young boy and two babies, a boy and a girl. She tried to remember all of their names—she was good with names—but after a while she was sure they were running together.

She tried to keep it straight in her head: The big guy in the jeans and shirt, that was Luca. He stood out.

Nick’s uncle was Carlo. His wife was Adele. The tallest cousin was Carlo Jr. His wife was Sabina. The two boys were theirs—the blond older boy was Trey. The dark-haired baby boy was Little Ben. Oh! Cute!

The tiny baby girl was Teresa, with an exotic pronunciation. Her mother was Carmen—the one getting married. She was marrying the older tall, blond guy—blond was a helpful marker in this crowd—he was Theo. Another, younger blond guy who actually looked a lot like Theo was Eli. Eli’s Pagano was Rosa. And then there were two unattached cousins. They were John and Joey.

Phew. She thought she had them. Fourteen Paganos. Plus Ben, Angie, Betty, and Nick. And her. And there were other cousins off somewhere, too, Ben and Angie’s kids and their families. And Luca had a wife at home.

This family was a party in and of itself. Somehow, Nick had managed to be an only child in the middle of all this familial bounty.

This party scared her. Since that night at the diner, she hadn’t been around so many people. Two months had passed—more—and though she felt better, she felt different. Once happy in a crowd, mixing and mingling, meeting people, making friends, now she had no idea whether she’d be able to smile and be pleasant with strangers for a whole afternoon.

Nick took her home to change into more casual clothes before the party. He dropped her off at her door and went back to his place to do the same. Once in her room, she stripped out of her church clothes and her underwear and stood naked in front of the standing mirror in her bedroom. Even her body was different. Smaller. Looser. She’d lost muscle tone in the weeks she’d been recovering. She was scarred, inside and out.

She turned and lifted her breast, smoothing her fingers over the shiny new skin of her scar. Why she did this, she didn’t know. It didn’t feel good; the skin there was numb—a lot of the breast was numb now, in fact. It wasn’t pretty. But again and again, she felt compelled to see this mark. To study it, make sure it was etched deeply into her memory.

As if she could have forgotten.

“
Bella
.”

Bev’s heart nearly leapt clear of her body. She turned with a squeal and found Nick standing in the doorway to her room. “What are you doing here? You knock! You’re supposed to knock!”

He stepped in, and she stepped back, snatching her robe from the arm of the chair she kept in the room. He stopped.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer. I was worried.” He took a few more steps toward her.

She was wedged now between the chair and the wall, and her heart was drumming at triple time. She shouldn’t have been afraid, not of Nick, and she didn’t think that was what had her so freaked.

Shame. It was shame.

Clutching the robe to her chest, she tried to make her voice steady. “You need to go.”

He took the remaining steps to close the distance between them. “No.”

“What?”

“When have I ever let you push me away?” He grabbed hold of the robe and pulled. For a moment, they were at an impasse, Bev clutching the terrycloth close, Nick pulling it away, gently but with determination. “Let me see, Beverly. Let me see.”

“Nick, please. I can’t.”

“I don’t mean to take you, not until you’re ready. But I want to see what has you so fascinated. I know what they did. I made them suffer for it. But I don’t want you to suffer for it.”

He didn’t understand. “Not even you can control that.” She let go of the robe, and he pulled it away.

He dropped it to the floor, and then he stood before her and stared at her, his hands at his sides. Bev shook with shame, but she kept her hands at her sides, too, resisting the need she felt to cover herself.

After interminable seconds ticked away, Nick lifted his hand. Bev flinched, and his eyes lifted from her body to her face. “Easy,
bella
.”

His fingers grazed the long line of the scar at the side of her breast, and she began to cry. “Please don’t.”

“Does it hurt?”

Unable to answer through her tears, she shook her head. And then she forced words out. “It’s numb. I’m numb. I’m numb everywhere. I’m just numb.” Suddenly overcome by the weight pressing down on her shoulders, the weight of everything that was wrong, everything she’d lost, Bev’s body gave out, and she folded over, sobbing.

Nick caught her, and then she was enfolded in his arms, her naked, numb, weak body surrounded by his clothed, passionate, strong one. He swept her up and carried her to the bed, then sat down, settling her on his lap. He held her and rocked her while she cried, combing his fingers through her hair and murmuring soft Italian nothings in her ear. The words meant nothing to her. And they meant everything.

She cried longer and harder than she had since the diner—since long before that. When she was finally cried out, she stayed where she was, limp in his arms, taking strength and calm from his love of her.

“We’ll stay home today.” He spoke in the same soft tone as before.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’ll wash my face and get ready.” She pushed herself back from his chest, but he kept his arms tight around her.

“We’ll stay home. There’ll be other parties—there’s a wedding next month.”

She didn’t fight him; she was exhausted and didn’t want to go to a party full of strangers and happiness. “I want to get dressed, at least.”

For an answer, he moved his hand and brushed his fingers again over her scar. Bev closed her eyes and tried not to cower from his touch.

“I’m not trying to be sexual,
bella
. But I don’t want you to hide from me anymore. I think hiding is keeping you numb.”

“I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”

He caught her chin and made her look at him. “You are. When I came into that kitchen and found you, the first thing you did was ask for help for Donnie and Bruce. Everything that happened to you, and you were worried about the others. Irv—Chief Lumley—said it looked like you crawled back to Donnie after they left. You did that to check on him, didn’t you? After everything, you didn’t give up. You got yourself back to Donnie.”

Her chin felt odd, and she realized that his hand was shaking.

“I want you back, Beverly. I want you to remember how strong you are. I want you to have back your hope and your faith in the world. Your light. They didn’t take that from you. That scar is a battle scar. And you won.”

If she had had more tears to cry, she would have. But she was dry. Tired and dry. So she tucked her head against his neck and let him hold her. It no longer mattered that she was bare to him.

~ 19 ~

Nick sat with Ben, Fred, and the capos at their table at Dominic’s, eating a lunch of steak and lobster. Once a month, the administration sat down like this with the capos and discussed business. Dominic’s was one of their safe zones, swept routinely and well guarded.

The Pagano Brothers were the majority owners, with the head chef, Dominic Cuoco, holding a thirty percent share. It was the most elegant restaurant in Quiet Cove and for miles up and down the coast. The dining area was built out over the water on stilts, the walls on the water side made of glass—bulletproof glass. Hurricane Sandy had destroyed the place, and when they’d rebuilt, they’d done so with an eye toward a particular kind of security.

Julie and Dom had done their reporting. By their accounts, business was steady again and even improving. In the several weeks since Alvin Church’s demise, order and balance had been restored to the underworld, and the Paganos were again its undisputed leaders. Maintaining that balance kept violence low and settled the concerns of all their friends in business and politics. Rhode Island ran smoothly when its underside was settled.

The Council alliances were strong, too. Turning back the Zapatas in the way that they had had settled flare-ups in all of the Council neighborhoods. Ben had been right to choose that connection, the cartel and Jackie Stone, as the place for open battle. All the dons knew that there was no way to keep drugs out of New England, and in fact there was movement in from New York already, but they could keep the power out of the dealers’ hands. Power was key. And the Council families had it.

J.J., being the least senior capo, was last to report. His crew, which now included Matty, was in charge of enforcement and security. With the Church organization gutted and the survivors having paid their tribute, they’d had less to do lately, other than the normal guarding and driving that had always been the case. A few stragglers had rebelled against the Pagano rule. They’d been corrected.

Matty had reported to Nick that J.J. was becoming fairly competent. ‘Fairly competent’ was no ringing endorsement, but this time of peace was a good time for him to learn. Nick was reserving judgment, but he was prepared to handle a problem should one arise.

The biggest thing on J.J.’s plate was Chris Mills—and that was a significant job. Nick had wanted to handle it himself, but it was no longer his place to do so. He was the man who gave the orders, not the man who pulled the trigger. Not any longer.

J.J. refreshed his glass of moscato and took a long drink. He looked directly at Nick. “We got confirmation on that pest problem.”

Ben responded. “Confirmation?”

“Steve did a trace. Right place, right time, right guy. Should I call it in?”

Though Dominic’s was a safe zone and protections had been built in to prevent surveillance, they all knew careful was better than not. Nick nodded. “Yes. As we discussed.”

He felt no qualms about ending Mills. Letting him continue breathing put people Nick cared about at real risk. But he still had not decided whether to tell Beverly the truth about what would soon happen. He almost had—he’d brought her to the lighthouse to explain—but then his uncle’s words had trumpeted in his ear. His world was a world of secrets, of things better left unsaid. Knowing the truth would only hurt her, and it wouldn’t change the outcome for Mills. So, then, what would be the point of telling her?

It shouldn’t have been a difficult decision. It should have been one Nick could make in a blink and with certainty. She had no need of this truth. She would grieve, and he would console her, and he would know the truth.

His conscience would eat at him. And that was new.

In response to Nick’s confirmation of his order, J.J. nodded. “Same timeframe?”

Nick cut the last piece of steak off the bone and ate it. “Yes. Report to me when it’s done. And J.J., be on top of this. This is not B-team work.”

“Got it, boss. I’m on it.”

Nick hoped to fuck he was.

The capos left before dessert, and Ben, Nick, and Fred compared notes on the various reports. Business as usual—there was something calm and yet surreal in returning to normalcy after so many months of cycling turmoil.

Fred reported on his work backing Agent Amy Cavanaugh down and smoothing over any feathers she’d ruffled while she was digging around. Nick wasn’t sure they’d heard the last of Miss Cavanaugh, but she’d been muzzled, and they knew to keep an eye on her. As Ben and Fred indulged in dessert, and Nick stuck to coffee, Ben gave him an appraising look. “You’ve handed off an important job to J.J.”

“It’s his job. And I told you I’d fasten my cuffs when Church was no longer a problem.”

Ben waved his hand. “Don’t mistake me, nephew. I think you made the right choice. But it’s not the choice of a man with reservations. You’re feeling better about J.J., I take it.”

“I think he’s arrogant and inexperienced, and those are dangerous traits, especially in combination. But I’ve seen some competence, too. Some learning. So I’m willing to give him a job in his purview and expect him to do it well. But if he fucks it up, I will handle the job and J.J. both.”

“Fair enough.” Ben smiled and had a spoonful of spumoni. “You know, when you were made capo, you weren’t much older than J.J. I heard the same kind of protests about you.”

“I wasn’t inexperienced.”

“No. You’d made your bones. But you were young for a capo. And you were thought of as arrogant.”

Fred laughed, and Nick turned a cold eye on the consigliere. “You have something to say, Fred?”

Grinning, Fred answered, “Only that the difference between arrogant and confident is success.”

“Then let’s see which one J.J. is.”

~oOo~

Two days later, it was done.

The scene had been set for the story to be that on his way home after closing his shop for the night, during a light rain, Chris Mills hit a turn on the coast road, not far from the lighthouse, and went through the guardrail and over the side to the rocks below.

He was reported dead at the scene.

Nick got the call from J.J. while he and Beverly were watching a movie, sitting together on her white sofa against her magenta wall. Used to Nick getting calls throughout the day and evening, Beverly made no note of the interruption at all, and Nick settled back with her without comment, pulling her close.

He took what closeness she could give him.

The next morning, he stood on her balcony and watched her swim her laps. She was a strong, lithe swimmer, her lines perfectly straight, her rhythm like clockwork. Watching her body in its strength made him hard. He missed that body, the way it felt in his hands. The way he felt inside her.

Her return to the routines of her life gave Nick hope that she would someday reclaim her bright peace. He saw signs that she was getting better. She was eating better, working out, filling back out. She was freer with physical contact than she had been in the first weeks after the attack. She no longer hid her body from him—though that made some things more difficult for him, he was glad to see her trust strengthening again.

Her trust.

Behind him, her phone rang. It rang until it went to voice mail, and then, a minute or so later, a voice mail alert chimed. He stepped back through the open balcony door and went to the kitchen counter to check it.

Bruce. Calling so early, it was no social call. This was Bruce sharing news he’d just learned, that Mills had had an accident. That he was dead.

And now Nick would live his first lie with Beverly.

~oOo~

She came in wearing her white terrycloth robe, a purple towel draped over her shoulders and her wet hair free from the rolled braid she wore when she swam. She smiled her beautiful smile at him, and she looked like his Beverly, almost as bright as ever.

“Hi! I thought you’d be gone already. You’re still in your track pants.” She walked over around the counter and into the kitchen, and he kissed her.

“No meetings today until later. I thought I’d have a slow morning.” He put his arm around her waist and held her to him. “You seem good this morning.”

“It was a good swim. My head feels straighter this morning. I think it’s the weather, too. I like the first sunny day after a rainy spell. Everything smells good, and the air has weight.”

He laughed. “Most people hate humidity, you know that.”

“I like it. The world feels more real.”

He loved this woman with a depth he hadn’t yet fathomed. Setting his coffee aside, he wrapped her in both arms and kissed her, clutching her tightly to his bare chest. When she kissed him back, sincerely and without hesitation, her tongue alive with his, he groaned and pulled back. “I like seeing you like this,
bella
.” In fact, he wanted to throw her phone over the balcony and into the pool below, and keep her here, innocent of anything but their love.

Smiling shyly, she pulled away. He let her go—she wasn’t ready to give him more of her body.

As he watched, she turned and went to her phone. “Huh. Bruce called. I hope he’s okay.”

“Why would he call?” Nick didn’t like the way his pulse had picked up speed, and he strove for, and found, control over it.

“I don’t know. I just talked to him a couple of days ago.” She tapped the screen, going to voice mail. While she listened, Nick rinsed out his cup. When he turned back around, Beverly was staring at her phone.

And it was time.

“What is it,
bella
? You look upset.”

She lifted her eyes and stared at him, speechless.

“Beverly?”

She swallowed. “It’s Chris. He…he…
died
last night. He ran off the road in the rain. He’s dead.”

He went to her and took the phone from her hand. “I’m sorry.” That was a truth that he could say. “What can I do?”

Standing motionless and silent, she didn’t respond at all.

Again, he said her name, and again she responded to that, her eyes shifting to him. “I don’t…understand.”

“Would you like me to call somebody, see what I can find out?” Nick felt like he was reading from a script. He was not unfamiliar with lying; it was a part of his world. But lying to someone whose trust he valued—that was foreign to him.

But the truth would hurt her more.

“No. I don’t—I—I don’t need to know more. My God. Chris is dead.”

He led her to sit on the sofa, and she went, docile and pliant. “I’ll cancel my day and stay with you.”

Still with that look of dazed absence, she shook her head. “No. I’m okay.”

“I’m staying,
bella
. I won’t leave you today.”

At that, she smiled a little, one side of her lovely mouth lifting a fraction. “Do you ever take no for an answer?”

He smiled back and brushed her wet hair back from her face, the pressure in his chest increasing at the sight of the trust in her tiny smile. “Depends on the question.”

“Okay.” She stood back up, and he followed. “I—I have to…to…”

“What?”

“Take a shower.” With that, she walked through the apartment and to the bathroom.

Nick stared after her. He had not expected this reaction from her, but now, as she closed the bathroom door between them, he understood that he should have. She had been on autopilot for weeks, describing herself as numb, and her responses to anything had been accordingly flat. Only recently had she begun to break through that. She was reverting to robotic flatness, and that scared Nick more, made him feel more guilty, than a deluge of tears would have.