Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4)

by Fanetti, Susan

  Frustration began to filter into his blood, but Nick remained calm and respectful. “You’re right, Uncle. What you’ve built, what you’ve kept going, is an impressive empire. There is a lot to be said for the way you did things to get so far. But the world is changing. There aren’t as many people like us, who are willing to do it right. They want the fast return. Auberon’s hole got filled by a lot of lower players, with Church in the lead, and they are changing the game. Eighteen months we’ve been swatting Church away. Maybe he hasn’t spit in your face yet, but he takes a bite every time he lunges.”

  “You want to play his game.”

  “I want to beat him at it, yes.”

  “No. Make him play ours. That’s the strategy for this Jackie Stone thing. Under no circumstances do we end up working with a drug cartel. Drugs are not part of our world, and they will not be as long as I draw breath—and I hope you agree with me. We will give no time to these crazy Colombians who make spectacles of themselves and think they’re sending messages about their power. Those ‘messages’ are nothing more than notes from lunatics. We have a way, nephew. We have a way.”

  Nick took a breath and let it out, making sure it did not come off as a sigh. “So, what help do you want from the Marconis?”

  “No. What we’re doing is offering our help.”

  “Please?” That was a complete inversion of the plan they’d had in place. The sit-down was less than two hours away. But his uncle seemed perfectly calm.

  “We help the Marconis drive the Colombians out of Connecticut. That compromises this Stone and gives you the leverage you need to make him turn on Church. It strengthens the Council as a whole, and it might bring all the families together behind us against Church. He’s been pushing business into all the neighborhoods. We can fight him there. Capisce?”

  Nick sat back abruptly, stunned to silence. He sat there, his uncle’s eyes steady on him, and worked through everything Ben had said, all the angles he could see. Ben was going at Church from the perimeter.

  It was fucking brilliant.

  “It could definitely work. But it’s not a quick solution.”

  “The right way never is, Nick.” He put his hand on the arm of the sofa and pushed himself to stand. “Come on. We should get moving.”

  Nick stood, too, and followed his uncle toward the door. Before he could open it, Ben put his arm across his back. “When we have time, you and I are going to talk about J.J. You need to get on board with him as a capo.”

  Nick didn’t see that happening, but he nodded. Hell, maybe Ben was right.

  ~oOo~

  The Council never met in the same location. Generally, the family who called the meeting hosted in their neighborhood. But in this case, Ben had called the meeting for a location in Danbury, the scene of the upcoming exchange between Jackie Stone and the Zapata cartel. The Paganos were still hosting, arranging for the room and for the meal that would precede the meeting, but Ben had thought it would resonate more to meet so near the location in question.

  He was right, of course.

  The Council families had not beefed since Nick had been a lowly soldier. Peace and prosperity had reigned for years. Tensions were simmering on low heat lately, though, because Church was making a lot of noise. That noise brought the Paganos attention in counterproductive ways, and all the families felt it.

  So the meeting was overdue. Yet all the bosses met as friends: Enzo Marconi. Gianni Abbatantuono. Vito Conti. Gabriel Sacco. And Ben Pagano. Each man brought his administration—underboss and consigliere—to the table. Soldiers and guards were fed elsewhere.

  Ben had chosen a warehouse owned by a business affiliate. Each family had agreed and then sent in a man to do a security sweep. By the time the meeting took place, the space had been transformed into something like an elegant dining room, with a vast, mahogany table, upholstered arm chairs all around, and a uniformed wait staff—handpicked and cleared by the families.

  In the way of tradition, the meal was first. Ben had explained long ago, before Nick had even been made, that men who broke bread together had a bond thereafter, and would be respectful and conscientious negotiators. Nick believed that such a bond only held when the men were of a similar mind in the first place, and when it behooved every man present equally to be of that mind. But sitting at his uncle’s right through this meal, he could not find cause to dispute the old way.

  Still, it was difficult for Nick to understand the expense his uncle had gone to, on short notice, for the meeting. Everything had been arranged as a celebration. Lunch was osso buco served with risotto on gold-trimmed china dishes and eaten with sterling flatware. Amarone flowed into crystal goblets. Great baskets of mixed breads lined the center of the table. Before they ate, each man toasted his thanks to Uncle Ben, taking his moment to make a little speech, and then Ben toasted his thanks right back for their attendance.

  This was the first time Nick had a place at the Council table. He found himself both impatient with and fascinated by the rigors of tradition.

  Finally, after more than an hour of toasting and eating and talking about families and complaining about global politics, the staff served large portions of tiramisu with small glasses of Frangelico.

  If nothing else, the diners would be too full of food and drink to argue much, Nick thought.

  When the waiters cleared the dessert plates and brought coffee urns and cups out, Enzo Marconi leaned his elbows on the table. Marconi was a short, thin, almost completely bald Sicilian in his mid-sixties or so. Ben and Enzo were close allies and, though Nick didn’t know for sure, it was likely that the two older men had spoken off the record already.

  “Thank you, Ben, for the wonderful meal and the excellent company. But we’re together today not just for good food and conversation. You have a problem, and you need our help.”

  Told earlier to stay quiet, Nick sat back and observed the families at work.

  Ben nodded at Marconi. “We do have a problem. We all have a problem. Alvin Church and his band of vermin. They don’t understand the world they’re in, and they are making trouble for us all. He tried to kill my nephew a few days ago. He did kill a good soldier. And hurt innocents.”

  Conti asked, “Is that confirmed? It was Church?”

  “Yes. We got a message from him Saturday, claiming credit.”

  “What was the message?”

  Ben gestured at Nick, who answered. “The registration card from the SUV.”

  Gabriel Sacco cut in. “These are Providence problems—caused by your beef with Auberon. You handled that beef off the record. And every one of us had something going with Auberon. All that business was broken.”

  Ben tipped his head, once, acknowledging Sacco’s complaint. “You’re right. But that was a problem that needed to be handled quickly, and I did what had to be done. I’ve made my apologies to the Council, and I’ve paid my restitution to the families.” He looked around the table. “Yes?” All the bosses, including Sacco, nodded. “We move from here, then. That the void would be filled by this gutter trash none of us expected. Yes, Church’s attention is on the Paganos now, and it’s us who are taking the brunt of the damage. But I know you’re hurting, too.”

  Sacco spoke again, clearly looking for a fight, and Nick turned his antennae toward the reactions of the rest of the table. Something was happening here. “Again, this is your weight. You should not be asking for help. You should be offering it.”

  Conti, too, was spoiling. He could see it in the nod of the man’s head. Nick sat forward, and Ben gave him a warning look. Fred, to Ben’s left, caught Nick’s eye and made a bare shake of his head. Neither needed to have worried; Nick wasn’t going to interrupt. But he would have information for later, if he needed it.

  But his uncle was on fire today. “It’s good you say this, Gabriel. I’m not here to ask for help. I am here to offer it.”

  His assertion changed the tone of the table immediately. Ben had their attention. Though the conversation was livel
y, and though Sacco and Conti looked for holes everywhere, by the end of the meeting, the Council was in and had a plan. It was a long-view plan that would take weeks to play out, but it was solid.

  Alvin Church didn’t know it yet, but all the families were coming for him. His days were numbered.

  ~oOo~

  Nick’s new driver, Sam, was not quite as big as Jimmy but big enough and plenty mean. He’d been promoted from bagman to this more high-profile position. Nick knew he’d been a great bagman because nobody ever fucked with him. So he was probably great for this position, if he could handle the long stretches of empty time without getting bored.

  Was that what had happened to Jimmy? Had he gotten bored and wandered off? Had Church’s men simply gotten lucky? Had they been following Nick around with a bomb, waiting for their chance?

  No. They’d known when they’d have the chance. Somehow, they’d known. They’d known where Nick would be. They’d known where the SUV would be. They’d known they’d have opportunity to place the bomb, and Jimmy never left his post without letting someone know and getting covered.

  That meant that somebody close to Nick was in on it. Not Jimmy. Jimmy had been killed, and his warning had saved Nick, Brian, and Beverly.

  Brian was Nick’s oldest, closest friend. Their relationship transcended the Pagano Brothers. And Brian had been with Nick all night. He’d covered him with his own body.

  No, not Brian.

  Not Beverly—he’d had a full check done on her. She had no cause, no ties, no experience, no opportunity.

  Matty or Chi-Chi. It had to be one of them. It had to be. One of his own crew. When he found out which one it was, Nick would devise a new way to kill.

  He would have to tell Uncle Ben about his suspicions and lock down any conversation about their plans for Stone and Church, but otherwise, he would say nothing until he was sure.

  With Matty at his side, he pushed the door to his friend’s hospital room open. Brian was ready to go, dressed and sitting on the side of the bed. His left arm was in a sling, and there was a kind of net bandage showing on the back of his neck.

  Nick set aside his murderous thoughts and smiled. “You ready to go, crip?”

  “Nice—thanks for that. Yeah. I’m just waiting for a wheelchair. They won’t let me walk out.”

  “Matty—there was one in the hall. Grab it.” Nick turned to Brian. “We’ll take you down.”

  Brian shook his head. “No, no. I’ll wait. You should see this nurse who’s going to take me down. Hot as fuck.”

  As if on cue, the door opened again, and a big, bald orderly came in with the wheelchair. “Mr. Notaro? Ready for your ride?”

  Brian actually blushed, and Nick laughed, forgetting for the moment his dark thoughts of betrayal and revenge, and focusing on his friend’s embarrassment. “Brian, man. I had no idea. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “Fuck you, man.” Still sitting on the bed, he gave the orderly a plaintive look. “Where’s the nurse? The blonde with the little white cats on her scrubs? Kaia?”

  “She’s with another patient. Gonna be a while. I’m your taxi service.”

  Nick was still laughing as Brian muttered “Fuck” and moved to the wheelchair.

  ~oOo~

  They dropped Matty off at the warehouse, and Sam drove Nick and Brian to Brian’s apartment. Once they got Brian situated, Sam went on watch, and Nick got beers for himself and his friend. Sitting back in his aged recliner, Brian took the brew with a grateful nod, and Nick went to his sofa. He’d stay until Brian’s guard came.

  A vast television and an elaborate home theater and gaming setup took up most of the wall facing the sofa. The recliner was angled toward it, too. Brian liked the simple things—easy women, good beer, loud games, and louder movies.

  “Talk to me about Monday.” Though Brian was only a soldier, much to Nick’s chagrin, he was Nick’s closest confidant. Nick wouldn’t break the seal of the Council sit-down, but he could and did tell him about the plan for taking Jackie Stone.

  When Nick was finished, Brian nodded. “There a way to do this quiet?”

  “Quiet enough. Ben and Marconi are buying some deaf ears. And, Bri—what I’ve told you is for your ears only. Speak to no one about it.”

  Brian gave him a long, silent look. “Of course. Nick, I’ve been thinking about what happened—at Neon. About how somebody could’ve gotten around Jimmy to plant that bomb. Jimmy would never have walked away from his post.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “The only way he would have left is if he had somebody to cover him. Somebody he knew.”

  Nick nodded.

  With that, Brian put his good hand up and wiped it over his face. “Fuck me.”

  “Don’t say more, not now. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He took a breath as if to clear those thoughts out. “I know I don’t have the right to ask, but I want in on Stone.”

  “Forget about it, Bri. You’re clipped already. And this will be bloody. We’re pushing back on a drug cartel to get ahold of Stone. You’re off the clock until you’re whole again.”

  Brian lifted his injured arm. “This is nothing. A week from now it’ll be less than nothing.”

  “And your back? The burns?”

  He shrugged. “Stings, not much more. Another week of healing and I’m almost good as new.”

  “Almost. No, Bri. You’re on the D.L.”

  Brian finished his beer and set the empty on the little table, nothing but a disc of glass around a floor lamp, beside the recliner. “Are you suiting up for it?”

  He was asking whether Nick would be in the thick of the fight. “Church is my fight. You know that.”

  “So yeah, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Since when have you gone into something like this without me?”

  Never. Brian had been at his right hand long before he’d had a right hand that mattered. But he wasn’t going to risk him. His crew was falling apart. He needed his friend. “Brian. The discussion is closed.”

  “I know I’m just a soldier, Nick. But you’re my best friend. Don’t leave me behind.”

  ~oOo~

  Sam unlocked Nick’s door, did a quick sweep, then returned Nick’s keys to him and went out into the hallway, where he’d stand watch until he was relieved at ten.

  Nick was fucking sick of this level of security. Ben’s longsighted plan, brilliant as it was, could take weeks to come to fruition. Next week would only be the first skirmish in the new offensive. And in the meantime, since the bombing, it seemed Nick would be babysat everywhere he went. Fuck, even public restrooms got searched before he could take a piss.

  Halfway through the act of closing his door, he stopped. Being alone in his apartment while a guard stood outside the door felt some distance beyond lonely. He thought about Beverly, just down the hall. He knew Donnie was still there, waiting to be relieved by the same guard who'd relieve Sam. He hadn’t been in the hall, though. Apparently Donnie was inside the apartment.

  And suddenly, Nick was jealous. What were they doing in there? Hanging out? Donnie should have been standing outside the door, or sitting on the bench by the elevators and stairwell entrance. Period.

  He came back out of his apartment. “Stay put,” he ordered Sam without turning to him. “I’m going down the hall.”

  “But boss—”

  “Shut it, Sam. Just going down the hall.”

  He went to Beverly’s apartment and tried the knob. Finding it locked, as it should have been, he knocked. Donnie answered and had the sense to look immediately nervous. Nick noticed that he was chewing.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  He swallowed. “Bev said it was stupid to stand out in the hallway when I could keep her safer if I could see her. I thought that was wicked smart.”

  “What did I tell you to do?”

  He blinked. “Stand watch in the hall.”

  Beverly was standing back a
bit, holding a bowl of popcorn. Her television was on; he could hear it. He focused again on Donnie, who had gained a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Good. “You weren’t guarding her. You were in here having a fucking date.”