Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4)

by Fanetti, Susan

  “Can you stay out here? Or maybe go for my car and wait in it?” She lived not much more than a mile from the diner, and she usually walked to work. But with her sore ribs, she’d decided a walk, then a full shift on her feet, then another walk would be a bad idea. But Donnie had insisted on driving—and then, for all the five minutes of the drive, had complained about her Prius.

  Donnie shook his head emphatically. “Forget about it, Bev. I’m staying with you. You keep trying to get me in trouble. I’ll give you some space, but I’m going in. When we’re out, I want you where I can see you.”

  “It’s a bookshop, Donnie. Lots of nooks and crannies. It’ll be impossible to give me space and also see me.”

  Color actually drained from his face. “Then maybe you shouldn’t go in there. Fuck! I don’t know about this.”

  “I do. I’m going in. Keep your distance. I have private things to say to my friend.” Without brooking further discussion, she pushed the door all the way open and went in.

  “Chris?” Silence answered her call. Then she heard a meow, and Lady Catterley, Chris’s bookshop cat, pure white, with long fur and regal blue eyes, sashayed up from the back. “Hey, Catty.” She bent down, wincing at the pinch in her ribs, and let the cat rub herself on her hand. Lady Catterley did not deign to be petted. She would, however, allow a human subject to serve as a rubbing post. When Bev’s function was fulfilled, the cat turned and sauntered off with a flick of her upright tail.

  “Pretty cat.” Donnie looked around the shop as if he’d never been in here before.

  “Yeah.” She pointed to a reading nook near the door that had a decent view of the wider areas of the small shop. “You can sit there. I won’t be too long.” Donnie nodded and went where she’d indicated. And Bev went toward the back, the direction the cat had come from.

  She found Chris sitting on the floor at the ‘transition’ stacks, where he put newly-acquired inventory that needed to be logged, as well as books he’d pulled off the sales floor for various reasons. He was unpacking a wooden fruit crate, one of several stacked nearby. “Estate sale?”

  He answered without looking up. “Yeah. In Newport on Sunday. Some really great finds. What’s up?”

  His tone was uninterested, at best. Bev decided not to be hurt by that. She chose the weight of her problems, and this little awkwardness between her and Chris was an air bubble. They had too much history, too much knowledge to be out of sync for long. “Pie of the day today is peach. I brought you one. Oven fresh.” Peach pie was Chris’s all-time favorite. Bruce baked nutmeg into the pie crust—it was a freaking fantastic pie.

  He looked up at that. She smiled back at his frown. He always looked glum. Even when he smiled, it seemed to be hurting him to do so. She loved his mopey face.

  “You brought me a whole pie?”

  “What, you’re telling me you won’t eat it all? Today?”

  Finally, he cracked a little smile. “Maybe. If you don’t hog it all.”

  “I will if you don’t get your ass up and come have some with me.”

  He stood, brushing his pants off, and nodded. “C’mon. I have some plates and plastic forks behind the sales desk. From that book-signing party a few months back.”

  They went to the sales desk and, after he got out the necessary implements and served up some pie, they sat together behind it, on the two simple, wooden stools he kept back there.

  Chris took a big bite from his slice of pie, and his eyes rolled back. He didn’t bother to swallow before extolling its praises. “Damn, this pie is so good. Grandmothers all over New England weep at the thought that some dumb, balding dude with a blurry mermaid tattooed on his arm outbakes the crap out of them.”

  Bev laughed, and when Chris grinned at her, she decided to just get to it. “You’ve been ducking me. We need to talk it out.”

  He shook his head. “Sometimes, it’s better to just let the past die and move on. Not everything can be talked out.”

  “But I don’t know why you’ve been mad. I can’t move on from something I don’t understand.”

  Before he answered, he took another big bite of pie. Most of his slice was gone, in only three bites. “C’mon, Bevvie. You know exactly why I’m mad. Or you would if you’d open your eyes.”

  She hated when he called her Bevvie. He only did it when he was being condescending. Normally, she would stay calm and try to see the love in his words. It made life easier to believe people meant well. To believe otherwise was to live in siege, always expecting to be hurt. She’d been like that once. Her mother was certainly like that. It was miserable.

  But right now, today, with her body sore from working a full shift on her feet with bruised ribs, her head a swirl from all the ways acting on her attraction to Nick was now messing with her life, and maybe the lives of her friends, Bev felt defensive and impatient. “Don’t be an evasive jerk, Chris. Just say it.”

  He set his now-empty plate aside. “Okay. You have shitty taste in men, and you refuse to see that. Over and over, you end up with the bad boy, just fucking determined to find their heart of gold. How many guys have you dated since we’ve been friends?”

  Bev glared at him, not bothering to do the math. A few.

  When she didn’t answer, he did. “Five. Counting the guy you were getting over when we met, six. I’ve been there every time to get you back on your feet. Every-fucking-one of them treated you like shit, and you took it, trying to see the good, trying to make that little sliver of good the main thing about them. And every-fucking-one of them hurt you. They dumped you, or they cheated on you practically in your face until you finally wised up and left—and shit, then there’s Greg.”

  “Don’t, Chris. I get it.” She set her half-eaten pie away, no longer hungry at all.

  “No, you don’t. You wanted me to just say it, so here it is: Greg. He was such a bad boy he beat you up. And even that wasn’t enough for you to get it. He had to do it again before you’d leave him. And then he stalked you. You dumped out your whole life to get away from him. And now, the next guy you exhibit any interest in is a fucking mobster—who got you blown up before he even banged you. And still you want to be with him. Bevvie, I love you. I really love you. But on this point, you are a stupid twat.”

  Shocked at his words, she jumped off the stool and tried to storm past him. She was going to cry, and she didn’t want him to see how much he’d hurt her. The betrayal she felt was thick and acrid around her.

  He grabbed her arm as she tried to pass. “Bev. There are good guys. Guys with their heart of gold right out on their sleeve. Guys who’ll treat you like the treasure you are. They’re all around you. They’re right in front of you. You just need to open your eyes.”

  “Let go of me.” She managed to keep her voice steady all the way until the last word. He let her go, and she fled the shop, not even stopping to tell Donnie it was time to go. But he was up and following her right away.

  ~oOo~

  As soon as the elevator opened, Bev pushed through, going ahead of Donnie, even though she knew he wanted to be out front. She just wanted to get to her apartment and be alone, where she could cry in peace and solitude.

  The new big guy who had taken Jimmy’s place guarding Nick was standing in the middle of the hallway with his back to her, blocking her passage. Pulling up a little and preparing to ask him to excuse her, she realized that Nick’s door was open. And then, as she stepped to the far side, she caught a glimpse of blonde hair. She couldn’t see much more around the guard, but she looked at the hall floor—two female feet in high, fancy pumps.

  Fuck. The girlfriend. The one he’d said he didn’t have anymore.

  She watched those feet walk toward Nick’s door and then in. His bodyguard turned and shifted, his hand coming up to his waist and then relaxing, when he recognized her. He made room for her, and she went on, trying not to look. But she couldn’t help one glance.

  As Nick closed his door, with the girlfriend in there with him, his eyes met her
s.

  It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. She and Nick had nothing going on between them but bad luck. It didn’t matter that he’d lied to her, because he didn’t matter. He was weightless.

  She went down to her apartment. Donnie had her keys, so she waited until he unlocked her door, then she snatched her keys from him, pushed past him, and locked him out.

  Rubbing her left thumb over the feathers inked into her right wrist, a gesture to find calm in stormy seas, Bev went to her bedroom and changed her clothes. Once she was in comfortable yoga pants and a tank, she lit an incense stick, sat lotus on the floor in her pretty, soft room, and tried to meditate.

  Before she could, though, she needed to cry. So she put her hands to her face and did that.

  ~ 9 ~

  Nick let go of Vanessa’s arm and looked at Sam. “Make sure she gets off safely. Donnie’s got this floor until you get back.”

  “Okay, boss.” He took Vanessa’s arm himself. But she turned back. Her mascara was smeared. All he could think of was how ugly it made her.

  “Nick, I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell and say those things. I would never do…I just feel crazy. You blew me off, and then I saw that picture of you and…and I just went crazy.”

  Crazy, stupid, not much of a difference where women were concerned, he thought. He had seen too much of the damage created by women who’d been scorned, or who’d simply thought they’d been, to be surprised by their capacity for colossal stupidity, but he would never understand it.

  “Go. Go home. I’ll see to it your phone is replaced. But if I see you again, or if you cause me any kind of a ripple, you will have much bigger concerns than a broken phone.”

  She nodded, and Sam pulled her forward. As they went, she looked back again. “Nick—I love you, baby.”

  He fucking hated to be called ‘baby.’ He closed his door.

  He’d thought maybe he’d gotten clear of Vanessa without drama. Wrong. And Beverly had seen her. That bothered him a lot, but he wasn’t sure it should. He had decided to keep his distance. Maybe it was a good thing that she’d seen what she had.

  Fuck. He needed a drink. It was still early afternoon, but his workday was, hopefully, done. Or, at least, he could handle the rest from home. He was still getting confirmation on the security for Jimmy’s funeral tomorrow. And he was waiting on some security footage from Neon. He expected to find that either Matty or Chi-Chi had done some extracurricular work Friday night.

  One of his own crew, who’d worked with him for years. He really needed that damn drink.

  He’d already changed into jeans and a t-shirt before Vanessa’s unannounced and ill-conceived visit. He’d have a drink and put ESPN on and pretend he was just a guy with the afternoon off.

  Before he’d gotten to the kitchen for his scotch, there was a knock on his door. He went back and checked the peephole. Donnie, his baby face twisted with worry. He opened the door.

  “Problem?”

  “Yeah…uh. Boss, it’s Bev. She’s in there crying. It’s been going on a while.”

  Nick sighed. Today was his day to deal with women’s drama, apparently. “Did you check on her?”

  “I knocked, but she won’t let me in.”

  “So unlock her door.”

  “She has the keys. She snatched them from me when I let her in.”

  “Shit, Donnie. How can you take care of somebody if you can’t get to her?”

  “I don’t know! Boss, I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before, guarding somebody.”

  Nick knew that. They were strapped for security, with Jimmy down, and the three made guards who’d died at his father’s funeral. With the increased need for coverage after the bombing, they’d pulled several made soldiers up for guard detail. Guarding wasn’t difficult for a man with an instinct for it. Bev and Donnie had gotten along well, so, with no better options, he’d put Donnie on as her main guard. But clearly he had little instinct for the work.

  “Fuck. Okay.” He closed his door. The elevator opened, and Sam stepped out. Nick threw out a quick, “Going down the hall,” and then did so.

  He tried her knob and found it locked, as advertised. He knocked. No answer. “Beverly.” He knocked again. Nothing. “Beverly, if I need to shoot the lock off, I will. That will be loud and will draw a lot of attention I don’t need. But I’ll do it. Open the door.”

  The chain rattled, the deadbolt turned, and then the knob lock. She’d really wanted to be alone. The door opened. And Nick had an immediate urge to cup her face with his hand. She looked so damn sad. All clouds and grey skies.

  Vanessa’s tears had made her ugly, turning her heavy makeup into rivers of black and gold. Beverly’s tears made her sweet. Even the mascara smudges.

  “What.” It didn’t have the energy of a question. It was just a word.

  He stepped in, making her walk backward, and closed her door, leaving Donnie outside. The apartment had a strong, earthy scent he couldn’t place. Not unpleasant. Exotic. “What’s wrong, bella?”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.”

  “Is this about Vanessa?”

  “Is that her name? And no. I just had a crappy day. I’m fine, and I want to be alone.”

  He caught her right hand and turned it up, showing the inside of her wrist. “I thought your problems were the weight of a feather.” Allowing himself the luxury of impulse, he lifted her arm to his mouth and kissed her tattoo, feeling the raised skin of her scars against his lips.

  Her eyes flared. “Why?” She pulled her hand, but he didn’t let it go.

  “Why what?”

  “Why be nice to me? Is it a game?”

  “I don’t play games.”

  “You don’t play games, and you don’t have regrets. Your life must be really simple, then.”

  He chuckled. “No, bella. My life isn’t simple at all. Tell me what happened to make your day crappy.”

  “You happened.” She pulled her hand again, and this time he let her have it.

  “Please?”

  She walked some distance away. “I worked a full shift, and now my ribs are killing me because I got caught up in somebody trying to bomb you. I have somebody following me around everywhere I go because the person who tried to bomb you now thinks you give a shit about me, and might hurt me because of it. My best friend was a total jerk to me because he thinks I’m—in his words—a stupid twat for liking you. And then I come home to find out that he’s totally right and you’re a liar and do have a girlfriend. You’re right. It shouldn’t matter. I don’t, so you shouldn’t.”

  “I do.” He went to her, turned her around to face him again.

  “Do what? Have a girlfriend? Matter? Well, bully for you. Not to me.”

  “I don’t think that’s true, or you wouldn’t be in here crying. But that’s not what I meant. I don’t have a girlfriend. You saw an uninvited and unwelcome guest. I do give a shit about you. You do matter.”

  “Why?”

  “I think it’s early to say. But I’m here, asking what’s wrong, because I care.”

  She gave him a lengthy, sidelong look. “But there’s no Good Nick.”

  “No, bella. There’s only me. If you want a good man, then you shouldn’t cry over me. I’m not a good man, not the way most people would define it. My life is dark and violent. So am I. But I told you that I’m good to people I care about. That was the truth. I treasure what’s mine.”

  Something in his words had particular impact, because her expression and posture changed dramatically. Most of the clouds cleared away, though she eyed him with something like reluctance. Or trepidation.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I said what I meant, Beverly. What are you hearing?” She blushed bright red and looked down at the floor. He hooked a finger under her chin and made her face him. “Tell me.”

  Lifting her head free of his hand, she huffed. “Oh, what the hell. That you want to be with me. Is that what you’re saying?”

  It was. He did
. Whatever that meant. What he felt about Beverly was different from what he’d felt about Vanessa—or any of his other comares. They had been amusing distractions, ornaments, a required part of his capo package. He’d enjoyed lavishing gifts on them, he’d enjoyed the handsomeness of the couple he made with them, he’d enjoyed fucking them.