Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4)

by Fanetti, Susan

  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.”

  Everybody was trying to make him drink. But he felt dazed and dislocated, and he let his mother lead him by the hand down to the kitchen.

  She sat him at the table and then went to make the coffee. “I don’t know what’s going on, Nicky, and I’m not asking. But I have to say that this is not a world I know, where women are hurt like this. Where people aren’t safe in their own homes.”

  “I know, Ma. We’re putting things back together.”

  “Your father was shot on his own lawn. While he was walking Thelma and Louise. How is that business?”

  At the mention of his mother’s two Yorkies—an apology gift from Nick’s father five or six years ago—Nick looked around. He’d told his mother to be prepared to stay with Ben and Angie for a few days. She should have brought the dogs with her. “Where are the dogs?”

  She waved him off. “In their crates in the room I’m in. I gave them one of their travel pills—they get so yappy when people come and go, and I didn’t want them disturbing Bev.” She sighed heavily and shook her head. “What they did to that poor girl. I don’t understand anything anymore. I married your father forty-eight years ago, and I knew who he was. I knew a lot about him before I spoke a vow. But in all that time, his work never came into our home.”

  “It did, Ma. You know it did.”

  Again she waved him off. “That was—no. That was different. And it stopped. It all stopped. A long time ago. We don’t talk about that. And you know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “I know we shouldn’t be talking about this at all.” He had never known his mother to push back like this. She knew her role. She ruled her home, but she had no standing in business. But she was right—age-old barriers between home and business had been disintegrating for the past year and a half.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry to speak out of place. But the girl upstairs—she’s been hurt twice in your business, and has it even been a month?”

  “Not quite, no.”

  “Are you going to let her go? Let her find a regular guy? A nice accountant? Or a teacher, maybe?”

  Or a bookseller, maybe. “If she wants to go, I won’t stop her.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “Are you asking if I’ll give her up for her own good? No.” He didn’t want to be without her, and he wasn’t that fucking noble.

  His mother came to the table and caressed his cheek. “Then make her safe, Nicky.”

  Before he could respond, or think how he should, Dr. Kerr came into the kitchen. Nick stood, pushing his mother gently aside. “Tell me, Dennis.”

  Dennis nodded toward the table, and Nick sat again. As Dennis sat, he asked, “Could I get a cup of that espresso I smell, Betty?” Nick’s mother nodded and went
to the machine.

  “You want prognosis or details?”

  “Both.”

  “She’ll be out for a while; I gave her something to keep her peaceful through the night. Though she might seem awake at times and even talk or answer questions, she won’t remember. She’ll heal physically, though she’ll likely have some scarring. I can’t speak to how she’s going to do psychologically.” He accepted the little cup from Betty and took a sip. “These men are animals, Nick. The most severe damage, where most of the blood came from, is a long, deep laceration on the side of her right breast.”

  He paused, and took another drink. And then another. He was stalling. “Out with it, Dennis.”

  “I think they tried to cut it off.”

  Nick leaned his head into his hand, propped on the table. “The fuck.” He was sickened and infuriated, but not actually surprised. It was the thing he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine. She’d been awake when he’d found her. Had she been awake through it all? His other hand curled into a shaking fist.

  “From the wound, I’d say the knife wasn’t sharp enough. Or maybe they lost their stomach for it—though I doubt that. But I was able to close the wound. Other than a scar, I think that will heal well, as long as it gets good care. That’s her most physically serious injury.” He took a long breath and another sip.

  When next he spoke, he eyed Nick warily, as if expecting him to take a shot at the messenger. But Nick, sure he knew the rest, stayed calm. “She was raped, roughly—though there’s not really another way to be raped than roughly. But they did damage. I closed three significant tears. Others will close on their own. Other than that, she’s strained her vocal chords, and she has a lot of bruising and a couple dozen small lacerations, especially on her legs. Some had glass in them. Her face is bruised, but the small lacerations there didn’t require stitches. No bones were broken. I’d say she probably has a mild concussion from the facial blows.”

  He sighed and sat back. “All of that will heal. In a couple of weeks, she won’t look like someone who went through what she did. As for her mind, I don’t know. I think she’ll need some tender care for a while.” The sidelong look he gave Nick now implied his doubts that he was capable of tender care.

  “I want to be with her.”

  Dennis nodded. “Your aunt is cleaning her up and making her comfortable. I’m done for tonight. There are pills upstairs—antibiotics and pain control. The antibiotics need to be taken on a strict schedule. I wrote it down upstairs. The pain pills, she can have two every four hours as needed. She’ll need them regularly for at least a couple of days. Even if she says she doesn’t, she should take them.” He stood. “Thank you for the cup, Betty. I’m going to check in with Don Pagano, and then head home. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Nick stood and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you, Dennis.”

  “Of course.” He left.

  Betty picked up the cups and saucers. “Go on up. I’m going to wash up and see to the dogs. Then I think I’ll take some quiet time.”

  He took the dishes from his mother’s hands and set them back on the table. Then he wrapped her up in his arms. “Thank you, Ma. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. You’re my good boy.” She reached up and took his face in her hands, then pulled him down and kissed him on the lips. “You’re a good boy, Nicky. You are.” She slapped his cheek affectionately.

  ~oOo~

  Aunt Angie was still fussing about the room, but now the lights were low, and Beverly was settled under the covers. His aunt came up and hugged Nick when he came into the room.

  “I have a nightgown for her, but it’s just one of my old lady gowns, and I couldn’t figure out how to put it on her. So she’s not wearing anything under the covers. I hope that won’t upset her when she wakes.”

  “If it does, I’ll help her get the gown on.” An old lady gown would probably be what she would want right now—though Aunt Angie was never anything less than glamorous, so he doubted her idea of an old lady gown was some flannel sack.

  Angie leaned back and looked up at him, a skeptical lift to her eyebrow. “Or you call me or your mother to help her. Don’t push her, Nicky.” She stepped back and pointed to a fold of bright white cotton fabric. “It’s here.”

  He crossed the room and pulled the floral armchair up to the bed. This room was done in blues and greens, and all the fabric was the same—the curtains, the bedding, even the upholstery of the armchair. All of it the same crème color with a pattern of small blue flowers on vines. An elegant septuagenarian’s idea of good taste.

  His aunt left, pulling the door closed behind her, and Nick was left alone with Beverly in the dim room. Only a small lamp on the dresser, with a dark blue shade, offered any light.

  He picked up her hot, limp hand, and she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, closed, and opened again. “Nick.” She’d lost her voice entirely now; his name was nothing more than a breath.

  “I’m here, bella. He put her hand to his face and kissed her palm. “I’m here. I’m so sorry.”

  She smiled a little, then winced a little when the movement pulled her hurt lips. “You don’t have regrets. You said.”

  “I regret this. Letting you get hurt.”

  “It’s okay. I forgive you. I love you.”

  Women had told him they loved him before. He had never returned the sentiment. He had been fond of the women he’d been with. He had enjoyed them. But he had avoided sentiment. Sentiment was messy. It was hot, and he strove always for cool. And with that thought, he understood that his uncle was right about Beverly. She had changed him. She had made him hot.

  He loved her.

  Still holding her hand, Nick laid his cheek on her palm. He wondered at the calm he felt at that simple, passive touch of her skin. “Ah, bella. Sei il sole della mia vita. Ti amo.”

  “Pretty words,” she breathed, and then she was asleep again.

  He would say them in English when she would remember that they’d been said.

  ~ 14 ~

  Bev lay on the sumptuous bed in the pretty room and stared out the window. The view looked out over the water from high on Greenback Hill, so lying here she could see only the sky—a solid blue made brilliant by the late-morning sun. The window was open, and pretty floral curtains billowed out and in with the swaying sea breeze.

  She could hear the ocean moving onto the beach, the gentle, rolling hiss and rush of calm waves. At a distance, gulls cackled—probably congregating at the harbor, as they tended to do.

  It was a perfect May day. The kind of day to enjoy yoga on the sand, or a swim in the pool, and then walk to work with the sun on her face. Her favorite kind of day. A day to promise that nothing bad ever lasted, that no trouble couldn’t be shrugged off and sent into the breeze to float away.

  Bev turned away from the window and closed her eyes.

  ~oOo~

  “Bella. Dr. Kerr is here.” Nick stood in the doorway, his hand on the knob. Bev had sent him away earlier in the day, when she’d woken to find him sleeping in the chair next to the bed. In the hours since, he’d come in to check on her, and to make her take her meds, but when he’d asked if she wanted to be alone, she’d nodded, and he’d gone.

  It wasn’t that she was angry, or that she blamed him. She had no idea whether she was, or if she did. She didn’t have the energy to know. She didn’t have the energy to feel any kind of emotion at all. All of her energy went to the pain. Physical and mental, the pain consumed her and was too big to be contained in any one feeling. It was not anger, or sorrow, or fear, or even self-pity. It was just pain. And she wanted to be alone with it.

  Maybe she would have an emotion again, but now, on this day after, the night before running behind her eyes on a loop—every second, everything that had happened, everything that had been done—all she could feel was pain.

  She was saved from having to try to explain any of this by her ravaged throat. So she only nodded and turned away from the door. Back to the win
dow. She closed her eyes.

  She didn’t know who Dr. Kerr was, but when a nicely-dressed man with thin grey hair and wire-rimmed glasses came in behind Nick, Bev thought he seemed a little familiar. Though the diner was crystal clear, the rest of the night was either hazy or missing. She hadn’t known where she was when she’d woken this morning.

  “Good morning, dear.” Dr. Kerr set an old-fashioned black medical bag on the dresser. Then he turned to Nick. “When did she last have pain relief?”

  Nick checked his watch. “About three and a half hours.”

  “That’s off schedule.”

  “She was sleeping. I didn’t want to wake her. Is it a problem?”

  Bev watched their exchange as if she were accidentally eavesdropping on strangers’ conversation. Dr. Kerr turned and considered her. “No, it’s fine.”