But Donnie would never stand in Nick’s way. Neither would Angie. They stood behind their don and supported his decision. What Nick wanted.
When Trey held back, clearly feeling awkward and stunned—part of the ritual was that the initiate didn’t expect it, even if he’d been seeking it—Nick took his arm and pulled him forward.
“Tonight, if you wish it, you become one of us. This is a sacred blood bond. Only accept it if you will honor it always, to the end of your days. Are you ready to be made a Pagano man?”
Trey swallowed again and took a breath—this was good; it was important to take a beat, to think and not leap.
“I am, Uncle.”
Nick smiled slightly, but shook his head. “Tonight, I am not your cousin, or your uncle. Tonight I—all of us—are more than that family. We take the place above all else in your life, with only God above us. Tonight, I am your don, and only your don. Capiti?”
Trey nodded, and Angie saw him hold back an apology. Good, kid. Good.
“Capito, Don Pagano.”
“Bene. Donnie?” He held out his hand, and Donnie set a small card in it, then stepped to the table. He struck a match and lit the pillar candle.
When Donnie stepped back, Nick held the card up so Trey and all the others could see it. “Saint Agatha, patron of Sicily.” He held the card in the candle flame until the corner caught, then lifted the card high while it burned. “May she and our fathers watch over us, as we honor the place of our beginning.” He dropped the flaming card into the brass bowl.
Angie detected a bit of shifting among the men in the room. Not everyone, but a few, enough to be noticeable. The words had always been their words, but there were those, in this room and throughout their world, who would argue that making Trey did no honor to the forefathers of La Cosa Nostra.
But respect for Nick, and the unconditional loyalty of their own oaths, kept the men quiet and behind him now.
When the card was ash, Nick put his hand into a pocket of his trousers and pulled out a beautiful switchblade with a grip of inlaid wood. He popped it open. As Trey frowned, not understanding—no one who hadn’t been in an initiation room knew the ritual, because no one who had been in the room ever spoke of it—Nick drew the point of the blade across the tip of his own trigger finger. When a line of bright red blood rose, he held his finger over the brass bowl and let several drops fall onto the smoking ash, which hissed quietly as each one touched down.
He closed his knife, put it away, pulled a white handkerchief from his suitcoat, and wrapped his new wound.
Donnie was next, then Angie. They’d all brought the knives they’d been given at their own making. Every made man in the room took his turn at the bowl, adding his blood.
When everyone but Trey had bled, and a small but notable puddle filled the bottom of the bowl, Nick faced Trey again.
“Now you.” He picked up the new dagger from the table and handed it, grip forward, to Trey.
Trey hefted the knife for a moment, appreciating its significance. Then, without hesitation, he drew the point through the top pad of his trigger finger and added his blood to the bowl.
Nick smiled—warm and full of pride. But the ritual wasn’t over yet. He took the dagger from Trey and set it on the table again. Hefting the brass bowl in his hands, he said, “This is our brotherhood, forged in blood and pain. Il sangue non mente. Blood does not lie. It is a bond of pure trust. Il sangue è vero. Blood is true. Our faith in each other is deep and wide. Il sangue è eterno. Blood is eternal. It flows between us always.”
He set the bowl down again and put his thumb into the pool of mingled blood, stirring it gently, mixing ash and liquid together. With his hand hovering over the bowl, he stared hard at Trey and said, “Carlo Francesco Pagano III, do you vow to be loyal to this brotherhood for all of your days and put no other above us but God Himself?”
“I do.”
“Do you vow to protect this brotherhood always, with blade or bullet when necessary, or with your very life?”
“I do.”
“Do you vow to be honorable and brave in all things, to be a man of your word, to give respect where it is due and to protect the women and children of our world and innocents anywhere?”
Trey’s eyes took on a heavy shine, but his voice was steady and clear. “I do.”
“Do you vow to respect your brothers and always be honest and honorable in your dealings with them, never stealing from them or cuckholding them?”
“I do.”
“Do you vow always to respect the will of your don, to trust his wisdom, and do what he asks of you with a steady hand and a sure heart?”
“I do.”
“And do you take the vow of omertà, the sacred code of silence, to hold our secrets in the same hand in which you hold your life?”
“I do.”
Nick dipped his thumb in the pool of blood again. This time, he lifted his hand. In the middle of Trey’s forehead, he drew a five-pointed star. “You have bled with us and mingled your blood with ours. All is now one blood and can never be separated. Carlo Francesco Pagano III, you have shown your worth. You are one of us. Siamo la tua famiglia, ora e per sempre.”
Nick dragged Trey into a crushing hug and held on. Every other man in the room let out a cheer.
As Donnie took a turn to hug Trey and the men began picking up the glasses of Frangelico to toast their new brother, Angie stood where he was for another second or two to think.
His own making was one of the best memories of his life. Maybe the very best memory. It had been Ben Pagano asking him the questions, and he had never meant any words he’d ever spoken, before or since, like he’d meant every word of his vows.
Tonight, he’d felt almost like Nick was speaking to him as well as to Trey, reminding him of his promises, the blood oath he’d made.
But Angie had never forgotten.
~oOo~
A few days later, Donnie and Angie sat in a booth at a bar and grill in Foxborough, Massachusetts, one of those chain places off the interstate where everything was themed, and flat-screen televisions made a border around the whole place, each one showing a different game, a different sport. It was minutes before three o’clock in the afternoon, and the place was in that post-weekday lunch, pre-happy-hour lull. There were more employees in the place than patrons—which made it easier to watch the doors, front and back, and see any suspicious movements in the room itself.
They each had a draft beer, but they hadn’t ordered anything else. They would when the rest of their party arrived.
Angie was facing the front door, so he saw her at once. He checked his watch—spot on at three, Giada was walking through the door.
February was aging, and a false spring had broken the clutches of a blustery Atlantic winter. The high temperatures since the weekend had danced around the sixty-degree mark. Giada came in wearing only a fitted brown leather jacket over a slim black skirt and a silky white blouse that showed just enough of her cleavage to be alluring but still classy. A gold chain with a pendant that was a simple gold circle rested just above the cleft of her breasts.
She carried a red handbag and wore a pair of red suede high heels with sexy little straps around the ankles. She always wore red somewhere, he’d noticed, and she was always dressed to the absolute nines.
Her legs were bare. He hadn’t realized how beautiful those stems were until right now. Perfect, dainty, slim ankles. Slender, shapely calves. Bellissima.
Angie wouldn’t say he was into fashion, but he paid a little bit of attention. For himself, he had a good tailor and knew the labels he liked, and he liked to look good. For women, he just fucking loved the way they looked when they dressed up and took care of themselves. He could tell the difference between a designer skirt and some no-name sack from the mall because the designer piece fit better. And a woman—like Giada—whose clothes were made to measure? Damn.
She pushed a pair of sunglasses to the top of her head, making her loose hair cur
ve prettily around her face and showing a pair of thick gold hoop earrings. This meeting was not going to ease Angie’s tormented mind any, for sure.
When she saw him, she almost smiled—but then drew up short, coming to a halt about six feet away. “Where’s Nick?”
“Hi, Giada. He’s not coming,” Donnie answered.
Nick had called Giada himself and set this meeting. Once it was arranged, he’d told Donnie and Angie they were going alone. Obviously, he’d led Giada to believe she was meeting with him.
Angie could see first confusion, and then offense and anger, and finally indecision cross her face. She almost looked back at the door but resisted the temptation.
“Nick wanted this meet,” she said to Donnie.
“Yes. He wants you to meet with me and Angie.” Donnie had his business voice on, the one he used when he meant to drive a hard deal. “Will you sit?”
After another second of hesitation, she came to the table. Both Angie and Donnie sat in the middle of their benches, and neither moved immediately. That was rude; with a woman standing there waiting they should both have been on their feet, but Angie felt stuck. Having Giada beside him seemed risky, just now. Of course, having her across the table from him, where he could see her clearly, wasn’t much better.
He shot a glance at Donnie, who had also stayed seated, and was looking right at him, and he understood.
This was why Donnie had chosen a booth in this nearly empty restaurant. Angie was meant to move and have Giada sit beside him, so they were both facing Donnie, who could watch them.
If Angie had thought all had been forgiven and forgotten, now he knew better.
He scooted out of the booth and let Giada slide in. When he took the place beside her, he left as much room between them as he could, but she’d set her bag against the wall, so there were only a couple inches between them, and that because Angie almost had half his ass off the bench.
They still hadn’t actually greeted each other.
She smelled so fucking good. He remembered that scent, and the taste of it on his tongue.
“Why isn’t Nick here?” Giada asked Donnie. “He called me.”
Donnie smiled. “It’s nothing to worry about, Giada. Just an update. Nick didn’t have the time, so he sent us.”
There was a lot of shade in those few words—and that was as surprising to Angie as it was to Giada. With a painful flash, he understood: he was being tested, and she was being pushed back. And his buddy Donnie hadn’t said a goddamn word about it.
Giada turned and gave Angie a quick glance. It was just a blink, and the first time they’d made eye contact since she’d walked in, but Angie felt lanced. There had been betrayal in her eyes.
But how could he betray her? He’d made no promises to her.
The waitress came by, and Giada, after a glance at their beers, ordered a gin twist. When they were alone again, she folded her hands on the table before her. On her left wrist, she wore a gold Rolex with a diamond bezel and several slim gold and diamond bracelets; they made a soft metallic rustle as they rested on the table. Her nails were polished in an elegant red, a gradient from scarlet at her cuticles to nearly black at the tips, obviously an expensive salon job.
She wore a big, old-fashioned ring, gold with rubies, on her right ring finger. She’d worn that every time he’d seen her. Angie wondered if it was an heirloom.
He couldn’t stop looking at her, taking in every detail. Everything about this woman was just as he liked. She was made to measure.
Finding himself tempted to reach out and set his hand over her wrist, he linked his hands together in his lap.
After a moment, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “What’s the update?” she asked Donnie.
“On Saturday, Nick brought Trey in.”
Sitting so close to her, Angie saw the flinch. Donnie’s vision wasn’t as good, so maybe he hadn’t seen it.
“He’s made?”
Donnie nodded. “He is.”
“Nick told me he’d wait for my move.”
“Is that the word he gave you?” Donnie’s tone was cool, not cold, but obviously he meant to drive this hard. Angie admired his skill in cutting deep with words alone; he himself needed a blade to reach that kind of pain. But right now, it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut and not try to soften these blows.
She answered slowly, carefully. “We made the plan together. He told me he’d have my back.”
“He is a man of his word. What he promised, he’ll do. He’ll have your back. You will have his help. But of course he had no need of your help to make his move.”
This time, she wasn’t so deft at hiding her reaction. She sucked in a breath like Donnie had hit her.
Nothing Donnie had said was necessarily bad. He was reinforcing Nick’s promise, and giving her a heads-up about his activities, giving her the chance to change her plans accordingly. These were good things, the considerations of an ally.
But he was also saying that Giada’s plans had no bearing on Nick’s own, that the plan they’d made together was a charity he’d bestowed on her. And by sending Donnie and Angie and not bothering to come himself, with the dismissive explanation that he ‘didn’t have time,’ Nick was saying she wasn’t worthy of that time. Reminding her that she was not, and would never be, his equal.
That was a very strong statement to the woman he’d promised to help make a don.
And Angie had had no heads-up, not from Nick or from Donnie. They’d driven an hour together to this stupid restaurant, and Donnie hadn’t said a word about this turn.
This was his fault. It was all his fault. He hadn’t sent Giada out of his room at the Ritz, he’d been weak and given in to what he wanted, and now Nick was punishing them both, closing him out of loops and pulling back from what had been a nearly paternal intention to mentor her as she took the Sacco Family’s Council seat.
Giada cleared her throat. “Well, thank you for the update. I appreciate the consideration.” She opened her red bag and pulled out a red wallet. Her drink hadn’t even arrived yet.
Donnie waved her off. “It’s on me.”
She ignored him and set a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Excuse me, please,” she said, and it took Angie a beat to understand she meant him to move.
He stood, and she slid gracefully from the booth. Finally, she really looked at him, and her pale green eyes flared large and hot with hurt. She turned away.
Leaving was the wrong move, the weak move. She needed to stay—if only to look them both dead in the eyes and say something that suggested Nick’s change didn’t hurt her. They’d all know she was lying, but that wasn’t the point. She had to show strength right now. A don would show strength, even when he was weak.
Without thinking, without knowing what he meant to do, Angie reached out and took hold of her arm. “Giada, wait.”
She stopped, but didn’t turn back.
“Angie,” Donnie said, and he heard the warning. He let her go.
He stood beside the table and watched her go outside and head to a red Maserati.
When she was driving away, he flopped back to the booth.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked and glared at his friend.
Donnie shook his head sadly. “The ocean is deep where you swim, my friend. And full of sharks.”
~ 12 ~
She shouldn’t have left.
Before she’d pushed through the door, out of the restaurant, Giada had known she was making a mistake, but turning back would have been worse, so she’d kept her back straight and her stride purposeful, and she’d walked away from that fucking meeting.
To her car, out of the parking lot, back onto the interstate, she’d stayed calm and tightly controlled while her mind spun, until finally the spin was too fast, and she flew apart. By the time she made it to the next exit and found a place to pull over, she was shrieking so loud her throat ached.
Tommy hadn’t had her followed since the Marconi wedding,
so she didn’t worry that anyone would see her lost her shit.
She parked and let herself have this moment of unrestrained fury and fear. “FUCK!” she screamed over and over, slamming her palms on the steering wheel until they felt bruised. “FUCK FUCK FUCK!”
When the fit ran itself to its end, Giada sat where she was, panting, eye squeezed tight, and waited until she could think a clear thought.
Had Nick just completely fucked her over?
She wasn’t sure. Certainly, he’d made things much harder and more dangerous, but Donnie had said he’d still have her back. So what, then, had the meet been about? Why had he made Trey already and shredded the plan?
The plan she’d brought to him. Was this all because it was her idea?
Or was it because she’d gone to Angie without Nick’s knowing?
Well, that had been a colossal mistake, and not only because Nick liked to play king of the world.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him. More than a week had passed since New York, and Angie was still a presence in her thoughts, her memories. She’d thought maybe he’d been fading a little, finally, until she’d seen him today, in that perfectly fitted, beautiful suit. He’d looked so good. Each time their eyes met, she saw the same turmoil in him that she felt herself.
Sitting at his side, memories of his touch clamoring, Giada had been shaky and distracted, and she’d behaved like a novice. She knew how to drive a deal. She knew how to take a hard shot and send it back. But Angie had made her weak.
It was stupid; he was just a man. He’d been useful to her, that was all.
That should have been all, but it wasn’t. Something had happened between them she couldn’t take back. Nor could she afford to keep it.
Now all her plans were in broken pieces at her feet. Finished before she’d started.
No. No, that couldn’t be right. She couldn’t give this up.
What had Nick done today? He’d told her she needed to prove herself. She had to move on her brother without him; there would be no suggestion of his support for her, or of a mutual agreement between them, until she’d shown she could handle her brother and get control of her family. When—if—he threw his weight her way, he’d do it after she’d gotten Tommy out of the way.
The Name of Honor Page 14
