Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4) (17 page)

“Like, Michael and Gabriel and whoever?”

“Yeah. And whoever.” His smile widened to fullness.

She shrugged and then smiled, too, feeling a little sheepish. “Not much. Actually, most of what I know came from
Supernatural
.”

“Supernatural?”

“The TV show. About monsters and demons and angels. The archangels are a thing.”

“Oh—is that the one about the gay guys who ride around in the vintage Impala?”

“Oh, my God! They’re not gay—they’re brothers!”

He chuckled. “Okay. Anyway, there are seven archangels. Catholics only recognize three: Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael. But there are four more. One of them is Samael. All archangels are God’s warriors. They’re not gentle beings with harps—they’re violent and powerful. Samael walks the line between good and evil. He’s an angel of retribution and destruction. Of death. He’s God’s enforcer. He’s also known as the Prince of Demons.”

“Sounds like Sam and Dean got it right, then.”

His brows drew in at that, but Bev just shook her head and went on. “So, you have Samael’s wings and sword on your back?”

“Yes.”

“Because you identify with him.”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” It made sense, actually. But there was a lot of pain represented in that ink. “But you don’t rest easy with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way the wings are made to have torn through your skin, and the way the barbs are embedded. It all looks as painful as it is beautiful.”

He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. “Don’t romanticize me,
bella
. My soul isn’t tormented. I am at peace with who I am. I’m necessary. I’m important in my world. I do what others can’t or won’t, and I keep things in balance.”

He was speaking as if he’d already told her exactly what he did in his world, when in truth he had never said anything more than that he was dangerous. But, then, recalling his explanation of Samael, Bev realized that he had told her exactly what he did. The rumors she’d read were true. He was a killer. A torturer. That was his job.

That should matter, she knew. To normal people, that should matter greatly.

It didn’t.

“You’re tormented tonight.”

“Not because of what I do. Because of who I’ve lost. It’s been a hard few months. Brian was my best friend since I was seven.” He dropped his head and took a long, deep breath. Bev wondered if he ever allowed himself to be truly sad, if he ever cried.

“I’m sorry.” She cradled his head in her hands and kissed his forehead. “So sorry.”

There was nothing she could do to take that kind of pain away or even ease it at all. But she felt a potent emotional connection to him, knowing that he was showing her his pain, that he’d come to her, even the way that he had—
especially
the way that he had—that he had given her a kind of vulnerability that she already knew he did not offer lightly.

And there was one thing she could do. His head still cradled in her hands, she kissed his forehead again. And then his cheek. His jaw. His mouth. As she pushed her tongue between his lips, she scooted forward on her knees, pushing him back to lean against the back of the sofa. Then she straddled him. Still bare, and still sore and sensitive from earlier, she gasped at the feel of his cock growing hard under her.

His hands went under her nightgown, digging into the muscles over her hips. But he pulled his mouth away. “You’re hurt.”

She shook her head and pulled off her nightgown, then kissed him again. With her lips on his, she murmured, “Not like this.” And then she reached into his pants and pulled his cock free. God, it was big. She still hadn’t gotten a good look at it, but it had felt huge inside her, and now, with her hand around his girth, she had more evidence of his size. She rose up on her knees and settled down again, filling herself with him. He groaned, and his fingers dug in more deeply.

“Oh, God, you feel so good,” she whispered, biting at his lips.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back sharply, making her cry out—but not so far back that it tweaked her ribs. “Are you a talker,
bella
?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes. I just do what feels right.”

He grinned. She loved his smile so much—everything good in him shone out at her. “I like that,” he said, his voice low. “I like that a lot.”

A fist still tangled in her hair, he pulled her to the side, and his free hand cupped her breast. And then his mouth was on her, for the first time, sucking, nipping, drawing her nipple between his teeth, flicking his tongue back and forth until she was moaning again, unable to keep her hips still.

He released her breast and eased his hold in her hair. “Your body is so beautiful.
Bellissima
.”

She stilled and smiled at him, needing to challenge him. “I’m not built like the other women I’ve seen you with.”

“Don’t, Beverly.” His expression closed, and his tone was impatient. “Don’t do that thing that women do. I don’t respond well to that passive-aggressive bullshit. I gave you a compliment.”

“I wasn’t fishing for another compliment or throwing yours back.” She moved to get off of him, but he held her hips firmly in place. “I like the way I look. It took a lot of soul-searching to get to that place. I made an observation. Since I moved in, I’ve seen you with three different women. They all looked pretty much alike, Nick. The logical observation is that you have a type. And I don’t look like they do.”

He eased, and even smiled a little again. “Point taken. You
are
different. You’re unique among women I’ve known, inside and out. I love your body, especially now that my hands are full of you. You are visibly strong, and yet when I hold you, you…yield.” For emphasis, he squeezed his fingers into the muscle of her thighs. “That’s a potent feeling. Your breasts are supple and sweet, and you move in wonderful ways when I touch them.” His hands moved to her breasts, and his fingers pinched her nipples firmly, then twisted, and her entire body clenched into a knot of fierce, sudden pleasure.

As she clenched around him, he groaned. “I want to fuck you again, but I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“Let me fuck you, then.” She flexed her hips, drawing him back and forth inside her until they were both panting, and his hands came up to hold her face. He stared into her eyes, and Bev comprehended that he didn’t give up even that much control. So when he nodded, she knew what he was giving her. Another way he was opening himself to her.

Maybe it was his vulnerability and need on this night making him so open to her. Maybe he would regret it later. But he’d said he didn’t do things he regretted.

Either way, she knew at that moment beyond any doubt that her heart was his for the taking.

Feeling powerful and happy, she began to move in earnest, not bothering to draw it out, wanting his need and frenzy as quickly and intensely as she could get it. He made an indistinct, animal noise and then buried his face between her breasts, his hands clamping again onto her hips. She rocked and rolled, driving him into her over and over again, feeling him swell inside her as she felt his breath heaving on her.

Suddenly, one hand let go of her hip and smoothed over her ass. He pushed between her cheeks, and she felt his fingers playing behind her, tracing the ridged and unbelievably sensitive skin of her anus. No one had ever touched her there.

When she didn’t slow the pace of her hips, his hand moved farther and then returned, his fingers now wet with her juices. He didn’t look up from her chest, or ask, or even hesitate. And she didn’t try to stop him. Once he had made her moist, he pushed a finger inside her.

She gasped and sat upright, driving his finger deeper. “Oh, God! That’s…God!”

Then he looked into her eyes, his expression passionate and intent. “This is new to you.”

She nodded.

“Good. This is mine.”

An entirely new kind of pleasure radiated from that spot like tendrils of fire, and then he pushed a second finger in, and she was coming. She was coming so hard. Her hips moved faster and faster, chasing the end of the climax, and every flex drove his fingers in and out, in and out.

Sensation burst through her and she stilled, her hands clamped hard on his shoulders. As sensation receded and sense returned, she relaxed and let herself drop to his chest, ignoring the dogged complaints of her ribs. He was pulsing inside her, and she realized that he’d come, too. She’d been so wrapped up in her own pleasure, she hadn’t noticed.

She really had fucked him. The thought made her giggle, just quietly, to herself.

“Ah,
bella
,” he groaned, his voice like gravel, “You are a revelation.
Sono abbagliato da te
.”

She had no idea what that meant, but she didn’t care. It sounded beautiful, and she could hear in his voice that whatever it meant was beautiful, too.

~ 11 ~

Violence did not ordinarily consume Nick’s life, not on the current scale. The Pagano Brothers had not become so powerful and stable for more than half a century by participating in shootouts on a regular basis. In fact, for at least the past twenty years, the bulk of their enterprises had been legitimate. They were majority or substantial owners of an array of businesses, from nightclubs to hotels, restaurants to tourist cruise boats.

Even off the books, Ben and Lorrie had always run mainly higher-class operations. They lent money, they offered women. They had been involved in gambling until its legal options had expanded to the point that the profit in their enterprise had dried up. But they had never involved themselves with drugs, and their involvement with guns had been strictly as buyer.

The Pagano Brothers’ primary off-the-books product was influence. Power. They knew the people who could get anything done, and they knew how to persuade them to do it. Very little happened of note in Rhode Island that the Paganos had not okayed. People paid handsomely for access to that power.

Over the long course of their work, they had built up and maintained solid relationships that reached into every corner of business and every branch of government. Ben never spoke of ‘owning’ anyone or having someone ‘in his pocket’; he understood the danger of that kind of smug complacency. He understood that a relationship was preferable to a transaction because it was more stable. People—district attorneys, judges, ranking government agents, police chiefs, councilmen, senators, whoever—felt a great deal less conflict about the thick envelope they’d accepted when they felt liked and respected by the man holding it out, and when they liked and respected him in return.

The Paganos also knew when the best transaction was a symbolic one. Not every engagement required a monetary price, or a difficult one. It was possible to come to Don Pagano for a favor and have the return on it be painless. This, too, engendered goodwill.

The Pagano Brothers and all the New England families had been largely unimpeded by law enforcement, even while crusaders in other parts of the country made news taking down big names, because they had the right people on their side, because they were seen as doing more good than bad, because their approach to even their dirty business was perceived as clean.

Like his father before him, Nick’s job was to bury the filth. From the time he was old enough to be groomed, his father had groomed him to take his place as family’s lead enforcer. Lorrie had been a good enforcer, feared and respected both, and he had carried the family through the difficult years of the late twentieth century, when attention on so-called organized crime was at a peak. He had taught his only living child the nuances of the work. He’d made him study anatomy, psychology, physiology. He’d made him, still in his teens, watch his most intense and gruesome works.

He’d steeled Nick’s stomach, iced his nerves, sharpened his senses, and expanded his mind.

But Lorrie had been a hothead and, in his younger years, a drunk. A violent drunk. He had made mistakes. He’d had deep regrets. He’d almost torn everything important to him into shreds. Until Ben had intervened decisively.

Nick had been groomed as much by his father’s failings as by his teachings. He did not lose his cool. He did not get drunk. And he did not regret.

To regret was to open the door to torment.

Nick did not regret.

He did not.

He knotted his tie, shrugged on his suit jacket, and went to his office. From a top drawer of his desk, he took out a flat velvet box. And then he left his apartment, nodded at Sam, and went down the hall.

Though he could and usually did simply walk into Beverly’s apartment, today he knocked. When she opened her door, her pretty brow was wrinkled. “Hi. Why’d you knock?”

Stepping in, he hooked his hand around her neck and kissed her. She was beautiful, dressed perfectly for the day in a simple black dress, sleeveless, with a stiff, knee-length skirt that flared out a little from her waist. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail.

“Donnie’s away today. I wanted to knock so you weren’t startled.” Donnie was working elsewhere on this day. Nick would have Beverly with him all day, so they only needed one guard.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m always okay,
bella
.” He held her briefly, then kissed the top of her head and set her back. “I have something for you.” From the inside of his jacket, he pulled out the velvet box.

She cocked her head but didn’t take the box from him. “What’s that?”

“A gift.”

With a small, curious smile and a glint of uncertainty in her eyes, she took the box and pushed open the hinged lid. Inside, on a satin bed, was a necklace, a simple, gold chain with a pendant—a sun, its rays gold, its center made of diamonds.

“Oh, Nick. It’s beautiful.” She started to lift it out of the box, but he took the box from her and did it himself, then walked behind her. Knowing what he meant to do, she pulled her ponytail out of the way.

After he fastened the clasp at her nape, he pressed his lips there and then gently pulled her ponytail free of her grasp, letting it lie on her back again. Then he turned her to face him, and he kissed her softly. “
Sei il mio sole
,” he murmured.

He liked that she never asked him what the quiet Italian words he gave her meant. There was a naked kind of trust in her simple assumption that what he’d said was good. He was by no means fluent in the language of his forebears. He’d told her the truth—he could get by in Italy, but with a few exceptions, the things he could say well in Italian were things to say quietly, in passion, dark or light.

Beverly picked the pendant up from her chest and kissed it, a gesture Nick found powerful and sweet. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She looked up at him. “But today?”

Nick had always enjoyed giving gifts to his women, usually jewelry. His enjoyment had been less about pleasing the woman, and more about the adornment of her. Seeing the small sun lying a few inches below Beverly’s throat, the image of her kissing it still vivid on his eyes, he felt something different.

“Today, yes. I need my sunshine.”

As she looked up at him and smiled, her eyes filled and swam with tears. Then she nodded and took his hand. “Okay. I’m here.”

He picked up her little handbag from the table by the door and handed it to her, and then he led her out of her apartment, and Sam escorted them to his best friend’s funeral.

~oOo~

Brian’s mother, Pauline, and a younger sister, Janet, were his only surviving family. The mourners at his funeral were all Pagano Brothers family. His mother wanted no visitation or vigil. The Mass was brief, the graveside service briefer still. Pauline stood between Janet and Nick and stared at the casket until it had been lowered into the ground. Then she turned abruptly on her heel and walked away.

Janet stayed behind, staring at Nick.

Nick squeezed Beverly’s hand. “Go with my mother,
bella
. I’ll meet you at the car.” He waved Matty and Donnie over. “Stay with them, both of you.”

Matty nodded and held out his hand to Beverly. “C’mon, ma’am.” Since it had become clear that she was Nick’s—today made it official—everyone called her ma’am. She always blushed, just a faint tinge, at that.

When they were alone at Brian’s open grave, Sam at a discreet but wary distance, Nick turned to Janet. “You have something to say, Janet.” He didn’t ask, he stated. It was obvious that she did. She’d been staring icily at him since he’d greeted her at the church.

She laughed without humor. “You always were super smart. Remember sitting around after school, eating pizza rolls and drinking 7Up and watching Jeopardy? Even back then, you knew most of the answers.” She laughed again, that same dry tone. “I had a wicked huge crush on you when we were kids. Longer than that, even.”

“I know.” Janet was four years younger. She’d been transparently fascinated by Nick from the time he was about sixteen.

“I know you know. You know everything. So I know you know this. Brian’s dead because of you.”

“No. Brian’s dead because of our enemies.” Nick would not carry that weight.

She scoffed. “Is that right. When he got hurt just a couple of weeks ago, that bomb thing—he was protecting you, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. That was his job.” He would not carry that weight.

“His job. Your best friend’s job was to lay his life on the line for you. You used him like a shield. That’s what kind of friend you are. Is that how he died, too? Taking your bullet?”

“You don’t know our business. It’s not your business to know. When he died, Brian was where he wanted to be.” He would not carry that weight.

“Taking your heat.”

He would not carry it. He would not. “We’re all meeting at Uncle Ben’s. The car will take you and Pauline.”

“Thanks, but this is where I get off. Mom wants to go, though. She’s still drinking your Kool-Aid. You better take care of her. You’re all she’s got. She could care less about me.”

He knew Janet was overstating on that last point, but not by much. Janet had blamed Pauline for their father leaving, and the two had never repaired the rift it had caused. “You know I’ll take care of her, Janet. She’ll want for nothing. Same goes for you.”

“I don’t want your blood money, Nicky. I want you to rot in hell.” With that, Brian’s baby sister turned and walked across the cemetery, away from the rest of the mourners and the awaiting vehicles.

Nick watched her for a minute, and then he turned and stared down into Brian’s grave. He was tired, and he was impatient. He had lost much to Alvin Church. They all had. They had taken their share, as well, but the war was unending. Nick had come to agree with his uncle that taking Church out directly was the wrong play—it would only make a space for someone else to step in. They had to take Church’s infrastructure out first. It was the right strategy. But now that they had cut him off from his cartel supplier and closed off every pipeline Jackie Stone had managed, they had done crippling damage to that infrastructure.

He wanted to go for Church, and soon. He had retribution to carry out. His father and his best friend to avenge. His family to make safe. His world to balance.

He squatted down and tossed a handful of dirt into the grave. “See ya, bro.”

Then he dusted off his hands and stood, turning and walking away from thirty-eight years of friendship and the only person whose name was not Pagano who’d ever known what Nick’s father had once done. Or what Nick had then done.

As he and Sam walked up to the Town Car in which Beverly and his mother already sat, a white Explorer drove up and stopped. At his side, Sam drew. Every other soldier drew as well. Nick unbuttoned his suit jacket and waited.

The driver stepped out, his hands up, and opened the rear door. Alvin Church stepped out, and a dozen guns were aimed at his head.

With his hands up and a wide smile on his face, Church said, “I come in peace. I thought I’d have a word with Nick here.” He turned to Nick. “You and me have never been formally introduced.”

Even with his hands up, the disrespect was palpable—to show up here, after the burial of a man killed in their war, and after what he’d had done at Nick’s father’s funeral a few months before. “You’re not welcome here.”

“This cemetery is one of the few things in this little town you people don’t own. So I think I’m as welcome here as I want to be. I’d like a word. What do you people call it? Take a walk with me?”

Uncle Ben and Aunt Angie had already left, headed home in advance of their coming guests. Beverly and his mother were fewer than ten feet to his side, certainly watching all of this, at real risk if there was anyone else behind the blacked-out windows of that white Explorer. Nick closed his mind from that thought and focused on his enemy.