Deep (Pagano Family #4)(2)

Uncle Ben cleared his throat and began speaking. At first, he didn’t look up; he stared at his hands, which were folded on the blotter in front of him.

“This is a dark, sad night. It should not be a night for business, and my home is not a place for business. I want to mourn my brother. I want to bring his wife comfort.” He looked up and scanned the faces of this part of his family. “But we have no choice. There is business that must be done. The loss of Lorrie is greater than family. He was my right hand for more than fifty years. Our business can’t run unless we fill the hole he left.”

Nick looked to his right and his left at the men ranked high enough in the borgata to be part of this discussion. Julie Nicci and Dom Addario had been capos for years. Decades. Both were old school, as his uncle was. Either of them would serve Don Pagano in the way he wanted—they would work to preserve the world the Pagano Brothers had built and strengthened all their lives.

Julie was the steadier of the two. Dom tended to fray along his edges and lose control of his temper; Nick had cleaned up his messes a few times. It should be Julie.

Actually, Nick thought, it should be him. This organization needed fresh blood. They needed someone who would see the world as it was. But he and his Uncle Ben had not been seeing eye to eye since Church had first raised his head. With every injury, every hit they took, every retaliation it was Nick’s job to deliver, every turn around this endless goddamn cycle, Nick became more infuriated and less reserved in showing it.

And Julie and Dom both hated Nick. They kept it buttoned up around the don, but Nick knew perfectly well that they saw him as a young turk who’d jumped to his position early because he was a Pagano.

That was bullshit, of course. Nick had earned his position in other people’s blood. For twenty years, he’d been the one who would do anything, handle any problem, clean up any mess, find anyone, get any answer, no matter what. He was up to his shoulders in blood.

Uncle Ben continued, “We don’t have the luxury to wait and mourn Lorrie decently before we open the books. I need a right hand, and I need it now.”

Julie and Dom both stirred in their seats, subconsciously jockeying for position, consciously preparing to hear the don say one of their names. Nick—who, by the nature of his job as enforcer, assassin, and interrogator, had become a student of all manner of communication—watched them closely.

“I need fresh eyes at my side. I need someone I can trust to see the future, because my own future grows short and dim. So I name Nick to succeed his father as underboss.”

The old man had perhaps at last seen reason. Too bad it had taken the loss of his blood brother to clear his eyes.

There were no shouts of outrage, no murmurs of protest. Tired though he might be, old though he was, Ben Pagano commanded respect. But Julie and Dom turned from him to Nick, and then they let their shock and displeasure show, in the slack set of their jaws and the deep creases in their brows. Fred quietly sat and took in the show.

Nick, for his part, ignored them all and simply nodded, focused on his uncle. “Thank you, Uncle. I’ll do my father proud. And you, as well. Of course.”

Ben nodded, too. “I know you will. We’ll celebrate when the time is better for it. For now, I give you a day to think before you offer a name to replace you as capo.”

“I don’t need a day, Uncle. I name Brian. Brian Notaro.”

That got the shouts of outrage and protest. Even Ben’s impressive, white eyebrows went up.

Julie said, “No! Don, I don’t agree. Brian is not capo material.”

Dom shouted, “He’s half-blooded! It’s an outrage even to offer his name.” He swiveled back to Nick. “Who do you think you are?”

Nick held his eyes and spoke calmly. “Your boss. I’m your boss now, Dom. Watch your tongue.”

Dom blinked. And then he shut up.

Julie, calmer, pushed again. “All respect, Don Pagano, to you and to Nicolo”—Nick smirked a little at the transparent attempt to show additional respect and connection by using his Italian name—“But Brian is not full-blooded. No one has risen higher than soldier without tracing his full history back to Italia. Brian is a good soldier, a real earner, but his mother is—what? Polack?”

Nick’s smirk grew at the word Italia. The full body of Julie’s personal experience in the country of Italy was his two-week honeymoon thirty years ago. Brian’s mother was a European blonde of one kind or another. Her maiden name was Polish, yes. But the point was irrelevant in Nick’s eyes, and he didn’t answer Julie’s question. He said nothing at all.

“Julie has a point, Nick,” Uncle Ben finally said. “Make your case.”

Julie and Dom both gaped at his uncle. Even unflappable Fred looked shocked. Nick, too, was surprised that his uncle had not simply shot him down. Now, he spoke. “Brian has been with us as long as I have. We were made together. He’s been my right hand. He knows my work better than anyone. He can step into the role I filled and not miss a beat. No one has my trust like Brian. He should have the trust of every man in this room. I don’t care where his mother’s family came from. His name is Notaro. He has blood ties. And he is ready to bathe in blood so you don’t have to. That’s what we do.”

“Not you anymore, Nick.” Uncle Ben’s voice was low. “As your father rose above, so now do you.”