Deep (Pagano Family #4)(64)

He saw Mills notice and process that nonverbal communication, and he saw a subtle but dangerous shift in his expression. The concerned friend had taken a step back, and the thwarted lover had stepped forward. Nick moved to the side, so that his arm was across Beverly’s shoulders. If the bastard took another step toward her, the conversation would be decidedly over; Nick would see to it.

When he spoke again, Mills’ voice was much lower. “You’re really picking the man who nearly got you blown up and let that happen to your face over me. I’ve been there for you, Bev. For years, I’ve been there.”

“Because you were waiting for your chance. Not to be my friend.”

“You’re splitting hairs.” He sighed. “But okay. I guess you’ve made your choice.” With that, he turned toward the front door.

Nick let him open the door and walk through it. Then he called out, “Sam. Hold him.” Through the still-open door, he saw Sam grab Mills’ arm. Then he turned to Beverly.

“Come and sit.” He led her into the living room and eased her down onto a sofa. She didn’t fight him.

But as he stood upright again, she said, “Please don’t hurt him. Just make him go.” Despite her struggle to make herself heard, almost no sound was getting through anymore, and the effort was causing her a lot of pain, and probably new damage.

He kissed her hand. “Shh. I’ll be right back.”

He went out to the front porch, where Sam had tight hold of Mills—who now, finally, had found the sense to be truly afraid.

As Sam held Mills, Nick walked up and stood right in front of him. Nick was a few inches taller, and he got close enough to force Mills to look up.

“What I said earlier stands. Unless she comes to you, you stay away from her. If you do anything to get on my radar again, I will kill you. That includes talking to reporters or anyf*ckingbody else. Do you understand?”

Mills nodded.

“Say it.”

“I-I understand.”

Nick stepped back. “Good. I’ll find Chief Lumley, and he’ll do with you as he pleases.”

He turned and went back into the house.



oOo

The Paganos rarely did wetwork on the premises of the shipping company, but Nick preferred to stay near the harbor. The less transporting of the aftermath, the better. On this night, he and Matty met J.J. and Picker, J.J.’s second, at the far end of the harbor from Pagano Brothers Shipping, in a row of rental warehouses, used primarily as overflow storage for Quiet Cove businesses or offload storage for ships in for repair. The Paganos kept the unit at the end of the row, under a dummy name.

Such precautions weren’t obviously necessary, since the Paganos had always had wide leeway in Rhode Island to conduct business as they saw fit, but extra layers of care made sense nonetheless. There had been, over the decades of their power, the occasionally errant federal agent or state attorney who thought he or she might make his or her bones at the expense of the Paganos. The family’s relationships with people more powerful than such upstarts had kept them clear, but there was no point in making connections too obvious.

Uncle Ben had always advised that it was disrespectful of their friends to flaunt their favors.

J.J. and Picker were waiting when Sam drove up in Nick’s SUV and saw Nick and Matty safely out.

Matty. All that remained of Nick’s crew. When this night was done, he’d have to reassign him. He’d put him with J.J. Matty wasn’t capo material himself; his vices were too many. But he’d be a good and loyal eye for Nick regarding J.J.’s fitness to lead. When this night was done, J.J. would be the family’s head enforcer.

When this night was done, Nick’s days of rolling up his sleeves would be over.

As he walked up to J.J., Nick said, “Tell me.”

J.J. dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out, kicking the butt clear. “We got Church in there and the two guys who did the diner—the two still alive, anyway.”

“You’re sure you got the right guys?”

“Yeah—got some intel. The stiffs left behind were part of a Bosnian crew on Church’s payroll. Always worked together. There were five in the crew, but the fifth is in the hospital, on life support. OD’d two weeks ago. We rounded up the two still walkin’ and leaned on ‘em till they came clean. The big bald guy gave up Church. Got him coming out of the Pink Hole, two men on him. You only said you wanted Church and the guys that did your—the diner, so we took those guys out.”

“Bodies?”

“In the warehouse, wrapped and ready.”

The night would be long—there would be five bodies to lose. But it seemed J.J. had done a perfectly competent job. Nick nodded and headed toward the door. The others fell in behind him.

Inside the wide, bare space, three men were bound. J.J. had done this well, too. Two white men, one large and bald, the other more average, with a receding hairline and a long, thin, brown ponytail, were hanging from big winch hooks of the kind so common in a harbor. Heavy chains led from the hooks into the winch attached to the ceiling.

Their wrists and ankles were bound. They had obviously been leaned on, but neither had been worked over excessively. The constant stress on their arms was probably the worst torture they’d yet experienced.

Again, Nick had to admit to himself that J.J. had not yet screwed up this job—not obviously, at least.