Rooted (Pagano Family #3)(84)

When she stood at his side, he didn’t acknowledge her. His eyes were open, so she wasn’t sure if he was praying, after all. He seemed to be simply staring at the place on the casket under which his father’s head lay.

“Nick?”

His head turned slightly toward her. “Hey, Carm.”

“Mr. Andolini is waiting to take him to the door. It’s time for the Mass.”

Nick looked over his shoulder. “Get out.” Without hesitation, Mr. Andolini left the room. The thick man in black, however, didn’t budge. “You, too, Jimmy. And close the door.”

Jimmy took a beat, then nodded. “Right outside, boss.” He stepped out and pulled the double doors closed.

Carmen turned back to Nick. “Boss?” In the Uncles’ world, Uncle Ben was called ‘don,’ and Uncle Lorrie was ‘boss.’ It was a title reserved for the don’s second in command.

Nick answered with nothing more than an upward twitch at the corner of his mouth.

When he continued in quiet, Carmen said, “I’ll go, too. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No. You can stay.” He was staring again at the casket. Then he lifted his hands and took hold of the lid, as if he intended to open it. Carmen put her hand on his to stop him.

“Nick, don’t.”

Now he turned his head, and his intense eyes pierced hers. “They blew his face off. My ma found him lying in the yard with his face blown off.”

“I know.” The story had spread through the mourners gathered at Uncle Ben’s house on the very first night. She didn’t know who ‘they’ were, but she assumed it had to do with the attacks on the construction sites, and Norm’s murder, and what had happened to Luca, John, and Manny more than a year earlier. “You don’t want to see that.”

“Yeah, I do. Ma can’t carry that alone. And I need to see what they did. On his own lawn. In front of the house where my mother lives.” He tightened his grip on the casket lid. “Step away, Carm. Turn away.”

She didn’t. She stayed where she was and held her breath as Nick lifted the lid.

Uncle Lorrie was dressed in a dapper, perfectly-tailored charcoal grey suit with fine, widely-spaced pinstripes; a crisp, white silk dress shirt; and a crimson silk tie with his familiar diamond tie pin. His hands were folded at his waist; he still wore his wedding ring.

A wide swath of black satin covered his face. Nick pushed the lid up until it held on its own and then reached in and lifted the satin. Carmen couldn’t see what was under that elegant fabric, so she watched Nick’s face and saw enough. His eyes flared and glinted, and the muscle at the joint of his jaw twitched.

After a few moments of his silent, furious staring, Carmen quietly said, “Nick.”

He flinched, then restored the satin over his father’s head and closed the casket lid. “Okay,” was all he said.



oOo



Christ the King was packed for the funeral Mass, and virtually all of the mourners followed in the procession to the cemetery. Carmen noticed the large men in black suits who ringed the graveside service at intervals, and she also noticed others in dark suits, not so well-tailored, and knew the cops, or maybe Feds, for what they were.

For her whole life, she had not bothered much with the business of the Uncles. She knew about it, and she knew their reputation both tainted and enhanced the reputation of her own family, but she had felt comfortably sheltered from that reality, which was so unlike hers. But in the past couple of years, the branches of the family had begun to intertwine uncomfortably.

When the service was over, the Pagano family lingered at the graveside until the casket was lowered into the ground. Aunt Betty tossed a handful of dirt into the grave. Nick did the same. And then he took his mother into his arms as she finally broke down completely.

John hooked his arm through Carmen’s. “Come on, sis. Let’s head over.” They were due back at Uncle Ben and Aunt Angie’s.

The cemetery got noisy suddenly. Before Carmen could process the sound of a roaring engine and squealing tires, thunder filled the air, and John knocked her to the ground. He must have really hit her, because her ribs began to shriek with hot pain.

Another roar and squeal marked the end of the thunder. With a rush, her senses and her intellect finally converged, and she realized the thunder had been gunfire. Now the air was filled with shouts and screams and weeping.

“Oh shit. Carmen, oh shit. Hold on. Sis, you hold on.” John sounded panicked.

She didn’t know what she was holding onto. Her ribs hurt badly, and her shoulder, too—from the fall, she figured. But she thought she was mainly okay. She opened her mouth to ask if anybody had been shot.

And then her belly cramped hard, and she cried out with the bolt of pain. She looked down to see John kneeling at her side, his hands on pressing on her belly. They were red with blood. Her blood. Her dress was soaked red.

Oh, God. Teresa! “No—John, no. Don’t let…please…Theo. Where’s Theo?” The world started to tip and swirl, and she dropped her head back to the ground, exhausted.

Again John pleaded, “Hold on, Carmen.”

She looked up to see the worried faces of her brothers all around her. It was the last image that made any kind of sense before color became grey and then black was everything.