Deep(53)

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.