“I want you back, Beverly. I want you to remember how strong you are. I want you to have back your hope and your faith in the world. Your light. They didn’t take that from you. That scar is a battle scar. And you won.”
If she had had more tears to cry, she would have. But she was dry. Tired and dry. So she tucked her head against his neck and let him hold her. It no longer mattered that she was bare to him.
~ 19 ~
Nick sat with Ben, Fred, and the capos at their table at Dominic’s, eating a lunch of steak and lobster. Once a month, the administration sat down like this with the capos and discussed business. Dominic’s was one of their safe zones, swept routinely and well guarded.
The Pagano Brothers were the majority owners, with the head chef, Dominic Cuoco, holding a thirty percent share. It was the most elegant restaurant in Quiet Cove and for miles up and down the coast. The dining area was built out over the water on stilts, the walls on the water side made of glass—bulletproof glass. Hurricane Sandy had destroyed the place, and when they’d rebuilt, they’d done so with an eye toward a particular kind of security.
Julie and Dom had done their reporting. By their accounts, business was steady again and even improving. In the several weeks since Alvin Church’s demise, order and balance had been restored to the underworld, and the Paganos were again its undisputed leaders. Maintaining that balance kept violence low and settled the concerns of all their friends in business and politics. Rhode Island ran smoothly when its underside was settled.
The Council alliances were strong, too. Turning back the Zapatas in the way that they had had settled flare-ups in all of the Council neighborhoods. Ben had been right to choose that connection, the cartel and Jackie Stone, as the place for open battle. All the dons knew that there was no way to keep drugs out of New England, and in fact there was movement in from New York already, but they could keep the power out of the dealers’ hands. Power was key. And the Council families had it.
J.J., being the least senior capo, was last to report. His crew, which now included Matty, was in charge of enforcement and security. With the Church organization gutted and the survivors having paid their tribute, they’d had less to do lately, other than the normal guarding and driving that had always been the case. A few stragglers had rebelled against the Pagano rule. They’d been corrected.
Matty had reported to Nick that J.J. was becoming fairly competent. ‘Fairly competent’ was no ringing endorsement, but this time of peace was a good time for him to learn. Nick was reserving judgment, but he was prepared to handle a problem should one arise.
The biggest thing on J.J.’s plate was Chris Mills—and that was a significant job. Nick had wanted to handle it himself, but it was no longer his place to do so. He was the man who gave the orders, not the man who pulled the trigger. Not any longer.
J.J. refreshed his glass of moscato and took a long drink. He looked directly at Nick. “We got confirmation on that pest problem.”
Ben responded. “Confirmation?”
“Steve did a trace. Right place, right time, right guy. Should I call it in?”
Though Dominic’s was a safe zone and protections had been built in to prevent surveillance, they all knew careful was better than not. Nick nodded. “Yes. As we discussed.”
He felt no qualms about ending Mills. Letting him continue breathing put people Nick cared about at real risk. But he still had not decided whether to tell Beverly the truth about what would soon happen. He almost had—he’d brought her to the lighthouse to explain—but then his uncle’s words had trumpeted in his ear. His world was a world of secrets, of things better left unsaid. Knowing the truth would only hurt her, and it wouldn’t change the outcome for Mills. So, then, what would be the point of telling her?
It shouldn’t have been a difficult decision. It should have been one Nick could make in a blink and with certainty. She had no need of this truth. She would grieve, and he would console her, and he would know the truth.
His conscience would eat at him. And that was new.
In response to Nick’s confirmation of his order, J.J. nodded. “Same timeframe?”
Nick cut the last piece of steak off the bone and ate it. “Yes. Report to me when it’s done. And J.J., be on top of this. This is not B-team work.”
“Got it, boss. I’m on it.”
Nick hoped to fuck he was.
The capos left before dessert, and Ben, Nick, and Fred compared notes on the various reports. Business as usual—there was something calm and yet surreal in returning to normalcy after so many months of cycling turmoil.