“It’s not angry yelling, bit. You yell Scopa! when you get a sweep.”
“There’s…trash talk, too. That…okay…for you?”
Manny looked at Joey. Other than Carlo’s passive aggressive suspicion, Joey’s question was the first even subtle acknowledgement that she was different, and it had come from someone who was also different, in his own way. She decided to try to explain herself a little. “Yeah. As long as everybody agrees that it’s play and not real. I’m not very good at understanding when words and meaning don’t match up. But I’m pretty good at trash talk.”
“She really is. Okay. Cool—Joey, get the cards out, will ya?” Luca kissed her cheek—that was good—and then went to the kitchen to help Sabina clean up. Manny was left at the table with Joey.
He stood, went to the sideboard, and opened a drawer. He brought a pack of cards to the table. They looked kind of like playing cards. But also kind of like Tarot cards, weirdly.
“Is it hard to learn?”
He shook his head. “Nah…wicked easy. You’ll…have it in…the first…round.”
“Why do you talk like that?” Her brain caught up with her stupid mouth as soon as his head shot up. “Oh. Sorry. I mean…fuck. Sorry.”
“S’okay. Aphasia. Lost too much…blood and air. You know…I was shot?”
“Yeah. That sucks.”
He laughed. The cannula had distorted his face a little—you wouldn’t think a clear tube would, but it did—and Manny was just now, when he wasn’t wearing it, realizing that he was a really good-looking guy. He looked a lot like Luca—a younger, more clean-cut, less beefy version. They had the same eyes, though, and the same coloring, which was dark, but also, in context of the whole Pagano family, a little fair. Carlo was a lot darker than Luca or Joey.
“It…definitely sucks.”
“What’s aphasia?”
“Means…I have trouble…finding words. It’s better…than it was. Some.”
“So I’ll totally own you with the trash talk, then. Good to know.”
For a second, he just stared at her, his eyes wide, and then he laughed. He really laughed. So hard that he reached down and pulled the cannula off the tank he’d had at his side. “I like you…Manny.”
“Winning the Paganos over one at a time, I guess.”
Fitting the tube back in his nose, he just grinned.
19
Luca leaned on the ropes at the corner and chewed on his cheeks, determined to keep his mouth shut. Anthony had his first real fight coming up in three days, and he needed to be doing his own thinking. It was loud in the cage. He couldn’t count on what Luca could shout from the corner.
The Beav—the nickname had stuck, much to Anthony’s chagrin—was fast and lithe, a decently quick study, and he could land a punch. He was good with his feet, too. Not anything particularly special, but accurate and patient. His strength was in that agility. He was slippery, hard to keep hold of and quick to turn a hold over. And that was good. That gave Luca some hope that maybe the kid could make something more than a hobby out of this.
What he really sucked at was enduring a hold until a round timed out. If he didn’t slip a hold or turn it over, if he got caught, then he was done for. He’d tap. Every damn time. Once the hold took, and the pain came, Anthony just fucking collapsed.
It was driving Luca, who’d never tapped, absolutely batshit. So he had been putting him in the ring to spar with Vaughn Lewis, a retired fighter who had, in his day, brought serious pain. But he was deft and only brought the pain he meant to bring. Together, they’d been putting Anthony through it, trying to get him to sack the fuck up.
Luca had been training Anthony for more than two months, doing twenty-five to thirty hours a week. Anthony was putting in more time than that, running and working out in the mornings, too. He’d come far. He was in great shape, and he’d learned a lot. If he could learn to take the pain of a submission hold—which could be, admittedly, wicked hardcore—he had a real shot at making a name.
They’d been so focused on training during these months that Luca sometimes forgot the reason he’d been conscripted into this gig. He was exhausted, and he wished he had more time for Manny, but he was enjoying himself. But as fight night approached, Luca could no longer avoid the reality that his job here was not simply getting Anthony ready for the cage. He was looking for fixers.
So far, he hadn’t seen or heard anything that got his antennae twitching, but they’d mostly been in the cozy space of their hometown gym. He’d taken the kid to a couple of fights, but they’d been merely spectators. Even when they’d been invited backstage by Luca’s friends, they hadn’t been privy to anything going on. And frankly, Luca had no idea how to go about this undercover routine the Uncles were expecting of him.
He had one idea, actually. When Anthony fought. If he comported himself well, got any kind of attention, then Luca would pay attention to who was paying attention.
This was definitely a long-term job, but so far the Uncles were leaving him alone. Uncle Lorrie had come by with Nick to watch a couple of spars, but that had been the only pressure they’d applied—the pressure of reminding him that they were there, waiting.
Luca punched the floor of the ring when Anthony came back from a kick too slowly and was taken down. The kid was getting tired. He missed the slip, and Vaughn got him into a hold. They grappled for a minute, and then, yep. Vaughn had him in a Guillotine. Luca ran along the side and came up to the knot of fighters.
“Beav, focus. Don’t tap. You know how to keep breathing. Keep your blood pumping. Don’t tap.” He looked up at Vaughn, who nodded, and his muscles flexed subtly, bringing more pressure. Anthony’s face was strained and nearly purple. He’d been in submission for about ten seconds. Luca decided he’d call it at fifteen.
At fifteen, he slammed his hands on the mat, and Vaughn released. “Yes! Good boy, Beav.”
“Fuck you,” the kid gasped, on his hands and knees.
Luca climbed into the ring and knocked fists with Vaughn. “Thanks, man.”
Vaughn nodded. “Kid’s good. Green, but good. He’s comin’ along. Neck’s still a little soft, though. He’d still be layin’ there if this had been the real thing.”
Luca nodded. Yeah. But getting the kid to gut it out was half the battle. He was slippery enough that Luca wasn’t too worried about his chances at this first little bout, not even on the card. One step up from amateur night. He doubted anyone would hold him. He slapped Vaughn on the shoulder and went to his boy.
“You did good, Beav. You looked good. Just a couple of fuckups.” He heard a sweetly fierce, feminine battle cry from across the gym and grinned. “Tell you what. Take the rest of the night. Get drunk, get laid. Just not too much of either, because we’re back at it tomorrow.”
Anthony nodded and climbed down. Luca crossed the ring and climbed down, too, headed over to Manny.
She’d been meeting him here a few nights a week since he’d first shown her the heavy bag. At first, he’d tried to give her some help while he worked with Anthony, but he was too distracted, and she got irritated. While he was trying to figure a solution, Tonya, one of the two female fighters who called this their home gym, offered to work with her a little.
Surprisingly, Manny was all over that. Luca was less so. He and Tonya had fucked a few times back in the day. She was into threesomes. With women. And she’d been enthusiastically into the women. Which had been wicked awesome when he’d been twenty-six and in bed with a couple of hot chicks.
It was less awesome when she was smiling down at his girl and saying she’d work her out.
His first bout of jealousy, and it sucked. He’d been upfront with Manny about it, and she’d called him a dork and a moron and then worked out with Tonya anyway. He’d decided to try to be good about it. Manny’s touch issues would keep a boundary around things anyway, even if Tonya had designs.
In the weeks since she’d taken E on purpose, Manny’s trouble with touch was markedly impr
oved where he was concerned but exactly the same as it had always been with everyone else. Luca was fine with that. They had become an almost normal couple. They were even sleeping in the same bed. She still had limits, so they didn’t spoon or touch much at all as they slept. They didn’t spend lazy afternoons cuddling. Since Luca had never been into any of that, he didn’t miss it…much.
But he could put his hands on her at will. Sometimes she even sought his touch out, and not just for sex. And he could fuck her. Really fuck her. With his hands and body all over her. In fact, she liked it a little on the rough side, very clearly preferring firm touch. When she had been controlling their sex, it had been intense, but not rough. Now, she wanted to be pushed around a little.
At first, he’d been surprised. He’d wanted to be careful with her, not scare her. But she turned off and away quickly with light touch. Remembering when she’d explained why she’d been okay getting ink and piercings, saying that gentle touch was the hardest for her, he got it. And he was happy to comply.
Holy balls, had she’d been worth the wait. She was like a kid with a new toy—her own body. She was wild and responsive and completely into all of it. And wearing him out.
He watched now as Tonya and Manny did some Muay Thai moves, standing side by side. Manny was learning fight moves in this interesting, non-contact way. It was all about her own body, and he thought the training was actually helping her with her touch thing, too. Helping her to feel and understand her body in a new way. She was a naturally slight woman, with the metabolism of a gerbil on speed, and she’d never worked out. At all. She’d explained that she’d been too focused on her mental fitness to worry about her physical fitness.
Which made sense. But considering that she was someone who was content to eat microwave chicken nuggets and call it a meal, he thought it was a good thing she was starting to pay attention to her body as something other than her enemy.
She was changing. He’d known her coming up on three months, and he thought she’d changed a lot. So had he. He was thinking about his life in ways he never had before. He was imagining a future that was more than simply his past, repeated.
Manny was changing the outside, too. Luca thought of it as a reflection of what was going on inside her. At the same time she was becoming stronger inside, her little body was changing, too. She was getting some real definition. She looked freaking amazing.
But Tonya was a five-eleven female cage fighter who weighed in at just under 170 pounds of pure muscle. Standing next to her, Manny—wearing a pair of too-small (in Luca’s estimation) black knit gym shorts and a tight little bright yellow beater, with her straight, black hair in bangs and pigtails—looked like a grade-schooler. A wicked hot grade-schooler.
That was a weird thought. Luca shook it out of his head. And then he did a quick scan of the room to see if she was being seen.
Of course she was. Manny and Tonya were the only women in the place, and they were both hot. Leaning against a support beam, as yet unnoticed by his girl, he made a point to make eye contact with every fucker watching her. He stared until they saw him, and then he stared until they looked away.
“What’s your damage?”
He turned to see Manny standing in front of him, her gloved hands on her hips. Her skin sparkled with perspiration, and her chest heaved. Tonya stood at a bench, wiping her face and neck with a towel.
“What d’you mean?”
“You look like somebody kicked your dog or something. What’s up?”
He grinned. She was reading him pretty well these days. “Nothing, bit. You about done?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yep. Where d’you want to eat tonight?”
“Can we just pick up Chinese or something and eat at home? I’m horny. Plus, I’m all sweaty. I need a bath.” She gave him a shy little grin.
She had a big old tub in her apartment. And she had recently discovered that she enjoyed being washed. By Luca. She wouldn’t let him get in with her, but there was a lot he could do from the side of the tub.
“Sugar, you are always horny. We’ll stop at the Red Dragon on the way home. We’ll eat. And then I will scrub you dirty.” He bent down and kissed her, and she leaned into him. Just like a normal girl.
oOo
Two days later, just before noon, Luca’s cell buzzed in his pocket. He was sitting on a wide stack of two-by-fours, eating lunch with John and their father, all of them pulling their meals from matching old-style black lunchboxes. The roach coach was parked not far down the road, and most of the crew were getting their grub there. But Carlo Sr. had always brought his lunch. Luca and John’s mother had packed it for him every morning before dawn. She’d packed lunches for her children, too. For school when they were young—all the way through high school—and, when the boys were old enough to work, she’d pack them lunches identical to their father.
When she died, Carlo Sr. had begun packing the exact same lunch for himself. His sons had followed suit.
So all three of them were sitting on the stack of boards, eating roast beef and provolone sandwiches on brown bread.
Luca swallowed and pulled his phone out. Seeing the name on the screen, he muttered, “Fuck.”
Brother and father both looked up. John asked, “Who?”
“Nick. Hold on.” He answered. “Hey, coz.”
“Luc. You good, man?” Nick’s voice was gruff and terse, even when expressing pleasantries.
“Yeah. S’up.”
“Uncle Ben and my pop want a meeting. Four o’clock, the warehouse.”
“I’m with the Beav—Anthony—at four. Fight’s tomorrow.” He knew damn well he should have simply agreed to meet. No one told Ben Pagano that they couldn’t fit him into their schedule. But Luca’s brain and mouth didn’t work like that. Less so now, since Manny, as if all his patience and forethought was devoted to her and left him even more impulsive and filterless in the rest of his life.
Or maybe she was just rubbing off on him.
“Four o’clock, Luc.” Nick ended the call.
John and Carlo Sr. were both staring at him, their sandwiches in their hands, when he shoved his phone back into his pocket. He shook his head. “The Uncles want a meet. Today at four.”
His father set his sandwich down and pushed his hardhat back on his head. “This about the fight?”
“I guess, Pop. There was literally no information in that call but the time and place. But yeah. Not like I’m doing any other job for ‘em.”
“I don’t like this, Luca. Nick is calling you? When Nick’s involved, there’s blood. That boy’s brain is bent wrong.”
That boy was in his mid-forties, but the statement was still valid. When the Pagano Brothers needed something especially nasty done, Nick had been the go-to for the past twenty years. The stories about him were many and horrifying. And yet, he, too, had never done time or even been indicted. He’d been arrested only twice and had spent an aggregate of about six hours in a holding cell. He was a capo now, so if he was involved and not delegating it, then the Uncles weren’t fucking around.
The Uncles were expert at managing their reputation—the stories abounded, but evidence evaporated, if it ever existed at all. They were, indeed, untouchable. Capone never had it so good.
“Pop, there was always gonna be blood. And you know what I’m doing here and that I got no choice. As long as it’s not mine, and I’m under the Uncles’ protection, it is what it is.”
“Forget about it, I know what you’re doing. I don’t know shit. I hardly talk to you at all these days.”
“You know enough. I’m training the Beav, and I’m keeping an eye out.” He wadded up the leavings of his sandwich and drank down his water. “And I’m here. Been here. Talk to me if you want. Seems to me like you’d rather not. Since Manny, seems like you don’t want to fucking know.”
“Luc. Not here, bro.” John’s voice was quiet. Luca turned to him and saw resolve. And he was right—they couldn’t have it out, whatever ‘it’
was, here on a job site. ‘It’ was far too complicated to be had out anywhere. At least not all at once.
Manny had, by all appearances, finally been welcomed. Sabina and Joey legitimately liked her. Carmen and John had accepted her—in the way, Luca suspected, that they had all ‘accepted’ Jenny when she’d been with Carlo, but for now, Luca was good enough with that. Mrs. D. called her ‘dearie’ and kept almost patting her on the arm and then remembering. But Carlo and their father continued to keep her at arm’s length. They were pleasant enough, and they included her in games or conversations. Manny might not even realize that they weren’t on board.
But Luca saw it.
Strangely, his father seemed to have decided against Manny when Luca first brought her to Mass. She’d only gone with him three times—she was bored and uncomfortable and tended to fidget like a nine-year-old or heckle the priest in stage whispers, so he didn’t push her to go—but when Luca first brought her to the pew and sat her where his helmet usually went, Carlo Sr.’s eyes had gone hard. He’d leaned over and said something to Carlo Jr. Luca still didn’t know what. But Carlo had looked, and then he had nodded.
Touch (The Pagano Family Book 2) Page 26