“Is he down with this? Anthony, I mean.”
Nick gave a blasé, one-shouldered shrug. “You’ll tell him, get him on board.”
It would rip the kid up. He wasn’t in it for the payday, and he was proud of what he’d accomplished. Luca was proud that he’d turned that entitled little rich boy into a fighter with some fucking heart. Not as much heart as he could have, but a lot more than he’d had. And some integrity, too. Even bringing this up with him could tear it all down. “Even the suspicion could fuck his rep and mine.”
Nick turned away from the road to stare at Luca. He didn’t need to speak.
“I don’t understand. I thought the Uncles wanted the fixing to stop.”
“They do. You’re not coming up with what they want. So you need bait. I don’t care how you do it, but get Anthony on board. See to it that he wins Friday. Strengthen his position. And then get him on Church’s radar. Uncle Ben is patient, Luca, but not forever. We need some movement on this.”
See to it that he wins. Sure. No problem. Coming right up. Luca looked out the side window and said nothing.
oOo
That evening, Luca sparred with Anthony himself. It was rare these days that he did so, and when he did they focused on hand work. The Beav had gotten good enough that Luca didn’t trust his knee in a full spar—even though he had a lot of size on the kid.
When they came out of the ring, Luca tossed him a towel and a bottle of water. He looked around; there was a lull in the gym, and they were alone on this side. “Have a seat, Beav.”
He sat. “Something up?”
Luca had spent the past several hours thinking about how to broach the subject. He’d finally landed on what had been his first idea—just being straight with the kid. Poor Anthony thought all this was about him, his Uncle Fred’s confidence in him, his desire to help him succeed. He figured the Pagano Brothers had hooked him up with Luca for no other reason than to help him. He was about to find out differently.
“What I’m going to tell you is coming from Ben and Lorrie. So you keep it close. Life or death, right?”
Anthony dropped the towel to his lap, his eyes wide. “Yeah, Luc. ‘Course.”
“They think somebody’s fixing fights. I’ve been looking out for it, but all I’ve got is rumor and bullshit.” He sighed. “They want me to put it out that you’re open to throwing a fight.”
Anthony surprised Luca then. His face went red, and he looked away. Luca sat up straight. “Beav?” The kid didn’t turn back. “Anthony, you fucker. You talk to me. Are you in this already?”
Then he faced Luca. “No!”
“Then what?”
“Last fight, after you left, I went down to Beckett’s. It’s a bar down city where a bunch of fighters—”
“I know Beckett’s, asswipe.”
“Right. Sorry. Anyway. Some guy came up to me. Talked me up, told me he liked the way I fought. Seemed like a decent guy. We talked about the shitty payouts down the card, and he said he knew a guy I should talk to. I could triple my purse. Maybe more. Wrote a number on a napkin.”
Luca worked hard to keep his voice steady. “Did you call that number?”
Anthony shook his head. “I knew what he was talking about. I’m not a cheater, Luc.”
“Then why the fuck do you look like you just stole from the collection basket?”
“I should’ve told you right off. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
Luca laughed, relieved. “Jesus. You really are the Beav, kid. Do you still have that napkin?”
“No. I burned it.”
“Got a name for the guy?” When Anthony indicated he did not, Luca asked, “What did he look like?”
“Big—like fat, though. Not built. Bald. Had a black beard that was only on his jaw and chin. Fat gold chain—links like a utility chain—and a black suit with a black t-shirt.”
Luca knew who he was talking about. The guy was muscle for Tino Jones. He had some ironic nickname that Luca couldn’t recall—like Tiny or Baby or something stupid like that. That was where he would start. He dropped a hand to Anthony’s shoulder. “I got bad news. You’re probably gonna have to throw. If they bite, they’ll want to test you. I won’t get what the Uncles want unless you pass.”
“I can’t, Luc. I want this. If I throw, even if nobody finds out, everything after it is bullshit.”
He was right, and it told Luca that the kid really was straight up. If he got away with it—and if he didn’t get taken down in the Uncles’ wake, whatever they had planned—then the only consequences were to his own self-concept. That he knew it would taint every victory thereafter meant to Luca that the kid had plenty of heart. This sucked.
“Don’t have a choice, Beav. It’s what the Uncles want. You want to face Ben down?”
Anthony dropped his head and watched his hands wring the towel. “No.”
“Okay. I’ll get word out on Friday. We’ll see how it goes.”
oOo
After the fights Friday night, Luca went to his apartment. He was pissed and tired and depressed, and he didn’t want to bring that around Manny. She got defensive when she couldn’t figure him out. She never pried; she hardly ever asked him anything twice. If he said he didn’t want to talk, she almost always simply took that on its face. That was good; when he said he didn’t want to talk he meant it. But if he was quiet or distant and she didn’t understand, then she got bitchy. And they’d fight. He’d end up here anyway, but in an even worse mood. So he decided on this night, in this black mood, he’d cut out the middleman and just go straight to his own place. He called, leaving a message when he got her voice mail.
The apartment smelled stale and disused, and he realized he hadn’t even been inside in almost two weeks. Irritated, he went straight to the kitchen and emptied the fridge of anything remotely dodgy, then took the garbage directly down to the dumpster. There was beer in the fridge. He kept that, downing two before heading to his shower.
He’d done what the Uncles had asked. Anthony had won his fight. Then Luca had talked to Mouse—he of the ironic nickname—and the fix was in. Or it would be. There had been some chest-thumping about Luca’s name and his rep, and he’d discovered a latent talent for acting. He’d convinced them that he was a Pagano in name only and that his interest in getting Anthony more bank was serious. Now he was to wait for instructions.
On both sides now of this fucking game, he was waiting for instructions. He tried to remember enjoying training Anthony, feeling honorable about what the Uncles wanted from him. Now he only felt dirty.
He ran the shower until it went cold, his forehead on the tile, letting the spray hit his neck and run down his back. When it was too cold to stand, he got out, dried off, wrapped the thick, grey towel around his waist, and went back into the kitchen. He powered down three shots of Dewar’s and then got another beer. He stood at the island, drinking the beer and staring at his rack of boards. He’d gotten wet fewer than ten times during the past summer and fall. In more than twenty years of surfing, he’d never been out so few times in a season.
It was November now, and winter was coming on fast and cold. He’d surfed in the winter occasionally, but it wasn’t among his favorite things to do. The water had a lot of chop in the winter, and the cold made his joints ache these days. So it would be months before he had another chance.
He finished the beer and went for another. When he reached into the refrigerator, he realized that he was pulling out his fourth beer. When he stood straight, he also realized that, while not drunk per se, he was definitely feeling it. Being with Manny seemed to have lowered his tolerance. He’d gone from drinking five nights of seven to drinking maybe five nights a month.
With a chuckle, he opened the bottle. He was trying to help her be healthier; he guessed she was doing the same with him.
Before he could put the bottle to his mouth, there was a ferocious pounding on his door. He crossed to it and looked through the peephole. At first, he saw nothing, but the
pounding came again, and he looked downward. Manny.
He opened the door. She was wearing the pink knit shorts that she often slept in, her red Docs, unlaced, and a white down coat. He could see a little camisole under it. She’d thrown her coat and shoes on over her pajamas. “Hey, bit. You okay?”
She put her hands on his belly and shoved her way in. Surprised, he let her push him backward. “No, I’m not okay. What is your fucking damage?” She balled up her fists and punched him, both little hands jabbing at once into his gut, making him oof. “Are you dumping me?”
He grabbed her hands, and she hissed and jerked away. That hadn’t happened in a while. “No, bit. Of course I’m not. What’s going on?”
“You tell me! Why are you here? Did we fight and I didn’t even know about it?”
“No, we didn’t fight. Not until now, anyway.”
“Then what the FUCK?”
“I just needed some alone time is all.” He found himself getting angry. She should understand needing alone time. Fuck, he’d pulled out of her on three separate occasions because she’d needed to get away from him while they were fucking. “You get that, right?”
“No, I don’t get that! You leave me a fucking message, and I’m supposed to understand? You’ve been weird for days, and I’m supposed to understand? What did I do? I can’t guess! I’ve been trying to guess and I can’t! You have to tell me! I don’t understand, you asshole son of a bitch cocksucker!”
He was half drunk and wearing nothing but a towel, but he saw the dark look when it went through her eyes, and he knew that she’d gone over. It was the look he’d seen the night she’d taken a knife and torn herself up. Before she could do more, he grabbed her, turned her around and brought her back up against him, and wrapped her tightly in his arms.
She screamed and fought and kicked, but there was nothing around in his apartment for her to hurt herself with. Not as long as he kept hold of her. Her Docs, however, were putting noteworthy hurt on his shins. He brought his leg around her legs and took her to the ground, trying to protect his currently vulnerable crotch.
He was in a relationship that required a cup.
He got his head next to hers and spoke in her ear, hoping he could get her calm before one of his neighbors called the cops.
“Manny. Easy, bit. I’m sorry. I love you. You didn’t do anything wrong. I love you. I’m not dumping you. I’m never going to dump you. Come on, sugar.” He thought about the things Dottie had told him. Words and phrases that she and Adam used, which through repetition had become code words for calm. “Breathe. Get your focus. It’s gonna be okay.”
He kept talking, and she did calm, slowly, and then she was limp in his arms, panting. He knew he should let go of her, but he couldn’t. He’d needed some distance earlier; now he needed her as close as he could get her. His girl. Fierce and vulnerable. Strong and fragile. Fighting in the cage of her own mind.
If only she saw how strong she really was.
“I’m sorry, little bit. I didn’t know it would upset you so much. I came here because I was in a foul mood and didn’t want to get it all over you.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“I can’t talk about it. But it’s nothing with us. I promise.”
She turned in his arms—she hadn’t pushed him away yet—and looked up at him. “Okay. I don’t know how to tell.”
He smiled and kissed her nose, and she let him. “I promise—right here, I swear—that I will talk to you if there’s ever something going on with us. I won’t stew. We’re no bullshit, right? We play it straight. I won’t make you guess. Okay?”
“Okay.”
With that, her body changed, becoming both less limp and more relaxed. The crisis over, his body recognized that he had his beautiful girl in his arms, content to be there, and he was all but naked. Her eyes went wide and hungry when she felt him grow hard under her ass.
She reached under with one hand and took hold of him. He groaned, the muscles in his torso going taut.
“Manny.”
Her answer was to squeeze and pull her hand up his length. Fuck.
In one fluid move, sitting on the floor of his living room, he turned her, moved her shorts out of the way, and settled her down on his cock, her back flush with his chest. She threw her head back and cried out as he impaled her.
His brain muzzy with alcohol, the lingering filth of his night, and the anxiety of her episode, he had no room to wonder if she needed him to be careful with her. He needed just to fuck her. So he yanked her camisole up and grabbed a tit, then shoved his other hand under the shorts he’d moved to the side. Rubbing her clit and pulling the ring in a nipple, he growled, “Go” in her ear.
She didn’t do anything but writhe and moan in time to his hands. But he didn’t have any leverage on the floor, sitting like this. So again he growled in her ear. “Move, bit. Fucking move.”
She got it. Her hands gripped his thighs and she started moving her hips, going fast right away, as fast as his hand was working her clit.
Her climax overtook her swiftly, making her moan like a porn star until she was shouting, “Oh fuck! Jesus Christ, fuck! OhfuckohfuckohfuckohGOD! GOD!”
When he came, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as his body spasmed and clenched, feeling as deep inside her as he could get, and knowing she was just as deep inside of him.
They stayed as they were until long after they’d caught their breath. When Manny began to stir in the way she had when she was close to needing space, Luca sucked on her neck for a moment and then, in her ear, promised, “I am never leaving you.”
With that, he let her go.
22
Manny opened the old candy tin. “Oh my God! Awesome!”
Rosa looked over her shoulder. “It’s just buttons.”
“I know, but look—they’re all different.” She picked one up. It was ivory or whalebone or something like that, about the size of a quarter, with a tall ship etched into it. “And look! These are amazing!”
“Do you sew?” Rosa lifted an antique picture frame from the same shelf and turned it over.
“No. I wouldn’t use them. They’re just cool.” She lifted the tin toward the person working this section of the antiques mall. “How much?”
He came over and took a look. “Ten.”
“The tin and buttons, both?” The guy nodded, and Manny took another look at the hundreds of buttons, then closed the lid. “I’ll give you five.”
The guy grinned. “You’re haggling over a bowl full of buttons?” When Manny just stared, he laughed. “Split it. Seven-fifty.”
“Deal.” She pulled the cash out of her jeans pocket and paid the man.
Rosa had watched the whole exchange. “Why buttons? I don’t get it.”
“It’s not the buttons, exactly. It’s that they’re all different. All different colors and sizes and everything, and there’s a bunch of them. I don’t know how to explain it. But it’s cool.”
“You really are weird.”
Rosa was smiling, and Manny didn’t take offense. She was weird, no doubt about it. “Yep.” She looked around. “Hey—where’d they go?”
“They’re over by those painted pots. Carmen and your mom are talking plants.” Rosa looked in that direction, then said, “I’m going to check out the vintage clothes.”
Manny adored vintage clothes, so she nodded and they crossed over to go through the racks. Rosa went for the spangly dresses, and Manny went to the random separates. She was always on the hunt for funky clothes. Not often did she find something small enough to fit off the rack, but Dottie could fix anything up for her.
They were ostensibly Christmas shopping, though it was still early in November. Manny still wasn’t completely clear about how she’d ended up shopping with all the Pagano women and her mother. She knew the steps: first, Sabina had invited her to lunch with her and Carmen. When they figured out a day, Carmen had said she had to drop something off in Pawtuc
ket that day, so they’d somehow decided to add Christmas shopping at the antiques mall to their plan. Manny had mentioned that Dottie and she loved that place, and then Dottie was invited. And then Rosa had shown up, too.
Those were the steps, but it still didn’t quite make sense to her.
Never in Manny’s whole life had she had a ‘girls’ day out’ like this—there were five of them. Five! She had no clue how to comport herself in a group that big that was moving around like it was.
They’d started at the mall, planning a late lunch afterward. At first, Manny had tried to stay with everyone, but they kept breaking off into groups. She kept feeling like people were leaving her behind, and she got stressed out about that enough to need to surreptitiously dry-swallow a Xanax—which was really gross to dry-swallow. And then she finally figured out that there was a kind of fluidity to the way the women were browsing, so she just attached herself to one or another of them and tried to go with the flow.
Touch (The Pagano Family Book 2) Page 29