Touch (The Pagano Family Book 2)

by Susan Fanetti

  She’d wanted to go to Anthony’s big fight the weekend before Thanksgiving, but Luca insisted that she stay in Quiet Cove, clear of Providence completely. John came over that night, and they decided to go out and grab some Chinese and then watch Netflix.

  The Chinese place was walking distance, but John insisted they take his truck. He drove an old Chevy pickup—almost as old as her Honda. Most of the Paganos had expensive rides, but John’s was just a truck. Faded red. Ran well, though.

  He parked in the lot next to the restaurant. He swore under his breath when he saw that the lot lights weren’t on, and then parked right next to the building. They went in and ordered two big sacks’ worth of food, enough for leftovers for days. John was vigilant on the way back to the truck, looking around as they walked, and leading her to the passenger side, not even letting her open the door herself. When they got back to her apartment, he kept close until they were inside, then locked the door behind them.

  She no longer kept a key under the mat; Luca had made a big fuss about that.

  They were on the sofa, surrounded by empty cartons of rice and meat, and about halfway through a third-rate action movie when John picked up the remote and paused it.

  Manny had been leaning on the arm of the sofa. She sat up. “Bathroom break?” She started to pick up the cartons, thinking she’d clean up while he did whatever he needed to do.

  “Shh!”

  She stopped and looked at him. “What?”

  “I heard something.” Then she heard it, too—a creak on the stairs outside her door. But she had neighbors.

  “It’s probably just Tom coming home. Or his wife. Or somebody else.”

  John stood and went toward the door, stopping and pulling a handgun—oh, jeez, he had a gun with him—from his coat where it hung from a hook near the door.

  “You don’t have a fucking peephole,” he muttered.

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Go back to your room.” He held the gun in one hand and put the other on the deadbolt latch.

  “John, this is stupid. You’re going to scare somebody and probably get the cops called on us.”

  “Manny, go.” His voice now was nothing more than a stage whisper.

  She went, peering through the bead curtain to watch, expecting him either to make a fool out of himself or to scare the pants off her neighbors.

  As soon as he turned the deadbolt and began slowly to open the door, it burst in on him, knocking him to the floor. He kept hold of the gun and brought it up in both hands as two men charged in. He fired—the sound was shockingly loud, and Manny realized she’d never heard an actual gun fired live before—and the impact knocked the first man to the wall. He clutched his shoulder.

  Before John could shoot again, the second man kicked him in the head. He was out cold, the gun clattering to the floor.

  Manny pulled back, tucking herself into a corner of her room, which was dark except for the light coming in from the living room. She had no good place to hide. A real bedroom door would have helped a whole fucking lot right now.

  Her head was chaos. Her heart raced, and her stomach churned. She had nowhere to go, no one to help her. And she didn’t understand.

  The second man came through the bead curtain and, after a quick scan of the room, looked right at her. He pointed his gun at her and smiled.

  “Come on, girl. Time to take a ride.”

  23

  Luca leaned against the wall and watched Anthony warm up. The kid was distracted. Of course he was. With his mind this scattered, he probably could have lost this bout legitimately. But throwing a fight wasn’t a matter of just losing. It was a matter of losing the right way. Luca was learning that himself—the complicated mechanics of losing. So Anthony needed to get his head in the game.

  So did Luca. Since he’d learned that Mouse had sought out Manny, he’d been paranoid and afraid just about nonstop. It had been a move on Tino Jones’s part—and probably Alvin Church’s, too—to make sure Luca knew the real stakes, that there was no backing out of their deal.

  At least, that was the message Mouse conveyed when Luca had confronted him at the Corner. With paranoia in full flower now in his chest, though, Luca had begun to wonder whether they might be suspicious about more than simply whether he and Anthony would come through in the cage.

  What if they suspected that he was after their whole enterprise—which was the actual truth?

  He was trapped. He hadn’t even contacted Nick about Mouse’s visit, because now he knew there were eyes on him. Not just him. Manny, too. They’d found her, even though she used a different name at work, so they must have been following them both. There was a lot he was willing to risk of himself to meet his obligation to the Uncles. But not Manny. That she was threatened now, too, froze his blood solid in his veins.

  That fat fuck had gotten a massage. God, the thought of it, of Manny right there, her pretty little hands all over him—thinking of it now, he slammed his fists back to the wall at his sides, making the Commission rep standing next to him give him an eye.

  She was okay. She hadn’t fought him hard at all about having somebody with her all the time, even though he hadn’t been able to tell her much about why. And he’d just called—she and John were watching some Bruce Lee knock-off and eating Chinese. She was okay.

  If he could get through this night, this fight, maybe he’d have enough to satisfy the Uncles. Once money changed hands. That was what Ben wanted—money to change hands. Then the Uncles would deal with the problem. They never lost. So tonight, maybe he’d be done.

  Or dead.

  Fuck.

  oOo

  The Beav pulled it off. Favored to win, he got himself tangled in a triangle choke and tapped out two minutes into the third round. He came out of the Octagon while his opponent was still strutting around with his arms up, and he and Luca headed back.

  They’d gotten about twenty feet down the ramp when Mouse and two other of Jones’s men—mountains of meat, all of them—came up. Luca wanted to pull Mouse’s pleased smirk right off his fleshy face.

  “Chin up, Beav.” The fat fuck slapped him on the back. “Get cleaned up. We’re taking you both out for dinner. Consolation prize, you might say.”

  Luca didn’t like that at all. “We got plans. But thanks. We’ll just pay our respects here.”

  Mouse turned off that oily sneer. “You’ll come with us.” He turned to Anthony. “We’ll give you ten to get your street clothes on.” He tipped his head toward Luca. “Boss here will wait with us.”

  This felt wrong. It felt very, very wrong. But they were in deep, too deep to just step away. And Luca didn’t know about this shit. Maybe this was the way the business was conducted. They’d felt Anthony up at Beckett’s, away from the fights. Maybe they paid out away from the fights, too. Luca nodded to Anthony. “Go on, kid. Make it snappy.”

  Darting his eyes between Luca and Mouse, Anthony said, “Okay,” and then trotted off.

  oOo

  They drove them to a nightclub, the kind with ear-splitting thumped-up bass, where everything seemed to glow blue against black, and all the women were dressed in tiny, shimmery dresses and elaborate shoes with skyscraper heels, and all the men wore shiny suits. The dance floor was huge and packed, everyone moving like the whole place was one writhing, orgiastic organism.

  If the clubs Manny favored were a circle of Hell, this one was deeper. The ninth circle. Satan’s mouth.

  Mouse led them through the gyrating throng, his henchmen bookending Luca and Anthony. Luca walked behind Anthony, waiting to feel a gun at his back. He had not yet. As yet, the men were almost civil, the threat implied. As long as Luca and Anthony cooperated, it was possible to believe that this was, in fact, a simple business transaction.

  And maybe it was.

  But Luca didn’t think so. As they came through the back end of the dance floor, there was a row of almost cozy, deep, round booths, upholstered in what looked, in this dark, eerily glowing environme
nt, to be pink zebra fur. Despite his turmoil, that décor caught his attention for some reason. And then he locked eyes with an occupant in the middle, largest booth. A man, with two nubile women on either side of him. Luca hadn’t noticed him at first because his dark skin and dark attire had the effect of pulling him into the shadows.

  Alvin Church.

  He nodded at Luca. Luca forced himself to nod back. Okay. He definitely had enough. This was Church’s place. Jones was working for him. When they got their payout, then he could take what he had to the Uncles on a silver platter as soon as they got out of here.

  If they got out of here.

  They were led to a large, tastefully appointed office, much more subdued in style than he would have expected, coming from the glitter and Day-Glo glitz of the public space. Mouse and the Henchmen—Luca’s frantic head suddenly capitalized the H and turned them into a Motown group, which nearly made him laugh out loud—stepped back and stood in a row near the closed door.

  Tino Jones, wearing sunglasses even here, sat on a long desk made of wood so dark it was nearly black. “Welcome. Have a seat.” Luca and Anthony sat in two white leather wingback chairs arranged facing the desk. Jones held out his hand and shook with Luca and then with Anthony. “You did good, Beav. Real good. Right to order.”

  Anthony nodded but didn’t speak.

  He lifted a thick, white envelope from the desk and handed it to Luca. “Your cut.” Luca tucked it in the pocket inside his leather jacket. Seeing that he had not paused to count it, Jones bent his head in an appreciative nod.

  “Thanks for your hospitality here, Tino, but we need to get going. We’ll just call a cab.” Luca made to stand.

  “We’re not done yet, Luca. We have a lot more business to discuss. With you, at least.”

  A sudden sharp, yet oddly muffled sound barked through the air, and Anthony fell forward, out of his chair and to the thick grey plush of the carpet.

  There was a hole through the leather chair. And into Anthony’s head.

  Luca leapt up. “FUCK!”

  Tino hadn’t flinched. “Sit down, Luca.”

  There were hands on him then, and he was muscled back down to the chair. “What the fuck did you do?”

  “I think we whacked a mole.” He cackled at his joke. “There are other plans for you.” He nodded to the men who were still holding Luca down, and then he was dragged up to his feet.

  No. No fucking way was he letting these sons of bitches jerk him around like some kind of ragdoll. They’d killed Anthony in cold blood. He was just a kid! Let them pull a trigger on him if they wanted, but he was fucking through being moved. He yanked his right arm free and, with all his considerable power, put his fist into one thick, jowly face. He caught the guy on the chin, and he went back like a board, out cold.

  Luca spun, ready to take another out, but a sharp blow of cold steel to his temple sent his marbles rolling, and he sagged, just for a second, until he could shake his head clear. But that second was enough. All three conscious men, he thought, went at him with fists and feet. He got some blows in, but they got him down. Though he continued to fight hard, they got his arms behind him. And then he was bound.

  They pulled him to his feet. Blood ran into his eyes, and blinking didn’t clear them, but he could see that he’d done some damage to these pieces of shit. The fourth guy was conscious again, and he charged at Luca, sending a tremendous jab into his gut. He folded over and puked all over the carpet.

  “Goddammit. Let’s go,” Jones barked. He’d lost his fancy shades in the melee. He was panting. They all were. Good. At least he’d made them work for it.

  They hadn’t killed him. He had no idea what that meant.

  oOo

  They walk-dragged him into another room. This was a storage room, for the most part, with boxes of paper goods—napkins, toilet paper, office supplies—shelved along three walls. In the middle, two padded folding chairs were set up to face each other. They forced him to sit on one of the chairs, and then they all stood back.

  Even if his hands hadn’t been tied behind his back, he didn’t think he could take four men. Not those four, anyway. Though Jones wasn’t big, the others were. There was half a ton of meat standing behind him, and a lot of it was muscle.

  They knew he’d been setting them up. What they fuck were they planning?

  The door opened, and Alvin Church himself walked in. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit and a black silk shirt under it—they were all in black, come to think of it. It was like some kind of uniform.

  Church sat in the other chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Mr. Pagano. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met. But I think we’re both acquainted with each other. Am I right?”

  “Yeah, I know you.” Except this sophisticated man facing him wasn’t the Church he knew. Alvin Church had been flashy and loud, the kind of guy who’d trash a restaurant if some poor waiter got the plates at his table switched up. It was like Church had gone to finishing school.

  “Good. Then let’s get to business. You’re up to no good, Pagano. I don’t like people crawling around my business, up to no good.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Mouse here approached my boy”—Luca’s voice broke as he thought of Anthony, still lying on the carpet, now all alone—“and we took him up on your offer.”

  Church’s eyes twitched, and a fist came from the side and pistoned into Luca’s head. With his eyes closed, he waited for his brain to stop sloshing around in his skull, and then he stared steadily at Church. “What is it you want?”

  “I want you to take some information back to your uncles. It can even be the information you’ve been getting. I’m just going to add a few—what do you call ‘em—addenda.” He leaned back in the metal chair, looking comfortable. “You see, things are changing. Your uncles—they’re old men. They prance around town in their suits and their hats, looking like Al Capone, and they think the world is still like that. Well, it’s not. The world’s been changing all this time. But in the last year or so, it’s been changing fast.”

  Getting into his speech, Church sat forward now, his elbows on his knees. His eyes were alight with interest in his own shrewdness.

  “Ben and Lorrie, they’re not keeping up. They think because they’ve always run the show, they always will. They think because they like things done their way, things will always go their way. They think they can buy themselves a couple of middling fighters and just drop into a world they don’t know and change the way things work here. But they’re wrong. People have been scared of the Paganos for longer than I’ve been alive. But they’re old men, and they do things the old way. I think they’re about to find their limit. And I think you and I are going to show them.”

  He stood up. “My days of needing to clean gunk out from under my fingernails are over, so this is where I say goodnight and get back to my women. But my guys will see to it that you’re taken care of.”

  Luca forced his heart to beat steadily. He could take a beating. “What’s the message I’m supposed to take back?”

  Church grinned—he still had a gold tooth with ‘AC’ etched into it, so maybe he’d flunked a class or two in that finishing school. “You’re the message, my man. You and your brother—John, I think? And that little girl of yours. She’s a feisty thing. You’ll see them soon enough.”

  They had Manny. Jesus Christ, they had Manny. Luca’s heart all but exploded.

  oOo

  They didn’t beat him there. Mouse and the Henchmen took him to another room; this one seemed to be left specifically for this purpose. It was completely empty. The floor was cracked linoleum, the walls old plaster, covered in gouges and scratches. There was a metal door at one corner. Jones crossed to it and unlocked it. Luca stood in the center of the room, a zip tie digging savagely into his wrists as he strained to stretch it, and the other men went one at a time to the closet. One brought out a length of heavy chain. Another brought an aluminum bat. Mouse took a while
in there and came out fitting brass knuckles onto both hands.

  Didn’t matter. Until he was dead, he could take a beating. He had to take it. He had to find a way out of this. He had to find Manny and John and get them out of this. Even with his hands bound, he had to find a way.

  It was fantasy, he knew. They were probably dead already, like Anthony. He’d been Rosa’s age. A fucking baby. But now Luca had to focus on the people he wanted to save.

  Fuck, what had they done to Manny?

  Then Jones, the smallest of the crew, came up to him and popped a switchblade. Luca locked his muscles, refusing to allow them to flinch. Jones leered and walked behind him. “Let’s make this sporting, what d’ya say?” And he sliced through the plastic binding Luca’s hands.

  Luca spun and nailed Jones with a combination, to his chest and his nose, putting all of his power and rage into it, rejoicing in the feel of bones breaking. Jones dropped, his blade skittering across the linoleum, and then the others came at him.