She knew the answer, of course, but needed a second or two to get her head around this idea. Nick Pagano. She’d heard him called the King of New England. Nobody—not their elected officials, not the heads of federal or local law enforcement, not any other titan of industry in the region—pulled as much weight as the don of the Pagano Brothers organization. Even her grandfather had considered him worthy of careful respect.
Billy wasn’t so sure she wanted him to notice her in any way.
But Tony was chuckling and answering the question she’d put into words. “Nope. I mean, there’s Nicky Falucci, but Nicky’s just an associate. He couldn’t afford to eat out of the dumpster at Dominic’s. This is the don that wants us at his table.”
“That sounds like a pretty big deal.”
“It is. It’s a wicked big honor. You’ll come, right?”
“You and me, with Nick Pagano and his wife? A double date?”
“No, no. That’d be intense as fuck though, yeah? No—this is a pretty regular thing for him, eating at Dom’s on Friday nights. He does face time in the Cove, here and there, and Dom’s is his favorite place. Sometimes it’s just him, Donnie Goretti, and Angie Corti. Sometimes they have their women, too. Sometimes, he invites one of us who’s done good at work, too.”
“That’s what this is—you did well at work?”
Tony nodded. “Yeah. You look freaked out.”
She was—and she was wondering if that terrible night he’d had early in the week, the night he’d barged in and attacked her, had something to do with his ‘good work.’ That had to be it. But she didn’t know how to ask.
Instead, she laced her fingers with his and said, “I am freaked out. You want me to have dinner with Don Pagano. That seems a lot more intimidating than meeting the folks, actually, and we decided we weren’t ready for that.”
“I know. But I can’t say no to the don, and I have to have a woman with me. I don’t want that to be anybody but you. Do you?”
They were barely a couple yet, but no, she did not want him going on a date with anyone else. “No, I’ll go.”
His grin was so sweet and boyish, so full of pride and pleasure, Billy’s doubts settled to mumbles. It was just dinner. How many awkward meals had she sat through at elegant restaurants and stately dining rooms in her life? Dozens. Scores. What was one more? It wasn’t like she’d be in any danger, sitting in the middle of a restaurant. And it made Tony happy.
She kissed his grinning mouth. “Cain’s still in the kitchen. Let’s go upstairs.”
~oOo~
“Anything you don’t know, ask Derek or Amir—or text me. I’ll have my phone.”
Billy and Cain stood near the empty stage. She was leaving her father in charge of the club while she went out to dinner with the Mafia, and now that it was almost time for the band to arrive for setup, and for her to go upstairs and dress, Billy had concocted full-blown scenarios for about a hundred possible terrible outcomes of this evening.
“Bill, relax. It’s one night. I can handle it.” Cain set his hand on the back of her neck. It was an old gesture, from her childhood, and the nostalgia steadied her heart for a second—and then those cozy memories brought their chilly echoes of all the ways Cain had let her down, and she got back to fretting.
“It’s the first time this band’s played West Egg. The ceiling’s too low for any smoke effects or pyro, both of which they usually use. It’s in the booking contract, but sometimes new bands try to do it anyway—you have to keep on them. I don’t ...”
“Baby girl, you need to take a breath. I’m not gonna break your business in one night. I know how to get a band set up, and I know how a good bar runs.”
“It’s not a bar, it’s a club.”
He sighed and gave her a condescending nod. “You got your A-team working tonight, right? Your head security guy, your head chef, your head bartender, your best waitresses. Right?”
“Servers. And yes. I always have the most experienced people working Friday and Saturday.”
“And they all got more experience than you have, right?”
Billy glared. It was true, but she was still the boss. She had the most to lose.
“We got this, Wild Bill. We all know what we’re doin’, and we got it. If you’re lookin’ for a reason not to go out with that guy, I’ll be glad to be the reason. But if you’re really worried, you don’t gotta be. Trust me. Tonight will go smooth as butter.”
Trust. A lot easier to say than to feel. But Billy nodded.
~oOo~
Raised within the strange life of a black-sheep heiress on the margins of her old-money family, Billy knew how to dress and comport herself in the most exclusive and elegant situations, but was innately wired to rebel against those situations. She’d watched her mother try to be a good girl but always somehow fail, and she’d seen her rebel and at least succeed in causing a stir. Billy knew how to dress and behave, and she had a deep appreciation for subverting stodgy expectations. Normally, she comported herself intentionally to almost fit in. She’d accessorize a satin evening gown with a studded dog collar. Or pair pristine tennis whites with orange sequined Chucks.
But she stood before her racks of clothes and accessories now and wondered—how did one dress to dine with the don?
Dominic’s was a high-end restaurant and very much in demand, especially during the tourist season, when the reservation book was full five months out. It wasn’t a black-tie place, but definitely a night-on-the-town place. A table of four diners could easily drop a grand on a full-course meal and a couple bottles of wine.
The safe bet would be something unassuming and elegant. She had a black tuxedo suit with palazzo pants that would look great, and she could wear a silver silk shell under the jacket. But her impression of these Mafia men was that they were extremely traditional, with old-fashioned—that is, outdated and problematic—ideas about masculinity and femininity and all that jazz. Would Don Pagano be offended if she wore pants to his dinner? What impact would any displeasure in her have on Tony?
Not pants, then. She also had a very sedate little black dress, sleeveless and A-line, with a matching collarless jacket, but that was her funeral dress.
Flipping through her racks, Billy lamented. A whole lot of pants and jackets that she wore with sexy-silky-shimmery blouses—her favorite look for both professional and dressy occasions. She could rock that look for almost any event. At her mother’s house in Boston, she had a whole closet full of cocktail and evening dresses, but she’d had no reason to bring those to the Cove. Besides, that was too dressy for a restaurant dinner.
Jesus Christ, getting dressed was not usually this much of a problem. If only she’d had one more day—just one. She could’ve shopped.
At the end of one rack, mixed in with her silky shells and camisoles, was something. Maybe. She’d picked it up a year or so ago, shopping with Carly, and never had a chance to wear it. Honestly, it wasn’t really her style. Carly had convinced her to buy it.
Pulling the hanger off the rack, she held up the little slip of a dress and wondered. Too skimpy? Too plain? Or just right? What did a Pagano man’s girlfriend dress like?
Was she a Pagano man’s girlfriend?
~oOo~
“Fuck. Me,” Tony muttered when Billy walked into the kitchen. The club was open, and the kitchen bustled madly, but everything seemed to stop when she came in.
“Damn, Billy,” Amir enthused. “Damn. You always look good, but damn.”
Billy’s cheeks warmed like she was a teenager on prom night, and she grinned. “Is this okay?” she asked Tony as he came close. “I’ve got a jacket to put over it if it’s too much.”
“I will burn that jacket if it comes near you,” he said and slid his arm around her waist. “You look so good I’m gonna have a hernia.”
She laughed and hooked her arms around his neck. “You look good, too. Excellent suit.”
It was. Not custom, but an excellent off-the-rack option, possibly Armani. Bl
ack, with a subtle pinstripe. Tailored to fit him perfectly. He wore a deep blue dress shirt that made his eyes gleam, and a black silk tie with the scantest hint of blue silk thread in the weave. He was clean-shaven, which was a little bit of a drag; she liked his stubble. But the cleft in his chin showed clearly now—a very nice consolation.
“Somebody oughta get a picture,” Amir said with a grin. “It’s like you’re goin’ to prom.”
Tony frowned. Billy could see him trying to decide if Amir was teasing in good nature or getting in a joke at their expense, so she laughed and helped him decide.
“Shut up, dork. You’re just jealous,” she teased back, in the same good nature. “Try not to burn my business down while I’m gone, okay?”
“I don’t know.” Still grinning, Amir shook his head. “That’s an awful lot to ask.”
Cain was in the club, but Billy didn’t say goodbye. If she went out there, she’d feel compelled to see how things were going. It had taken every ounce of will not to do a turn when she’d come down from the loft.
“We gotta go,” Tony said at her ear, making it easier for her to head to the door.
“Be good, kids!” she called as he led her out.
“Bye, Mom!” several voices called back.
She didn’t feel nearly as breezy about leaving the club in others’ hands on a Friday night in July as she sounded (what the hell was she thinking), but fake it till you make it and all that.
~oOo~
Dominic’s had a great location on the beach, with spectacular views. A significant portion of the dining room was built out on stilts, over the water, and the back half of the large room was walled in glass. At eight o’clock on a summer night, there was still a little color in the sky. This part of the beach was oriented to face a bit northward, so the sunset showed at one side of the dining room, and the water gave up a sparkling, rosy reflection of the sleepy sun. A light spray of clouds gave the colors a canvas. It was the kind of view that stopped you in your tracks.
At this peak hour on a peak night in the peak season, the dining room was full, but still calm. This was a place where people spoke with hushed tones. They left their children at home and were careful not to overindulge.
The maître d’—his name was Gio; Billy knew him from some Chamber of Commerce meetings—led them through the dining room. The farther back they walked, the more she expected Nick’s table to be in a glass corner, with excellent views nearly all around. That would be the best table in the house, certainly.
But they were led to a large round table, set for ten, near a solid wall. It was near the edge of that wall, and the views were still lovely, but Billy was nonetheless surprised. She would have expected this man to demand the best table in the house.
Tony stiffened as they approached the table; his hand at the small of her back flinched subtly. Maybe because they were the last to arrive. Four other couples were seated, and only two places remained.
All the men stood as Gio led them to the table. Tony cleared his throat.
“Don, I’d like you to meet Billy Jones. Billy, this is Nick Pagano.”
She’d seen photos of him, of course, and maybe glimpsed him here and there around town over the years, but this was, she thought, the first time she’d been face to face with the don.
Nick Pagano was what people meant when they talked about a silver fox. Wow. But he had a look so intense it was hard for Billy to find him attractive. He was beautiful, but frightening.
The don came around the table with a smile and offered her his hand. She took it—warm and strong. “I’m glad to meet you, Don Pagano.”
“I am pleased to meet you. I’ve been following the success of your club. It’s going well.”
“It is.” It would be going better if she didn’t have to pay a fee to his organization, but she wasn’t stupid enough to say that.
“Your name is Wilhelmina, yes?”
“Officially, but I don’t prefer it.”
“You prefer Billy.”
“I do.” He seemed dissatisfied with that, and Billy’s hackles fluttered. It was her damn name.
“Well, Billy”—yep, he didn’t like her name—“let me introduce my wife, Beverly.”
Donna Pagano didn’t stand, but she smiled with bright warmth and held her hand over the table. “It’s very good to meet you, Billy. Call me Bev.”
“Bev. It’s a pleasure.” Bev Pagano, she’d definitely seen around town. She was involved in a lot of events and causes in the area. She was older and seemed not to mind getting that way. There was grey in her hair and extra flesh on her body, but she was really beautiful. Actually, not ‘but’—and. There was grey and extra flesh, and she was really beautiful.
Donnie Goretti and Angie Corti were both men she’d met and had dealings with already. They welcomed her and each introduced the women with them. Goretti’s wife was a willowy dark-haired slip of a thing named Arianna—she corrected Donnie’s introduction to ‘Ari’ at once; what was it with these guys and names? Angie’s date was what Billy had imagined a Mafia girlfriend to look like: bountiful boobs barely contained in a skin-tight red satin dress, and a mountain of white-blonde hair caught in an elaborate updo. Bev and Ari wore little black dresses, Bev’s an elegant number with an illusion neckline and sheer sleeves, and Ari’s a halter style that made Billy feel more comfortable with her own choice. Besides, with Brenda, Angie’s date, threatening to spill her girls out on the table, Billy’s dress was downright dull in comparison.
There was another couple at the table. Trey Pagano stood there, waiting his turn. When he offered his hand to welcome her, Tony flinched again. Was he jealous? Of Trey? Why on earth?
She took his hand, then offered hers to his wife, Lara, who barely touched it in response. “Hello,” Lara said, with the scantest possible smile, and returned her hand to her lap.
Nobody else seemed to think that was strange, so Billy let it go. But there was an odd tension between Tony and Trey, she was sure of it.
“Please,” Don Pagano said as he returned to his chair and prepared to sit. “Let’s sit and enjoy our evening.”
Tony pulled out a chair, and Billy sat. Trey on one side, Tony on the other.
These two men did not like each other. Interesting.
~ 19 ~
Trey Fucking Pagano. At this dinner. His dinner with the don. It was fucking bullshit.
Tony couldn’t let that show, of course. Nick had invited them both, and Tony might as well eat his gun as show attitude about any of his fellow guests.
Maybe he’d been wrong; maybe this wasn’t meant to be some kind of reward for a successful job.
Nick hadn’t said it absolutely outright, in fact. He’d praised him for his work in Hell’s Kitchen, asked him a few more questions about his training setup at CBSD, and then he’d invited him to dinner. What was that thing Sister Frederick had taught them in high school science lab? Correlation doesn’t imply causation. Just because two things happen at the same time doesn’t mean they have anything to do with each other.
But he’d never been invited to Dom’s before, so the implication had been, to Tony’s mind, pretty damn strong.
Right up until he’d seen Trey Fucking Pagano at the table. Fucking Golden Boy. Entitled prick.
Billy set her hand on his thigh and frowned lightly, asking without speaking if he was okay—which suggested that he was doing a piss-poor job of not showing ‘tude. He flexed his shoulders, loosened up, and smiled. “Hey, beautiful.”
That was something good to focus on: Billy. In any condition he’d seen her, from first waking, to work, to play, to naked and rumpled and sweaty, she was hot as hell, but tonight, damn. She wore a skimpy dress that showed her athletic body off to perfection. It wasn’t a fancy dress, really, just plain black, the hem about halfway down her bare thighs, the neckline straight across her chest, with a thin strap over each shoulder. No sequins or ruffles or any kind of bedazzlement. Her hair was simply styled, not slicked back or curled up,
and her makeup was lighter than she wore in the club. Even her jewelry was plain—her usual simple silver chain around the base of her throat, a matching chain around her left wrist, and silver button earrings. Her shoes were strappy black sky-high sandal things.
Angie’s date was a lot flashier. That chick was a living flash bomb. And yet, it was Billy who stood out.
Or maybe that was just him.
No menus came, but two servers, young men dressed in tuxedos, came out with trays of mixed olives, cheeses, nuts, and bread. Another server, a woman in a black dress with white cuffs on the long sleeves and a stiff white collar at her throat, pushed a silver cart carrying two silver buckets to the table. There were bottles in the buckets. She opened one bottle, and poured some for Nick. He tasted it and nodded, and the server began pouring the bubbly wine into all their glasses.
And that was when Tony figured out he wouldn’t be ordering his own food tonight. Everyone was having the meal Nick had chosen.
“So Billy,” Donna Pagano said, smiling across the table. “Nick tells me that you have history here in the Cove.”
“I do, yes. My family summered here for years and years. They had a place on Apple Wash, until the hurricane swept it all away when I was in high school.”
“That was so sad,” Nick’s wife said as she sipped her wine. “Those homes were beautiful. Your parents didn’t rebuild?”
“Grandparents, and no. The family has a place on the Vineyard now. But I’ve only been there a couple times. The Cove has always felt like home to me.”
“And now it is your home.”
Billy smiled brightly and nodded.
“How long’ve you been together?” Angie’s date asked, apropos of nothing.
What was her name? It didn’t really matter; Angie never had the same chick for long. They switched out so fast Tony sometimes wondered if they were maybe professionals, hired for nights like this, when Angie needed a nice-looking woman to balance out a table or something.
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