He lifted the closed Mac from Billy’s legs and set it aside. “Come on, Bill. Let’s go back to bed. You need some sleep.”
“Okay.”
Tony stood and took her hand. She let him lead her back to bed.
~oOo~
Donnie pushed open the door to Angie’s room. Tony had been resting on the ledge before the window; he stood straight when the boss came in. Trey stood at attention on the other side of the room.
“How is he?” Angie asked from his hospital bed. He was healing well; he’d gotten word that morning that he’d get sprung tomorrow or the day after.
Donnie had called them all in for a meeting here in Angie’s room; that was supposed to have started half an hour ago, but he’d been in the ICU with Nick.
“Awake. Weak and confused, but awake.”
The glad relief in the room was like a bubble popping as they all let out held breath at once.
Donnie’s expression showed none of the ease Tony felt or the others clearly shared, but he wasn’t an expressive guy, contrary to Italian stereotype. His scarred face didn’t move normally, but it was more than stiff skin. He was by nature extremely controlled. Tony didn’t think he knew anybody more bolted-down than Donnie Goretti, and that included the don himself, who was famous for his cool.
“What’s the doc say?” Angie asked as Donnie took a seat in the one chair in the room.
“Nothing yet. It’s too soon to know much, but it’s a good sign. He’s happy to be with Bev, and he’s asking for his kids. It’s all good. I told you he’d pull through.” He looked across the room at Tony and narrowed his gaze to a laser point. “You hear even one more word about Nick not coming back, and I want you to shove it straight back down the throat it comes out of, capisci?”
Tony nodded. “Got it.”
Angie chuckled. “You keep leanin’ on Tone like this, Don, and I’m gonna start feeling jealous.”
The remark earned a smirk from Donnie. “You’re the asshole who stood up in front of a row of AKs and got himself shot. If I leaned on you now, we’d both fall over.”
“That table is fuckin’ heavy, with the Kev. I needed the leverage and didn’t have time to ask for help.”
“It did what it was supposed to do, though,” Trey said. “Without that table, there’d be no Pagano Brothers anymore.”
Angie sighed as the room’s tone shifted back to work—violence and retribution. “Old Dom was in here yesterday. He’s scared we’re looking his way.”
The owner of the restaurant. He was an old man and had retired from running the place just the year before.
Donnie shook his head. “Dom’s been with the Paganos since the beginning. Besides, they killed everyone working that night. It wasn’t an inside job. Nick won’t hold him liable. But we will pay this back where it belongs.” He sat up straight. “Nick’s got a long road back, and we can’t wait for him to be at full power again. The Cove is already in bad shape, losing just this one week. Most of the businesses in town make their whole year between Memorial Day and Labor Day. We gotta get back straight again. So I’ve got two pieces of news to share.” He glanced around the room, focusing for a second on the door, but it was closed, and privacy laws protected hospital rooms from monitoring. “First, the Council is meeting tomorrow at noon. The Saccos are hosting in Boston. I’m inviting Salvatore Romano, from Long Island, to the meeting.”
The Romanos were part of the New York Council. The details were still above his pay grade, but Tony knew Nick and Donnie had been working some kind of angle to neutralize the Bondaruks’ chief ally and main access into the States—the Zelenkos, an established Ukrainian bratva based in Brooklyn. They were former rivals of the Bondaruks, so Donnie had wagered that the new alliance was soft enough to fold.
If the Romanos were being invited to a meeting of the New England Council, it sounded like Donnie had found the angle.
Angie grinned. “Sal pulls through, eh?”
“Yeah. It looks like he flipped the Zelenkos, and they’re working a deal together, so we won’t even owe the Romanos a marker. We’ll know more tomorrow. Tony, Trey, you’ll back me up.”
“Whoa, boss,” Angie jerked in surprise and put up his hand—then winced. “Trey can’t be in a Council meeting.”
Because he was not made. Tony saw a subtle flutter pass through Donnie’s eyes and realized that the underboss had let that salient fact slip his mind for a second. Just in this week, he’d brought Trey and Tony in so close he’d forgotten how insignificant they were in the family.
“Right. Trey, I want you there, but not in the room. Tony, you’re in the room. Fuck, we’re burying most of our muscle guys next week, and there’s nobody left I trust at this level.”
The hit had taken out six of their best enforcers, including both Nick and Donnie’s body men, Ray Mancuso and Dre Carna.
“I’m gettin’ sprung tomorrow, Don,” Angie said. “I can make it.”
Donnie crossed his arms over his chest and studied his friend. “You sure?”
“Positive. I’d be pissed to miss it.” Angie folded the covers back, showing powerful bare legs covered in dark hair. “In fact, let’s get me outta here now.”
Donnie set his hand on Angie’s good shoulder. “Easy, Ange. Unless you plan to flash your hairy ass all the way out, why don’t we take a beat and do it right. I’ll get the nurse to call the doc.”
Angie settled against the pillows again and pulled the covers over his legs. “And I’ll call Tina and have her bring clothes for me.”
“Okay. Before that, here’s the second piece of info: I got a call from Giada Sacco.”
Angie’s eyes widened with understanding. Somehow, in those seven words, he’d heard a whole story.
Tony knew who Giada Sacco was—Tommy Sacco was don of the Sacco family, running Massachusetts, and Giada was his younger sister. Tommy was widely regarded as an arrogant, impulsive playboy, and it was rumored that Giada, smart and cold-blooded, lurked at her brother’s back, cleaning up his messes and making sure he didn’t drive the family into the dirt. They were only rumors, though. It would be scandal if it were known openly that a woman was running a Family. A bigger scandal than making a half-blood and putting him in charge.
With that thought, Tony had a tickle of understanding. So he wasn’t entirely surprised by Angie’s next comment.
“Holy shit,” Angie mused. “She’s goin’ for it.”
“Yes.” Donnie set his eyes on Trey, and then on Tony. “If word of what I’m about to say leaves this room, I’ll know how, and it will be the last mistake you make.” When both Tony and Trey indicated their agreement to keep their mouths shut, he said, “She wants to be don. She’s seeking an alliance for the coup, and she told me her plans as an act of good faith. She’s got enough internal backing for the practical matter of handling Tommy, but she needs backing on the Council to get it ratified. She’s going to make her move as soon as this Ukrainian bullshit is square, and she’s asking for Pagano support. Once the Bondaruks are done, if Nick backs her in the wake of that display of his power, the other families will fall in. That’s her gamble.”
“And ours, if Nick agrees,” Angie mused. “What’s the upside?”
Donnie looked right at Trey. “With Giada holding the family seat, the Saccos will return the favor and stand with the Paganos for any of Nick’s future plans.”
Grooming Trey to be don, was what he meant. If Nick would back the installation of a woman at the head of a family, then Giada would back him when he was ready to elevate Trey.
“Fuck me,” Angie groaned. “A chick and a half-blood sitting at the Council table. That’s the goal? Turning everything upside down? Well, sure, why not? There’s no precedent for it in the entire world, but what the hell. Shit’s been boring lately, anyway, right?” He shook his head. “We’re like a bunch of hyper kids banging at hornets’ nests.”
Tony didn’t know what to say. Trey seemed too stunned for words—which was bullshit. He had to know
that was Nick’s plan. Everybody knew it, secret or not.
Angie took a sip of water from a yellow plastic cup and cleared his throat. “Well, it’s not our Council I’m so worried about. The Contis are a fucking mess since Vito croaked. Abbatontuono doesn’t know which end he’s sittin’ on half the time. Marconi is close with Nick, that might be enough to bring him over on this. I don’t know how he’d feel having a woman in a seat, but he hates Tommy, so that could help. After we crush the Ukies, I could see Nick pulling enough weight to get the Council united on his side, for his plans and Giada’s. But we’d need New York, too, because Sicily will come for us. We need all ten families allied against the mothership. How’s that work? Gettin’ us all together against the Bondaruks was hard enough.”
Donnie stood up. “First, let’s get our own Council on board. We’ve got to end these Bondaruk bastards. We do that, end this stupid fucking war, and the Pagano name will be impossible to push back on. We don’t make a call on the Saccos until Nick can make the call himself. But the Bondaruks, that’s on us. We know what we’ve got to do.”
“But not without me. I’ll be full speed in a few days—”
“Weeks,” Donnie corrected.
Angie waved him off. “I’ll be ready when it’s time to be ready. You need me, boss. This is my job.”
Donnie squeezed Angie’s good shoulder. “If the Zelenkos are neutralized, we’ve got some time. Our next move has to end this shit once and for all, so we will take our time and plan it right. I want you on point, so don’t fuck around getting healthy.”
~oOo~
Tony had never been to a Council meeting before, but he’d heard stories—not of what was said behind those doors, but about the traditions the surrounded the meeting. The five dons, and each one’s two most trusted men—traditionally the underboss and consigliere—met and shared a good meal, hosted by one of the dons, in the place of his choosing. They did not talk business until the meal was complete. While they ate, they spoke like friends, sharing stories of their families, arguing in good nature over sports, making jokes.
When the table was cleared, they opened the true agenda.
This meet was in the North End neighborhood of Boston, the home seat of the Sacco family. The location was a small Italian restaurant called Zia Sophia’s. Though the main dining room was a stereotypical pizza-and-pasta joint, with red-check tablecloths and bubble-glass candleholders, there was a private party room above.
On this day, the New England Council of Five Families was the private party.
Tony could admit to himself that he felt more than a little squeamish, walking through a restaurant for this meeting where all the Mafia power brokers in New England were congregating in one place, so soon after he’d been in a firefight at another restaurant. But it was actually an excellent location. Even if the restaurant got hit, from the second floor they’d have warning and time to mount a defense.
That was what had been missing at Dominic’s. Despite the bulletproof glass and the Kevlar-coated table, the guards at every entrance, and the armed men sitting at the table, a big enough force coming in with stealth could simply kill their way to them, straight through the doors.
If they had no honor, which the Bondaruks and Zelenkos obviously did not.
Here, with a restaurant in the midst of its lunch rush right below, there was no way a stealth approach would work. They were vulnerable entering and exiting only—and the Saccos had the area well covered, as did every other family. These were vulnerable times.
Though the restaurant below was casual and humble, this room was spacious and tasteful, and the huge table had been laid out for an elegant meal, set for eighteen people: three men each from the Pagano, Abbatontuono, Conti, Marconi, and Sacco families that made up the Council, and their three guests from the Romano family of New York: Salvatore, the don, his eldest son and underboss, Sal Jr, known as Sonny, and his nephew and consigliere, Adrian.
The Conti family was struggling to replace the only don they’d ever had, Vito Conti, who’d died not long ago without leaving behind a clear heir to his seat. Currently, the family was little more than a collective of people in the same business. Three members of the Conti family had shown to this meeting, and Tony wasn’t sure how they’d decided whom to send, but it was clear each of the three was trying to take and keep primacy over the other two.
Tony didn’t know what to do, so he followed Donnie and Angie’s lead, and decided the best course of action was to sit quietly and eat his food, unless his talent for mayhem was required.
Tommy Sacco sat at the head of the table. There was some subtle jockeying when they first settled in, as if Sacco’s place at the head wasn’t assured, and he’d thought Donnie would go for it. But Donnie was an underboss among dons, and not inclined to be more than Nick’s representative at the table.
Sacco was a lot of bluster and flash. His dark hair was slicked back tight against his head, showing a widow’s peak worthy of a bad vampire movie, and he wore a bright fuchsia shirt under a gray custom suit with pinstripes so wide it was practically a zoot suit. His tie was gaudy, with an elaborate knot the size of a fist, and he wore enough gold jewelry to make a racket when he gestured.
He was the youngest don in the council, by at least a generation. In his mid-to-late forties, Tony guessed. About Donnie and Angie’s age. But somehow, he seemed younger. Immature.
Giada, his sister, wasn’t here, because she was not a part of this world, not in any way that could be seen. Women couldn’t hold even secondary positions in a family. They couldn’t even be made.
If she made her move and was successful, she, too, would upend generations of tradition. The Saccos and Paganos were looking to stir shit up, and soon.
Tony liked the idea. He didn’t know if Giada Sacco would be a good don. He didn’t know if Trey would, either. He maybe didn’t hate Golden Boy like he had, but that didn’t mean he’d relish working for him. But he liked the idea of stirring shit up, and he had mad respect for anybody who could shape the world to their will.
Nobody could shape the world like Nick Pagano. He always got what he wanted.
“We were all very sorry to hear of Don Pagano’s injury,” Tommy Sacco said, as two pretty waitresses filled glasses with pale sparkling wine. “How’s he doing? I heard he was in a coma.”
“He woke yesterday. He’s recovering well.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Nick was weak and disoriented. He hadn’t been able to follow Donnie’s talk about their plans for the day. But the doctor had said that wasn’t unusual—he’d lost a lot of blood, his heart had been stopped for a matter of minutes, and he was an older man who’d been unconscious for days. He would have to work to regain his sharpness.
None of those truths belonged in the ears of these men, however. Nick was the head of the Council, he would return to his seat, and Donnie meant to ensure that no one thought otherwise.
“That’s good news,” Vio Marconi said. “And Ange, how you doin’?”
Angie’s arm was in a sling, he sat stiffly, protecting his middle, and the drive to Boston had tired him, but he grinned his usual grin. “Take more than a Ukie’s lucky shot to bring me down. I’m good.”
“We’ll talk more about that after we eat,” Tommy said. “For now, let’s toast our guests, Don Romano and his seconds. Donnie, they’re Pagano guests. You want to do the honors?”
Donnie lifted his glass. Tony and the others followed suit.
~ 22 ~
Billy stood at her office window and looked down at the club below. It was the second night they’d been open after being closed for two weeks. Early August, still the thick of summer, but here at ten-thirty on a Saturday night, the club was barely at quarter capacity. Haydn was spinning music, because virtually all the bands Billy had booked through the summer had cancelled, and she hadn’t had time to try to replace them or cajole them back onto the schedule.
Not that anybody was dancing, anyway.
She was going t
o have to close the club at the end of the summer, after only a single season in business, and she’d be lucky if her resources lasted even that long.
Her luck, or timing, whatever, could not have been worse, opening a club at the same time the Pagano Brothers were involved in a war that had opened a front in the middle of Quiet Cove.
The whole town was still reeling. They’d been on an actual lockdown—when businesses under Pagano protection had been expressly discouraged from operating—for only a week before the Pagano Brothers had worked some kind of truce or something and declared the streets safe again. But the following week, the town had been consumed by funerals.
One of those funerals had been for Nicole Howard. She’d hired on as a kitchen porter at Dominic’s after Billy had fired her, and she’d been working that night.
Most of the funerals had been Catholic, and the services were held outside the Cove at a church that hadn’t been hit with grenades, but many of the dead had been local people, so most businesses stayed closed to attend their services and vigils, or simply out of respect for the losses.
Not that they’d have had much custom, anyway. Most of the summer people, even those who owned property here, had fled after the night of the attacks, and few had come back. Those with reservations for the days and weeks following had cancelled them.
Quiet Cove was a ghost town, living up to its name with eerie silence.
Billy had been to three Chamber of Commerce emergency meetings in two weeks. The primary discussion, in careful sentences and low, hesitant whispers, had been about whether Nick Pagano would survive, and, whether he did or not, what the Paganos would do to make this all right. They all shared the same flickering glimmer of hope, that the don would return and put everything to rights.
But Nick was in the hospital, still in intensive care two weeks after being shot in the chest. Donnie Goretti, acting in his stead, was focused entirely on the war, and hadn’t turned his head toward the problems of the town yet. Angie Corti was the capo in charge of collections and enforcement, and a face all the business owners knew well, but he’d been badly injured, too, and was now also focused on the war rather than its victims.
Accidental Evils Page 26