For his part, Angie had spent most of this short flight either with his eyes closed, playing out what came when they hit the ground in Kyiv, or being Andrew Rutland and flirting with Simone, this lovely German hostess of the very friendly skies.
She sashayed back with a glass—an actual glass—of ice water and set it on his tray. “Have you been to Kyiv before, Mr. Rutland?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t. I won’t have much time for sightseeing, but do you have recommendations?”
“I too have little time when I am there, but I’ve spent some days free in the city. Which hotel will you stay?”
“The Hilton.”
“Truly!” She leaned in again, resting her elbow on the back of his seat, presenting that lovely swell of cleavage between the plackets of her blouse. Angie suspected that so many open buttons weren’t strictly in accordance with her airline’s dress code, but he was very pleased with this bonus feature. “Tonight I will stay there as well.”
Angie grinned. Oh, she was really coming for him. With everything she had.
Normally, he got a lot of trim. He was powerful, had plenty of money, wasn’t bad looking, took care of his body. Also, he was a so-called ‘bad boy,’ and lots of chicks dug that. He’d never been in love, never had what might be called a serious girlfriend, though he’d had a few favorites he’d lingered a while with over the years, but he’d never wanted for female attention or affection. Even as he’d started sidling toward middle age (okay, he’d arrived, whatever), there were plenty of chicks lining up for a ride on the Angie-go-round.
The last six months or so, however, he’d been going through a dry spell. That wasn’t for lack of interest on the female side; the girls were still lining up. It was all him. Since that night back in July, when the Ukies had shot up Dominic’s, he hadn’t been able to get it done.
There had been only one actual equipment failure, mainly because after that, he’d caught the warning signs and backed off far in advance of a repeat non-performance.
He could get it up; he jacked off more days than not. But his head got very weird now when he was with a woman. As soon as he got close to intimacy—the physical kind; it was the only kind he ever had—his head put on a 4D screening of that scene in Dominic’s: Angie trying and failing to shield his people, sitting there useless with two bullets inside him. Nick bleeding out on the floor beside him. Donnie shot, too. Their wives crying.
And Brenda, dumb, sweet little Brenda, lying at his other side, most of her head blown away.
She’d been nobody. Unimportant. Just a chick who’d had a little thing for him. Somebody who cleaned up nice and would look okay at his side at the don’s dinner table. Somebody who’d let him do just about anything he wanted to her later, in bed. He didn’t even know what she did for a living.
He hadn’t cared about her at all. In fact, at that very table, while he’d sat with Nick, Donnie, Trey, and even Tony and compared Brenda to their elegant, accomplished women, Angie had been embarrassed of her. He’d been sitting at that dinner wondering if he didn’t need to up his game and set his sights on a better class of women.
And then half her head had been blown off. Because he’d invited her to dinner with Don Pagano, and their war had broken out in the restaurant.
She’d had parents. She’d had—something he hadn’t known until her funeral—a child. A daughter, barely out of diapers, who would now grow up an orphan, because Angie had been cavalier with her mother’s life and brought a civilian into his violent world. He’d done it hundreds of times with probably hundreds of women, but Brenda had been the unlucky one at his side when the odds tipped over.
And he should have fucking known better. He had known better.
So ... yeah. He was having some trouble getting his head straight with that. Maybe he was better off alone—not simply unattached but truly alone. When his hand wasn’t enough to satisfy, maybe he could get it done with a professional. Somebody who understood the score. The Paganos had a stake in a couple high-end brothels, and he’d sampled their wares often enough.
But now, if he needed feminine company, he’d rather go away from the Pagano world altogether, find someone who didn’t know him, someone far away from what he was, what he did, someone who couldn’t get touched by his world—and who couldn’t dent his rep if he couldn’t get the deed done.
Ukraine was about as far away from home as he could imagine. And here, at least for now, he was Andrew Rutland, printing company executive. He had the papers to prove it.
Angie studied the beauty before him. She was tall and curvaceous, with big blue eyes and a pretty, artfully made-up face. Not too young. Mid-thirties or so. His sweet spot.
He really appreciated a woman who did herself up well. Fresh-faced beauty was fine, but overrated. He liked the artistry, the drama, of makeup. Guys complained about cosmetics being ‘dishonest,’ some kind of crap about ‘truth in advertising,’ but Angie saw it as confidence and self-assertion. With makeup, a woman took what she’d been God-given and made it better. Made it her own. Chose her look. That was hot.
Simone was all kinds of hot, and the feeling was obviously mutual. He could smell the desire coming off her in waves, lofted on a scent of citrus. A chick this forward would be quite a ride.
But he wasn’t Andrew Rutland, was he? No, he was Angelo Corti Jr., caporegime and consigliere to Don Nick Pagano, and he was here on that business. He brought the Paganos with him everywhere he went, and he always would.
He was a Pagano man.
He changed his smile and shook his head. “It’s not gonna happen, doll.”
~ 2 ~
“Let’s sit on this one for another minute. With what’s going on across the street, I think we let Grenner stew a while before we show more interest. He’s on the hook, let’s let him twist.” Giada Sacco swiped the presentation from the screen of her tablet and focused on Jasper Alberici, the agent who’d put it together. He was staring at her tablet like she’d just signed off on the execution of his family. “Unless there’s more to it than you’ve shown here?”
Jasper lifted his eyes. When he met hers, he blinked. “No, ma’am. If you want to wait, we wait.”
Giada sighed and pushed her tablet aside to cross her arms on the gleaming surface of the conference table. “Jasper, I know you’ve only been with us a few months, but it’s time to stop being the new kid. The way things work here is you tell me everything I need to know to make decisions. If you think I won’t like it, you still tell me. Killing the messenger is not the way I work.”
Her brother, on the other hand ... but the one smart thing their father had done before he’d been killed was block Tommy from having any real influence on their legitimate businesses. She was President and CEO of Sacco Development. Tommy was on the board, but only as an ex-officio member, with no voting rights.
And yet, the Sacco reputation—specifically Tommy Sacco’s reputation—bled all over her.
She meant to change that.
Jasper cleared his throat and darted his glance all around the table, to every colleague in this regular Monday-morning meeting. Giada kept her attention on him and waited.
When he met her eyes again, he cleared his throat once more before he spoke. “It’s ... um ...”
Giada tapped her index finger on the table—just that single manicured nail, just one time, but with emphasis.
With a glance at her hand, Jasper finally found his balls and answered her. “Don Sacco called me. He wants the property. He said I had to make it happen or—”
Cutting him off with a lift of her hand, Giada said, “My brother does not make decisions for this company.” It was so fucking typical of Tommy to duck around her and threaten the weakest link he could find.
“With all due respect, Ms. Sacco, I have kids.”
“Your children are safe, Jasper. I will handle my brother. I don’t suppose he happened to mention why an apartment building near Boston University is so critical to his interests?”
>
“No, ma’am. He just said he knew we were looking at it and to make sure you bought it right away.”
Giada had every intention of buying that corner building, and then razing it to make room for a parking garage that would serve the new medical clinic building BU was putting up. Though the company’s development portfolio was deep and varied, parking was by far its best legitimate earner: cheap to build, easy to maintain, and a steady income stream. Also an excellent laundry for their less legitimate income.
The only time her brother gave a shit about the family’s real estate concerns was when he wanted a property for himself. Usually that meant some kind of club or other playground for grown men, or a place to set up a comare. The Carlton Street property offered him none of his usual attractions, and his current side piece was already nicely set up, which meant it was something specific about the location, or the building as it stood, that had his interest. She’d have to put some thought to the question before she confronted him.
“We wait and let Grenner twist a bit. The don won’t be a problem for you.” She looked around the table. “What else?”
All the members of her staff shook their heads.
Giada checked her Rolex, brushing her diamond tennis bracelets clear of its face. She had to get moving. “Okay, then let’s get to it. I’ll be away for the rest of the day, but call me if you need me.”
~oOo~
In her office, with a penthouse vista of Boston Harbor at her back, Giada took a few minutes at her desk to finish up some details and not appear to be in the rush she was. As she signed out of her email, Caitlyn, her assistant, slipped into the room with a stack of legal documents.
“We got the contracts in from the Cambridge buy. Do you want to take a sec to deal with them before you head to the spa?”
Giada closed her laptop and considered the files. She always put work first. To say no, and seemingly set aside these important contracts for an afternoon at the spa, would raise Caitlyn’s eyebrows, certainly.
But she had to go. Assuming traffic was in her favor, she had an hour’s drive, and at least half an hour before she was able to get on the road. If she left right now.
She smiled at her assistant. “You know what? I’m in the mood to let people swing today. Lock those up, and I’ll read them first thing in the morning. Today, for once, I’m going to see to myself first.”
Caitlyn beamed brightly. “Finally! Yes! You go, have your afternoon. Nobody deserves it more than you, and these will still be here in the morning. Do you want to forward your calls to me, too? Really have the afternoon off?”
“Let’s not go quite that far,” Giada chuckled. “Just in case Rome burns today.”
“Okay. But I’m blocking your book for tomorrow morning. Only emergencies. So you can take your times with these then.”
“You take good care of me, Cait.”
“Just returning the favor, ma’am.”
~oOo~
Giada actually took fairly good care of herself, she thought. A naturally early riser, she set aside ninety minutes, from five-thirty to seven a.m., four mornings a week for working out; she had her hair and nails done regularly; and she got a full-body massage at least once a month. But a so-called ‘spa day,’ hours spent in a full-course menu of indulgence? Only on birthdays. It was her brother’s standard gift for all the women in his life.
On her latest birthday, her forty-fifth, Giada had been in Italy. So, if anyone was paying attention, she still had a birthday gift certificate to burn, and that was what she had planned for the rest of the day.
Of course someone was paying attention. No one was more paranoid than her brother, and for all his arrogance and idiocy, he had the keen, and keenly skewed, perception of the truly paranoid. On some level, Tommy was wholly aware that Giada did all the work of the family and undid all his mistakes. He was wholly aware that everyone in the family, everyone in their world, understood who was really in charge, and that only his possession of a penis kept him in power. He knew it all very well, but he’d sublimated the truth to his self-concept, believed himself to be truly powerful and his sister merely envious and grasping. The end result was paranoia, but for exactly the wrong reasons.
Of course he had her watched. In fact, he would occasionally ‘hint’ as much, letting her know that he knew things about her life she hadn’t shared with him herself.
Hence today’s elaborate ruse. Because Tommy was right to be paranoid.
Giada meant to take him down.
As soon as she was sure she had the backing to succeed.
She pulled her Maserati GranTurismo into the underground garage of this shopping center—a Sacco property—and parked. As she climbed out and closed the driver’s door, she looked around the garage. Lifelong habit had made her perception sharp, and she noted all the key elements of the scene without pausing too long at anything in particular: the large white van backed in and taking up two spaces between support pylons, the three people walking between the elevators and the parking areas—two away from the elevators and one toward them, the blacked-out Ford Taurus near the entrance, also backed in, beside a ten-year-old silver Camry.
That Taurus had come in after her, but no one had left the vehicle. Bingo.
Hooking her red ostrich Birkin bag on her arm, giving the Taurus no obvious attention, Giada went to the elevators.
~oOo~
Inside the Daylily Spa, Giada’s stylist, Leanna, greeted her right away and led her back. Leanna was one of only two people in her life who knew what was really happening today, and she only knew this small part. Giada had been as careful as possible to ensure no one in the family, or anywhere in Boston, could put all the pieces together and understand her plan until she was ready for it to be understood.
She had to trust that what was happening in Rhode Island was similarly circumspect—but she had every reason to trust that.
Safely inside the spa, Leanna handed Giada a red duffel bag and a set of keys. Smiling at the color choice—a sweet detail to think of—Giada thanked the stylist and tucked a small fold of hundred-dollar bills in her hand. “I’ll be back by the time you close, and when I am, if everything goes right, there will be another of those.”
Leanna smiled and bowed a small thanks. “But will you not need hair and nails done also?”
That was the one snag to this plan: she’d be leaving a spa without a new mani-pedi or fresh blowout. She had no choice but to leave that to the likelihood that none of the men she was surrounded with would tell the difference.
It was one of the very few benefits of living in a man’s world: they didn’t notice womanly things unless those things were specifically sexual or subservient.
“I’ll find some time soon, before the hair situation is too dire. Thank you for this, Leanna.”
“You are an angel, Miss Giada. I am happy to be able to help you, finally.”
With a quick squeeze of Leanna’s arm, Giada ducked into the bathroom and locked the door.
She set the duffel on the counter and opened it. Inside was a new outfit: plain black leggings, unassuming light blue sneakers with a rolled pair of white cotton ankle socks tucked in the left one, a Harvard sweatshirt, and, rolled snugly at the bottom, a navy blue down vest. She owned nothing like anything in this duffel. Not even her workout clothes were so plain.
It was January in Boston, and a parka would have been preferable, but Leanna had done a pretty good job. Thankfully, there was no snow on the ground, and the temperature had been in the thirties for several days. This would do nicely.
She changed, pulled her hair into a basic ponytail, pulled off all her jewelry and tucked it in her Birkin bag, folded her work clothes carefully, then began to pack up the duffel again. Her Ferragamo pumps first, then her skirt, blouse, and stockings. Her leather coat. Getting her bag in on the top was a tight squeeze, but she managed it.
Then she noticed an odd bulge in a small outside pocket of the duffel and smiled when she realized what it was. N
ice one, Leanna. She pulled out the big plastic sunglasses and put them on.
Now she was just a regular woman leaving the fitness gym next door to the spa.
~oOo~
In the parking garage again, Giada walked to Leanna’s ten-year-old silver Camry, scooted between it and the blacked-out Taurus, opened the driver’s door, and slid in.
When she pulled out of the garage, she checked her rearview, but the Taurus didn’t follow. Maybe it hadn’t been a tail, or maybe it had. Either way, she was getting out free and clear.
She was just a regular woman coming out of the gym, going about her regular day.
If Tommy’s little snoop was waiting in that Taurus, he could sit on his ass in the garage and wait for Giada Sacco to finish her spa day.
~oOo~
In light traffic, Providence was about an hour from Boston. In heavy traffic it could be two or three times as long. Today, at least on the outbound leg, Giada was blessed with traffic moving well, comfortably above the speed limit. Leanna’s Camry didn’t have anything like the horsepower of Giada’s Maserati, but it got the job done.
Once she was out of Boston, free of a tail, Giada relaxed and turned her mind to what came next. Today was an important part of her plan. If it went well, she would know how to proceed. If it did not, she would be back at square one.
Honestly, there was no more square one. There was only one shot, and this was it. Without the Paganos on the field with her, she could never accomplish what she wanted.
In Providence, she followed the GPS of her burner phone to the address Nick Pagano had given her—a building in a commercial park, one of those that dotted the edges of most urban areas. Sacco Development had built and owned several across Massachusetts. She pulled into a space at the front of the lot, next to a black SUV. Another SUV, an identical match to the one beside her, was parked in a space near the street, facing the entrance to this little lot. Though the truck beside her was empty, the one by the entrance had two large men in the front seat.
The Name of Honor Page 2