The Name of Honor

by Susan Fanetti

A friend like me, or a friend like you?

  Like you. Full-service package.

  We’ll be there in 30, hot mama.

  Tristan ended that text with two eggplants and several sweat emojis.

  Giada went back to her bedroom to get ready for her guests.

  ~ 5 ~

  Angie, Tony, and Trey arrived in Quiet Cove near noon, two days after they finished their job in Ukraine. They’d spent one night back in Berlin, enough to enjoy a bit of nightlife and burn off some steam, and then they’d hopped a commercial flight back to the States.

  At the airport, Jake, a longstanding Pagano enforcer, picked them all up. Angie had him drop the kids off at their respective homes, instructing them to be at the office in two hours. Then he had Jake take him straight to the office. He didn’t have a woman to return to and ease her worries, and he wanted to speak with Nick and Donnie on his own first.

  They were waiting for him in Nick’s office. According to Nick’s custom, the door was ajar, which meant ‘knock and lean in,’ so he did.

  “Hi, don.”

  “Angie!” Nick stood up from his desk and came to the door. He was smiling subtly. Unless he was with his wife and children, Nick rarely made an expression so broad it could be called a grin, but Angie knew him well. He saw the deep pleasure and affection on the don’s face.

  Angie had admired Nick long before he was don, long before Angie was old enough to truly understand what a don was. Like many Pagano men, he had first joined because he’d spent the Sundays of his childhood in the pews at Christ the King Catholic Church, and he’d watched those dangerous-looking men file in behind Don Ben Pagano and sit at the front, arrayed all on the same side of the nave. They had been strong and dangerous and mysterious. All the most fascinating things a man could be to a boy prone to risk and adventure.

  When he’d first really noticed Nick, apart from the others, Angie had barely been a teenager, and Nick maybe not yet a capo. That Nick had been brash as fuck. No one would call Nick arrogant now, because he’d earned every inch of his invincible confidence, and he was preternaturally self-possessed. But back then, thirty-five years ago, attitude had throbbed around him like an aura. It was the attitude that Angie had related to then, the unsettled mix of respect and rebellion he’d sensed in the heir apparent. That thing between powerful fathers and ambitious sons.

  Nick’s father hadn’t been the paragon Angie’s had been, but his Uncle Ben had.

  For a long time after he’d joined the Paganos, more than ten years, Angie had been more or less beneath Nick’s notice. A grunt, until his first cold kill. Then a made man, but still no one of note. It had taken a betrayal in the ranks, a bad one, and then a mistake made in a flash, for Nick to really see Angie, and to bring him close. Angie thought his mistake, which had gotten his sister, Tina, hurt, had been the thing that caught Nick’s attention most.

  That was often the way with Nick. He didn’t expect his men to be perfect, but he was keenly interested in how mistakes were rectified. Time and again, Angie had seen Nick turn his attention on a man who’d taken responsibility for his actions and learned. If Angie were asked what was the secret to getting in good with the don ... well, actually, he’d tell the asker to get the fuck off, because nobody deserved a cheat code. But the answer would be: fuck up, and face it. Make it better. Stand up. Then the don would see you.

  In Angie’s case, he’d also uncovered an internal plot to take Nick down. That had certainly helped.

  Now, as they shook hands, Nick locked his keen eyes with Angie’s and grasped his upper arm. “You did well, my friend.”

  “It was a good plan.” Angie wasn’t one for false modesty, but neither was he one to take more credit than was due. This mission had taken a long time and more brains and skill than only his. In fact, most of the plan had been Donnie’s doing.

  He smiled at the other friend in the room. “Hey, boss.”

  Donnie grinned and held out his arms. “My man.” They embraced.

  “Sit,” Nick said, indicating the sitting area on the far side of his expansive office. “Tell me.”

  Donnie went to the bar and poured scotch for them all.

  Angie unbuttoned his suitcoat and sat. “Went smooth. Almost exactly as scripted. And we were out of the country before it made any ripple at all.”

  “It’s made some ripple since. I guess you haven’t seen the news.”

  After a big job, unless it went wrong and he had to fix it, Angie turned his back. There was no way he could live with who he was and what he did if he kept track of the aftermath of every death he caused, every soul he broke. If a job went wrong, he’d hear from certain people. If he didn’t hear from those people, he moved on.

  This time, he hadn’t heard, so he’d moved on.

  “No. I slept on the plane.” He took a glass of scotch rocks from Donnie.

  Nick nodded at Donnie, who sat and said, “Kuzma made a statement. He didn’t clean the scene. Instead, he called in law and press.”

  “Che cazzo? That son of a bitch!”

  “Easy, Ange. It’s okay. The story is Yuri killed Ilya at the table, a double-cross, and the bloodbath was the result. No mention of you at all.” The expressive side of Donnie’s mouth twisted wryly at the corner. “Ukie press isn’t as precious about gore on their pages as ours. They showed the whole scene. Damn, Ange.”

  “Most of that wasn’t us. We took out the guards. Everybody but Yuri, Ilya, Kuzma and his buddy were already dead when we got inside. Like the plan. Kuzma just flipped who double-crossed who for the press. But why bring them in on all that?”

  “He announced to his country that he took out a whole bratva and avenged his grandfather’s death,” Nick said. “He’s positioned himself as the most powerful pakhan in Ukraine. And he took our name out of the equation entirely.”

  Nick still seemed pleased, but Angie didn’t understand why. It was important for the future that the underworld know what had happened in Kyiv had been Pagano retaliation, that they had turned one enemy into an ally and destroyed another. “Doesn’t that hurt us, if we don’t have credit?”

  Nick shook his head. “We have credit where it’s needed. If Kuzma Zelenko wants to take all the credit at home, and it means we’ve exterminated our roaches here, then I’m well pleased. The Councils of New England and New York know the truth. Besides, it will serve me for them all to know the truth, to understand the power of our family, and to see me choose judiciously when to wield it. A man who shouts his power has none. Let Kuzma shout. Io non perderò niente.”

  I will lose nothing. Angie mulled on that and finally nodded. “Okay. Good. Then good.”

  “There were photos of Yuri Bondaruk in the Kyiv news, Ange,” Donnie said. His voice had taken on a different, softer tone. “They had to identify him by what was left of his ink. That wasn’t Kuzma who did that.”

  “No, that was me.” Angie finished his drink and set the glass on a coaster on the coffee table. “Lara’s abduction and rape. Those vicious pictures they made of the women. Carina’s attempted abduction. Donnie getting shot in Providence. All three of us getting shot at Dominic’s. Shooting up the Church, and my family’s market, and the bookshop.” He ticked it all off on his fingers. “All that and every piece of shit nuisance over the past almost four years. I took it all back. I made him pay in full, with interest.”

  Over six hours. Dawn had been breaking when he’d finally let what was left of Yuri expire. Now, he reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded white linen handkerchief. “I brought you this.”

  Nick took it and unfolded the linen. A dental bridge, a canine and three molars. In gold. From Yuri Bondaruk’s foul mouth.

  After a moment’s study and a short nod, Nick folded the linen again and set it on the table. “I’m impressed, Angelo. Thank you.”

  “Anything for you, don,” Angie said.

  The truth was, most of the wounds the Bondaruks had caused the Paganos over the years had come at the hand
s of the Zelenkos. From the attempt to kidnap Nick’s daughter to the attack on Quiet Cove, most of the actual doers had been Zelenkos. The actual doers were all dead, but it galled Angie to ally with the bratva that had caused them so much damage. He understood the way of war—the Bondaruks were the primary enemy, the Zelenkos only their agents, and once they flipped, they were of use. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that. But he had wanted to do more damage to Ilya Zelenko than a few bullets and a couple minutes of agony. He’d have been much happier if Ilya had been side by each with Yuri for the main event.

  “Tell me about Trey. How’d he do?” Nick asked, and Angie refocused.

  “He did good. He was freaked out, no doubt. A few times, he looked like he was going to lose his lunch, but he stuck it out and didn’t falter once. Not once, Nick. Not a stutter in his step.”

  “Did you delegate Yuri at all?”

  “No. That work was mine. I wasn’t in a sharing mood. Trey and Tony had my back, made sure Kuzma wasn’t up to any funny business.”

  “You think he’s ready?”

  Angie thought about that. He had the answer right up front, but he took a beat to think it through anyway. “Yeah, he is. I don’t know if we are. But he is. Now he’s got a cold kill on his soul, Nick. You know what happens if that doesn’t get recognized.”

  Nick and Donnie both nodded; they all knew. If you left a man to swing alone with that wrapped around his soul, it choked the good right out of him. You had to show him you understood, and appreciated, what he’d done. That something good came from his act. This was one of the main reasons a man was usually made after his first cold kill. They were all brothers in that death.

  “We’ll be ready soon enough,” Nick said. “I met with Giada Sacco while you were away, and we’ve made a plan. When we’re in Manhattan for Ilaria’s wedding, we’ll put things in motion.

  Angie’s jaw unhinged. “At the wedding?”

  Ilaria Marconi was the only daughter of Vio Marconi, the don who ran Connecticut. Connecticut didn’t offer Ilaria the grandeur she wanted for her big day, so she was getting married at the Church of St. Paul the Apostle on the ultra-swanky Upper West Side of Manhattan, and having her extremely formal reception at the Ritz-Carlton. Just about every power player in the East Coast underworld and beyond would be there, and they’d all booked out blocks of rooms in the hotel for their people.

  On that weekend the fucking Ritz-Carlton, right there beside Central Park, would be like the Comic-Con of organized crime. They all expected the place to be wired to hell and back, and probably surrounded by nondescript utility vans, with all sorts of LEO types nursing raging hard-ons at the prospect of hitting that sweet, sweet RICO jackpot.

  Nobody would be doing any kind of business at that wedding. And what Giada Sacco had in mind was some hardcore business.

  “Just laying the pieces on the board,” Nick said.

  “With the Bondaruk news fresh, you want people to see Giada chummy with you. Get a read on the room.”

  “Yes. I want her to be seen with us. With you, in particular.”

  “Please?”

  “Donnie and I are both married. I don’t want to cause scandal. I just want people to see enough of a connection to talk. You’re a flirt, so flirt.”

  “With Giada Sacco. She’s not exactly my type.”

  “Mature, intelligent, and beautiful?” Donnie smirked. “No, she’s definitely not your type. But if you work at it, you might be able to play in her league for an evening.”

  Nick laughed.

  Angie put his fist up at Donnie. “Vaffanculo, Goretti.” Donnie laughed, and Angie joined in. He was actually a little hurt, but he played it off as the joke it was intended to be.

  He turned back to Nick. “You’re seriously whoring me out for this?”

  “Don’t be melodramatic, Angie. I’m not ‘whoring you out.’ I’m asking you to talk to the woman. Bring her a drink. I’m not even asking you to be her date. In fact, I absolutely don’t want you to get too close. I won’t compromise our position for an alliance with her, and I don’t want any appearance that your loyalties could be swayed.”

  Angie knew Nick wasn’t questioning his loyalty, but the word still stung. “You know they can’t be.”

  “I know. I’m talking about what people see. I just want people to notice her with you, so I can watch how they react.”

  “She’s on board with this?”

  “She is. Are you?”

  Angie sighed. He’d had no intention of bringing a date to the wedding anyway—since his equipment issues, the thought of having a woman in his hotel room for a weekend had lost all of its luster—but he didn’t like this whole role-playing game he’d found himself in the middle of. Subterfuge wasn’t his thing. He was a blunt instrument. Pretending to be Andrew Rutland was about all he had in him, and he’d only had to remember the name. He wasn’t James Bond. He was Jaws.

  “Anything for you, don.”

  ~oOo~

  When Tony and Trey arrived, within a few minutes of each other, Angie called them back to Nick’s office together. While Nick greeted them, Angie went to sit on a sofa and watch.

  Those two had an interesting tension between them. They’d hated each other as long as Angie had known them both, and he’d kept a sharp eye to make sure it didn’t get in the way of their work. It never had, though the hostility was palpable. He’d dug in a little and been bored to discover there wasn’t any big betrayal or outrage serving as the catalyst for their dislike. It was just the usual adolescent envy crap.

  Trey was privileged; Tony was not. Trey was a guy everybody loved; Tony was not. Tony had scrapped hard to command a sliver of the respect he thought had been handed to Trey. So Tony saw an entitled rich kid, and Trey saw a low-class bully.

  They were both wrong, and they were both right.

  But in the past few months, they’d found a way toward trust. Not friendship, not yet, but trust. It had happened on the night Dominic’s had been hit. They two had been the only Pagano men standing, and working together they’d killed all but one of their assailants.

  Now, Angie watched as the don conferred his grace on them. He went to Tony first—shook his hand warmly, patted him solidly on the arm, told him he’d done excellent work. Tony was a grown man, a hard man, but he flushed like a schoolboy at the don’s praise and just barely managed to keep his cool.

  Then, as Angie expected, Nick dismissed him. “Take the rest of the week off, Tony. Spend some time with your woman. You deserve it.”

  There was just one beat, maybe two, of silence while Tony realized that he’d been dismissed and was expected to leave while Trey was still there. Trey, who was still not made, while Tony had been made for years. Trey, who was a mere associate, while Tony was a soldier and a top enforcer. Trey, who had killed only one man on this mission, while Tony had ended three.

  Because he was watching, Angie saw it happen in Tony’s eyes, that old resentment flickering hotly. Then Tony mastered it and stuck the landing.

  “Thank you, don. I will.” He gave a brisk nod of farewell, managed to resist glancing around the room, and left, closing the door behind him.

  Angie knew how hard that was. Tony had done well. And he knew very well that Nick and Donnie had noticed everything Angie had. They were all paying attention to Tony Cioccolanti. He would make a fine capo someday.

  Nick turned his attention to Trey. He clapped his hands on both sides of Trey’s head and kissed his forehead. An outrageously effusive display of affection coming from Nick.

  “I’m proud of you, nephew. Angie reports that you did your job, and did it well.”

  “I tried, Uncle.” He was as rosy with Nick’s attention as Tony had been. “I wanted to make you proud.”

  “You did. I know that wasn’t easy. They never are, but the first one weighs heaviest. Your back is straight under it, and that is good to see. It’s what I wanted to see.”

  Watching the don tell his heir, though still not
quite ready to say it out straight, that he had proved his worthiness, Angie took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Here we go,” Donnie muttered softly.

  Angie nodded. Yep. The time had come to shake the family tree.

  ~oOo~

  On this way home that afternoon, Angie swung by the family home. Since his father had died almost a year ago, the house had stood empty, and he went in a couple times a week to check on things and pick up any stray mail addressed to ‘Resident’ or those little papers the Quiet Cove Chamber of Commerce liked to throw in the yards every now and then.

  All three siblings had been on their own for a long time, and none of them wanted to move into the big old house. Angie had considered it briefly, but he couldn’t hack the thought of living alone in the house he’d grown up in. Both his parents had had their last mornings here. And what? He was supposed to move into the master bedroom, where they’d slept together for decades, and where his father had slept alone for years, and act like it was normal for him to take it over? No.

  Matt and Tina, his brother and sister, wanted to sell the place. Angie knew that was the right call, but he couldn’t make himself sign off on it.

  As part of the probate or whatever, the execution of their father’s will—Execution. Kind of an all-purpose word, wasn’t it?—an appraiser had come through to monetize his estate, or something like that. Figure out what the whole thing was worth. Corti Market, the house, his life insurance, and some pretty well played stocks. The whole shebang was comfortably in the seven-figure range. Enough that the three siblings could each get a payout in that range if they liquidated everything.

  But of course none of them wanted to do that. Corti Market would always be Corti Market. Their father had inherited it, his kids had inherited it, Matt and Tina’s kids would eventually inherit it. Matt was married and had a son, and that son would grow up and maybe take over for his pop one day. Or maybe one of Tina’s kids would want to work with their Uncle Matt and take it over. They would never give up that market, until there wasn’t a Corti to run it.