So she’d have to get Tommy out of the way. And she had to do it now—because what Nick had done would pull notice from Sicily soon enough, which would make made men leery, and she needed to be in place before what he’d done was widely known. She had to move now. And that meant she had to go straight at her brother, stand alone before him, and hope to turn the loyalty of his men while they stood at his side.
Could she do it?
What choice did she have?
~oOo~
Back on the interstate, Giada called her uncle.
“Ciao, piccolina,” he said warmly.
She didn’t bother with a greeting. “I need to move now. Tonight.”
“What? Why?”
“The plan changed. I just had a meeting. I’m on my own until I handle this.”
A long pause while Enzo understood what she wouldn’t say on the phone, and considered the implications. “You mean, he won’t ...”
“No. And he’s made his move already.”
“Minchia!”
Giada laughed, though literally nothing was funny just now. “Yeah. If you’d been at this meeting, you’d understand. It’s now or never, Zio. He’s at the usual place tonight, yes?”
“Giada, you can’t think—”
“What choice do I have?”
Silenced answered her.
“Exactly. Are there calls you can make now, or am I alone?”
“Not alone, piccolina. Never alone.”
“Ti voglio bene, Zio.”
“E tu, Giada. E tu.”
~oOo~
Tommy had a weekly poker game in the back room of a bar in the North End, one of his pet properties. He had several clubs, pubs, and eateries where he could hold court. Most of them had been in their father’s portfolio already, but he’d picked up a few since. He’d wanted more, like the property by BU, but when they were too expensive or better used in some other way, Giada got in front of him and changed his mind. He had only what she’d allowed him to have, though he’d deny that truth with his last breath.
This bar was one he’d bought, and one of his favorites: a corner bar with very little unfamiliar traffic. Just about everyone who came into Capo’s—seriously, he’d named it Capo’s—knew that this was Tommy Sacco’s place, and treated him like a rock star. Ego stroking was her brother’s favorite kind of massage.
After a trip home to collect herself and think through her new, and quickly devised, plan, while she waited to be sure the game would be well underway, with all the key players present, Giada drove to Capo’s. She hadn’t changed; she’d walk into that back room dressed as she had that morning, as she’d been dressed when she’d met with Donnie and Angie: as the CEO of Sacco Development. And the true head of her family.
It wasn’t late in the evening yet, not quite eight o’clock. The bar was busy with the regulars—people who lived or worked nearby, and people who wanted to be close to Tommy, in hopes of a boon from the don.
She walked straight through, her Blahniks clicking dully on the wood floor, her Birkin hanging on her forearm, open. Lots of people noticed, but no one stopped her. Why would they? They knew she was Tommy’s sister.
The back room reeked of the cigar smoke that sat in a thick fog against the ceiling. The men looked up as the door closed behind her. Tommy, his underboss, his consigliere, and all his capos: eight men, with all the pull of the family.
“Hey, Giada,” Bruno said, and they shared a look. In that look, Giada understood that Enzo had called him; he was in. She didn’t know if any other man here was ready for what she meant to do, or would support her when she did it, but she was about to find out. The other men greeted her simply, unreadably. Taking Tommy’s lead, none stood.
Tommy was dealing a new hand. He finished before he looked at her, then spared her only a glance before he went back to his cards. “You don’t belong here, Giada. If you got something to say, then say it and get gone.”
Giada had let all her fears and frustrations out at the top of an exit ramp on I-95. She was calm now, resigned to the consequences of her move, whatever they were. “I do have something to say.”
Her brother looked up from his cards. ”Then out with it.”
“Tommy, you’re a terrible don. You’re a terrible human being. You’re running this family into the dirt. Everybody knows it. All the men at this table know that and more. They all know that I’ve been running this family since Pappa died. Cleaning up your messes and straightening out your mistakes.”
He slammed his cards on the felt surface of the table and stood up so quickly the table jumped, splashing booze and scattering cigar ash. “You little zoccola. Where do you get off coming into my place and running your mouth?”
She didn’t flinch. Instead, she looked to the men around him, starting with Bruno. “You know what I say is true.” She could see shock in their eyes, and discomfort, but not yet agreement or support. Even Bruno simply watched her, his expression stoic. Had she misread his support?
Some of these men, Enzo had told her were open to her intention. But if so, none of them was ready yet. She looked again at her brother, still standing at the table, his face reddening. She was surprised he hadn’t charged her yet—maybe fear was holding him back.
She pushed more. “You are weak, Tommaso. Weak and cruel and stupid. Everything you have is because I’ve saved you from your arrogance and idiocy. But I’m done with that now. You are the emperor with no clothes, and I am here to show you your nakedness.”
He snatched his gun from the holster at his back and aimed at her. The men around the table reacted—some jumped up from their seats, others scooted back. Bruno, at Tommy’s side, stood. Fabio, at Tommy’s other side, stood as well.
Fabio drew and aimed at her, too. Bruno drew then. He aimed at Fabio. “Put it down, Fabi.”
Both Tommy and Fabio gaped at Bruno. None put his gun down, and no others drew. Giada decided that was encouraging. If Tommy truly had his men, they’d all be drawn on her—or, at least, on Bruno now.
“What are you doin’, man?” Tommy asked Bruno. “I’ll kill you for this.”
“Tommy, I love you. I’ve loved you since we were five years old. But he’s aiming a gun at your sister. So are you.”
“You heard what she said. I can’t let that stand.”
Giada discovered that she didn’t really care about the guns trained on her. There was no fear. If she were killed, so be it. “I’ve said nothing but the truth. And every man in this room knows it. Even you, Tommy. Deep in your heart, you know it’s true.” She took a step forward, feeling the weight of her bag on her arm. “And Tommy, I’ve kept a souvenir from every scene of yours I’ve cleaned. The women you’ve killed or beaten. The innocent lives you’ve taken or ruined. I have DNA, fingerprints, the piece of broken mirror you used to slice the baby from Emily’s belly. One phone call, and I can put you on death row.”
She didn’t let her eyes shift from his, but she saw the news about Emily resound in the room. With the exception of Fabio and Bruno, the capos hadn’t known of this last, most horrible thing he’d done. Maybe even Bruno hadn’t known about the pregnancy; only Fabio had been there that night. She’d taken a calculated risk, weighing the sin of ratting against the murder of an innocent and the brutal end of a pregnancy.
“You treasonous troia! You would give up family? You’ve schemed all this time, waiting for your chance? What kind of Sacco are you?”
“A Sacco who was never invited to take a vow, Tommaso. A Sacco who’s nonetheless served her family and made it strong. A Sacco who won’t watch you destroy it. A Sacco who deserves to lead it. ”
Tommy laughed, and let his gun arm fall. He came around the table, striding toward her, and she saw in his eyes the desire to hurt her badly.
Giada held firm, prepared for a blow. But he didn’t strike her. Instead, he used the most brutal weapon he had.
“You stupid little zoccola. You’re just jealous, aren’t ya? You wish I was still puttin’ it to you
, like I used to back in the day?” He lifted his empty hand, put two fingers together, and wiggled them, demonstrating.
Giada’s stomach lurched, but she didn’t let him see her react.
He reached her and shoved her back against the door. “Never found a manwhore could give it as good as me, huh? I didn’t think you liked it, the way you always laid there like a dead fish. But I can give it to you again. Make you appreciate what I let you have.”
Tommy was so intent on causing her hurt, putting her in her place, he seemed to have forgotten they weren’t alone, that he was speaking before an audience. His back was to the table, and he didn’t notice the way his men reacted to what he’d just said. But Giada saw.
He’d just crossed a line. What he’d just said out loud hadn’t even been a rumor in the family, but no man in this room doubted its truth. Because they all knew Tommy. With those few words, sneered without any thought but the hurt he would cause his sister, he’d shaken his house to its foundation.
And then he burned it all down.
He shoved his gun under her skirt and said, “Or maybe I’ll just do you hard with this and send you out with a real bang.”
“TOMMY!” Bruno shouted and fired his gun. The bullet hit high, above the door. Bruno was an expert shot, so that was no miss. But Tommy dropped instantly to a crouch, throwing his hands over his head.
The next few seconds were chaos. With no good cover close, and unwilling to leave the room, Giada stood where she was and watched, trying to see through the madness. Fabio fired at Bruno and caught his arm, making him spin into a stack of beer cases, which tottered and fell. Steve Abano shot Fabio in the shoulder. He fell on the table, and it flipped, throwing chips, cards, drinks, ashtrays helter-skelter.
Just as suddenly, it was quiet, except for the dripping of beer from broken bottles and Bruno’s grunts as Steve helped him to his feet. Fabio was silent—stunned and fading from consciousness, but breathing.
Still feeling the detached calm of pure resolve, Giada reached into her bag and pulled out her own gun, a Beretta Bobcat. Compared to the 9mms the men carried, it looked like a toy, but when she aimed it at her brother, and said, “Stand up, Tommy,” he stood.
None of the men in the room drew on her. Tommy was on his own now, and he knew it as well as she did. He still held his gun, but it sagged at his side, dangling from his hand.
Giada sneered at him. “You are weak and stupid. And now they all see you’re a depraved coward, too. You’ve been standing on my shoulders, pretending you’re stomping on me, long enough. I want you out, Tommy.”
He managed a nasty chuckle. “You got no say, zoccola. You’re not part of this. You’ve never been part of this. You never will be.”
She saw his gun arm come up. She let it get halfway, so everyone in the room had seen him aiming, and then she shot him. First in the chest, and then in the face.
The bullets were small enough that he only stumbled back a few steps at first. He stared at her in shock. His gun dropped from his hand. When he fell to the floor, he was dead.
She’d killed her brother.
Allowing herself the span of one deep breath to consider his body, Giada looked up and faced his men. “You all know that I’ve been running this family for years. You all know that it’s my skill and strength that’s kept us aloft. And you know how Tommy dirtied up our name. He had no respect at the Council. He had no respect in business. He was stupidly cruel and impulsive. You all know this. I know what I want has never been done before. I know it will cause the earth under us to shake. But I’m asking you to think about the world we live in right now, not decades ago. I’m asking you to think who will make you rich and strong, who will bring respect back to our house.” She added one more thing, hoping that display in Foxborough had been only a test, and hoping she’d passed it here. “And I have Don Pagano’s support.”
“You do?” Carl Trepani said with interest.
“I do. He’s made his half-blood heir. We mean to change our world together, and who is there who’ll stand in Nick’s way?”
“Sicily.” Frank Bello answered.
“Maybe. But if we’re all together, what can they do? The Sicilians are not our kings. Only our grandfathers.”
“You say ‘our,’ but you’re not part of us, Giada. No matter what you do for us, you’re not made,” Frank said. “And you just stood here and threatened to rat out our don. There’s no worse crime than that.”
“As I told Tommy, I’m not bound by omertà, because I’ve never been invited to take a vow. Ask me to swear. I want to take the vow.” Now she played her last card, and let them think the decision was theirs to make. “I leave you to decide. Get Fabi and Bruno some medical attention. I’ll call Marv on the way out.”
She stepped over her brother’s body. As she set her hand on the doorknob, Carl called, “Giada, wait!”
She turned back. “Yes?”
“How do you want Tommy handled?”
With that, she knew she had Carl. No one protested his question, so she knew she had at least some of the others as well. “He was a don. He’ll be buried like one. I’ll tell Marv we need a story as well as a cleanup.”
She left the room. The bar was empty, except for a very frightened bartender.
It wasn’t until she was in her car that it hit her, what she’d done.
Everything she’d done.
~oOo~
As she drove south, Giada wondered whether she was just reacting to Nick’s disrespect, bouncing like a pinball against the obstacles he’d set up. Less than five hours after she’d left that meeting in Foxborough, of all places, she’d been standing before her brother, calling him out, charging forward on ninety-percent adrenaline and seven percent instinct. Only that last three-percent sliver could have been called a plan, made while she’d paced her living room, waiting.
She’d killed her brother. For years she’d fantasized about it, and dreaded it. Now it was done, and she felt nothing. She’d stepped over his body and walked away.
What would his men do now?
Was she still pinballing, going where she was going? How was this part of the plan?
It wasn’t, of course; what little plan she’d had left had fallen to dust when Tommy dropped at her feet. Now the balls would go where they would.
And she was headed to Quiet Cove.
~oOo~
She knew where all three key players in the Pagano Brothers lived; as she’d made her plans, she’d done some foundational research on them all—not prying too deeply, but enough to understand how they lived, and with whom, so she could understand what they had at stake in an alliance.
She’d already known all she needed to know about Nick—she’d been to his home a few times, knew his wife a little, had met his children once or twice. He was guarded around the clock and rarely drove his own car, which was a Maserati Quattroporte.
Now she also knew as much about Donnie Goretti and Angie Corti.
Donnie: alone most of his life, but recently married to a ballet dancer. Well-known philanthropist throughout Rhode Island. Enjoyed the finer trappings of wealth—a patron of the art museum, the symphony, the opera. The ballet. Had a very nice, sleekly modern house at the water. When he wasn’t being driven by his body man, he drove a Porsche Cayman and was sometimes seen taking the beach roads like a race track.
Angie: habitually single, habitually slutty. No interest in the finer things, but a longtime holder of season tickets to a box at Fenway. Drove a loud, brash, tricked-out, blacked-out Dodge Challenger Hellcat. Angie did his own driving. He didn’t have a guard; he was his own guard.
And he lived alone in a nice, but surprisingly average home in a nice, but surprisingly average neighborhood a short distance from the beach.
Giada closed her car door and looked at the house before her. She was more surprised seeing it in person. Nice, but average. Hardly the home she’d expect a man like him to prefer.
Was she pinballing? Is that why she’d
driven straight from Capo’s to Quiet Cove? The fact that she didn’t know what she meant to do when—if—he answered the door suggested that yes, this was reckless reaction, thoughtless reflex.
Pressing the button on her key fob, she locked her Maserati and went up the walk to Angie’s front door. She rang the bell and waited, once again, for him to answer.
~ 13 ~
Angie checked the peephole, took one beat to get his head around the reality that Giada Fucking Sacco was standing on the front porch of his fucking house, and tore open the door.
She wore the same outfit she’d had on at the meet that afternoon, but now it seemed a little rumpled. Her eyes were wide; they stared at each other for a second while Angie wrestled with his brain and body, keeping them both focused on what they needed to focus on.
Her goddamn bright red Maserati was parked at the curb in front of his house.
“What the fuck, Giada?”
Before she answered, he pulled her in and stepped out himself to check the street—and, thank the Blessed Virgin, the street was empty. Not even any cars parked at the curb, other than that fucking stoplight-red Italian sportscar. This was a quiet neighborhood, where everybody was buttoned up snug by nine o’clock—excepting him, generally. He was the problem neighbor, with his loud car and his late hours, but he tried to keep things cool here at home. Not that anybody would ever complain, no matter what he did.
He stepped back into his house. “Why are you here?”
Then, in the better light of his front hall, he saw there was blood on her face, several spattered dots and a smear across her cheekbone. He could see no wound, that blood was obviously from elsewhere and she didn’t seem hurt physically, but she was clearly freaked out, blinking up at him like she was in shock.
His hand was on her cheek before he knew what he was doing. Her skin was so fucking soft. “Jesus, what happened? Are you okay?”
The Name of Honor Page 15