Simple Faith

by Susan Fanetti

  “He’s a good man, sweetheart,” her father said, with tears on his tongue, as he came to stand at her side. “You held out for a good one.”

  “I didn’t hold out, Dad. I was just lucky.”

  She was still watching Trey, whose eyes were on her, too, and they were locked together in that stare, but she could feel her father’s regard as well, and it was heavy with import. So, reluctantly, she gave up Trey and turned to her dad. His mouth smiled, his eyes cried, and his forehead frowned. Quiet an accomplishment, getting all those emotions packed into one expression.

  “What?”

  “Did you hear what you just said?”

  Lara thought back. “That I was lucky?”

  “When have you ever believed in luck, Lara? Luck isn’t sense, or cause and effect, or order. Luck has no reason. It’s fate. It’s faith.”

  He was right, and she started to take back the statement and call it something else.

  But it was luck. Not the Bondaruks taking her. Not Nick finding her and recruiting her, which led, years later but straight on, to the Bondaruks taking her. Not Trey taking her to West Virginia. None of that was simple luck. It was all cause and effect, each step an unbroken line from one thing to the next.

  But Trey being who he was, and capable of loving her? Her being capable of loving him? The pregnancy happening the way it had? Happening at all? All these impossibilities that were now her reality? Luck. Fate.

  Meant to be.

  Her father took her arm and hooked it around his. “Are you ready to take this walk with me?”

  “Dad—I love you. Thank you for … my life.”

  He bent down and brushed his beard over her cheek. “I love you. And you have made my life beautiful, so thank you.”

  ~oOo~

  The front door opened, arcing slowing into the room, and Trey stepped in quietly. Sitting on the sofa, Lara smiled. He expected her to be asleep, and even here, separated from their bedroom by several walls, he was trying to be quiet.

  He closed the door with a soft click, and turned the deadbolt lock.

  “Hi. I’m up.”

  Her voice made him flinch, and for the briefest flash of a second, she saw a Trey she didn’t know. There was menace and violence in his eyes and in the set of his jaw. That was the Trey who worked for Nick—who had, tonight, been working for Nick.

  No, she had seen him this way, once before. At the cabin, when the ranger had come to the door. But then, she hadn’t known the face of the man who loved her.

  With a blink, the menace was gone, and he smiled and was the man who loved her.

  “Hey. What are you doing up?” He hung his overcoat on the rack, and his suit jacket on the back of a dining chair, and came over to sit beside her, drawing her close with one arm, rubbing her belly with his other hand. The baby nudged his hand, like a greeting, and they both smiled.

  So strange to have a human living inside her body. It shifted Lara’s understanding of herself in all directions.

  Being pregnant was a daily exercise in chaos. Hormones had her body and her mind in a jumble, and all her routines had been upended. Every day, she felt like somebody entirely different from the day before, and the world seemed different, too. When the baby came, her life would be even more dynamic. She was on a kaleidoscope carousel rocketship, hurtling toward a future that would never be still, never be small.

  Every day, the thought terrified her. And excited her. It made her sleepy. And drove her from sleep.

  She set her hand on her husband’s. “I had to pee, and then I was thirsty, and then I wanted to look at this.”

  He slid his hand from under hers and took the photo. “He’s a handsome dude, huh?”

  Their son. The photo was from the 3D ultrasound they’d had last week, at her twenty-week checkup. The image showed not a vague grey blur but a real child, his closed eyes, his little nose, his tiny hand on his forehead, like he was thinking big thoughts.

  They kept the photo on the refrigerator. Her father and his parents had one, too. The clinic had given them a whole set, their child’s first official portrait.

  “I was thinking of names again.” They’d been through about twenty without finding one they both liked.

  “Yeah? Anything new?”

  “No. Something old.” She turned from the photo of their son and focused on the profile of his father. “Your name.”

  Trey’s hand dropped to his lap, and he turned to her. “Please?”

  “Carlo Francesco Pagano IV.”

  “No, babe. No.”

  “Why not?”

  He looked back at the photo. “Because it’s a weight, carrying around somebody else’s name. It comes with all kinds of expectations, and it’s hard to figure out who you are that’s different from the ones before you. Around here, the name Pagano is hard enough to carry around. But to lay three generations of Carlos on him? No. Besides, that name is Italian as fuck, and we’re breeding the Italian out here. He’s only going to be, what, a quarter Italian?”

  “He’ll be half Italian, like you. And me. I’m half Italian.”

  His head spun back to her. “Please?”

  “My mom was Italian. Her maiden name was Berra.”

  Shock forced a harsh laugh from him. “You have got to be kidding. How am I just knowing this? We’ve been married almost two months.”

  This was what came from a whirlwind romance, especially one with Lara. “I don’t talk about her like a person, I guess. I just talk about what she did to me. But she was Italian. One-hundred percent.”

  His laugh now was softer, and came with a smile. “You surprise the hell out of me.”

  “Good. Because I’m surprised all the time now.” She loosened his tie and opened the throat of his shirt, then snuggled against his chest. “How was tonight?”

  “It was … fine. Nothing. Just sat there with Tony and looked dangerous. I hate that place.”

  Trey’s work for Nick involved building relationships with businesses in Rhode Island, especially in and around Quiet Cove, and making sure those businesses complied with Nick’s expectations. Normally, Don Pagano’s reputation was all the enticement people needed to stay in line, but sometimes, someone who hadn’t witnessed or experienced his power balked. The owners of a relatively new nightclub in town were among those few people, and Trey went once or twice a month to the club. So they wouldn’t forget his face, he said.

  Lara had never been to a nightclub, but she’d seen depictions on television and in films, and she understood why Trey hated the place. Loud, bright, and crowded. Yuck.

  They sat quietly on the sofa. The floor lamp at her side, and the light over the range in the kitchen, provided the only light, a warm, calm glow. His fingers combed through her hair. Lara closed her eyes and breathed deeply as his touch soothed and centered her, made her feel bound to him.

  Her fingers wandered to his vest, and she began to undo the buttons. When it was open, she pulled the knot of his tie all the way out and started on the buttons of his shirt.

  He kissed the top of her head. “What are you doing, babe?”

  “Trying to get to your skin.”

  “You cold?”

  “No. Horny.”

  That made him throw his head back and laugh out loud. “That’s steady state for you lately.”

  “I know. I can’t help it. Everything’s always throbbing.”

  “My son. He’s a good wingman.” He shifted to face her. “Throbbing, huh? You need some help with that?”

  “Yes. That’s why I’m trying to take your clothes off.”

  Still laughing, Trey slid an arm under her leg and turned her so she lay back against the arm of the sofa. He went to his knees on the floor and finished his last buttons, then shrugged shirt, vest, and tie off all at once, and there was his beautiful chest. She tried to sit up to get her hands on him, but her belly, while still small enough to make her doctor sigh at her at every appointment, was big enough to make sitting straight up a challenge. Trey
pushing on her shoulder didn’t make it easier.

  “Lie back, babe. Lie back. I’m gonna take care of this throb of yours.” Kneeling before her, he reached up under her flannel nightshirt and pulled her panties down. Hooking her leg over his shoulder, he leaned in between her thighs and drew a long lick through her folds.

  Lara’s head dropped back, and her hips lifted. She put her hands on his head, her fingers through his hair, and held him close. His hands came up, under her nightshirt, and found her breasts. They were plumper now, were actual breasts, and her nipples were live wires. She arched up, pressing them into his touch.

  It had taken her some time to really enjoy oral sex. At first, she’d felt a disconnection from him, too much distance. She’d wanted to see his face, to know what he was feeling while he made her feel.

  Being pregnant changed all that. For one thing, everything felt more intense now, sometimes almost too intense. And lately she was horny all the time, it rode her like a craving—she’d had some weird cravings—and her body was so focused on its own satisfaction that she could hardly be bothered with any overthinking her mind tried to do.

  For another, Trey was just really, really good at it. He knew exactly how and where and how much to touch, to kiss, to suck, to lick. And he used his whole body. While his mouth moved on her, fed on her, his hands were all over her, caressing her skin, playing with her nipples, clutching her ass or her thighs, pushing fingers into her as his tongue played her clit like a musical instrument.

  He did that now, leaving one hand focused on a nipple, he brought his other hand down and slid his fingers inside her.

  And that was all she needed. She had not been exaggerating when she’d told him she was horny, and throbbing. The orgasm dropped onto her, taking her instantly from writhing pleasure to brittle, rigid ecstasy. “Oh God, now!” she gasped. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

  He didn’t stop. Every touch on her body kept going, driving her release higher, extending it longer. Her fingers curled into fists in his hair, and her belly went hard, and her thighs clamped around his head, and he kept going and going until it was too much, too, too much, and she shoved him away with a cry.

  Lara lay gasping, sprawled on the sofa, with swirling lights dancing behind her closed eyes. Trey had backed off, but she felt his hand on her thigh, soothing.

  “You’re so good at that.” She cracked an eye open and saw him sitting back on his heels, smiling. “You look so smug.”

  “I am smug. I like making you lose control like that. It’s a beautiful thing.”

  Her belly was still hard, and it hurt a little. Lara lifted her head and set her hands on it—hard as stone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I’m having a contraction.”

  He came up to a crouch and put worried hands over hers. “Please? It’s way too early.”

  “It’s okay, I think. And it’s passing now. I think it’s normal—from the release of hormones after orgasm. I read about it in my books.”

  “This early, though?”

  Trey was extra careful with her, and for good reason. Though she really was trying, her issues with food extended beyond the mental. There was only so much food she could keep down, and it wasn’t enough. Rather than steadily increasing, her weight had been fluctuating. At twenty-one weeks, she’d had a net gain of only four pounds. Of the forty to fifty her doctor wanted her to gain. That much weight was simply not going to happen, unless she gave birth to a thirty-pound baby.

  Because she was so underweight, the expectation was that this baby would probably be at least a few weeks early, even if everything went well. And she would have a C-section, they all already knew that, because she was small, and her hips were narrow, and all the other things wrong in her body that made her frail and underdeveloped.

  It all made Trey even more nervous than it made her, and right now he looked ready to pack her into the car and take her to the ER over one single, harmless contraction.

  “You want to call the doctor?” she asked, knowing his answer.

  “Yes. Just to check.”

  “Okay. It’s after midnight, you know. You’re going to get the twenty-four-hour help line.”

  “That’s okay.” He stood and went to his suit coat for his phone.

  “When they say it’s okay, can we do this some more?”

  He put the phone to his ear. “If they say it’s normal, we are definitely doing it more.”

  Lara sat on the sofa and watched as he explained his worry to the nurse and answered questions she asked. A couple of times, he called out questions to her—how many contractions (one), was there any spotting or discharge (no), how did she feel (good), any slips or falls today (no). He thanked the nurse and ended the call.

  She felt no anxiety about this at all. In her body, she could feel that everything was fine. How odd, to be the least anxious person in the room.

  “She says it sounds normal, but we should call Dr. Edison tomorrow and let him know, just in case.”

  “Is that okay enough for you to come back here?”

  He considered her, frowning. “You’re sure you feel okay?”

  “I feel good. I want to feel good with you.” She held her arms up. “Please. Come here and love me.”

  “I love you from anywhere.” He opened his belt and took off the rest of his clothes, then walked naked back to her, his cock swelling back to fullness.

  ~ 23 ~

  “Tell me about Cyclone.” Nick leaned back in his desk chair. It was tall and wide enough that it might as well have been a throne, though it was only sleek black leather, understated but for its size. It was the man sitting in it who brought the majesty.

  Trey sat in a chair before Nick’s desk, with Donnie at his side. He couldn’t decide if there was a problem he didn’t know about or if this was a regular check-in.

  “The Swintons have paid on time every month since I took out Kenny’s knee.” Kenny Swinton had lost his leg below that knee. Trey occasionally felt a little spasm of guilt about that, but Swinton had had a fucking shotgun aimed at him—a shotgun that had, in fact, gone off, so the bastard had meant to shoot him. “Kevin’s doing the heavy lifting now. I go in a couple nights a month and make sure he knows I’m there.”

  “Good. You’re handling it right, but there’s a wrinkle, so I’m making some changes.”

  “What’s the wrinkle?”

  Nick glanced at Donnie, who answered, “Kenny’s called DiMarco’s office twice since January.” Teddie DiMarco was the congresswoman for Quiet Cove’s district. “He’s still looking for a way to hurt us.”

  “The Swintons can’t get with the program, so I want them out of the Cove,” Nick added. “What comes next gets messy, so I’m taking you off Cyclone.”

  Trey felt that as the no-confidence vote it was. “Uncle, I can handle messy.”

  Nick’s expression didn’t change at all, but the way Donnie moved in his chair, sinking back an inch or two, Trey knew he’d pushed at a dangerous spot.

  “I want you to be able to handle messy, nephew. But I remember the night we attacked the Bondaruks. You’re not ready yet, and I’ve been pulling you up too fast. So I’m taking you off Cyclone. And I’m putting you under Marty. No other changes for now. You’ll keep your same contacts, except Cyclone. But you’ll report to Marty.”

  “Uncle.” Trey stopped, because he was scared and hurt and angry, and anything he said would piss Nick off. He’d never reported to a capo before. From the first, Nick had kept him close, and he’d reported straight to him and Donnie.

  It was one of the reasons the other associates ostracized him—because he was literally out of line. To force him back in line, put him under Marty Bianchi, the capo for the runners? Everyone around him would see it as a huge demotion. Which it was.

  “Uncle, I know I choked with the Bondaruks, but I learned. It won’t happen again.” That had happened months ago. Since then, the underworld had been quiet, running smoothly again, and Trey h
ad thought his shame had blown over.

  By all evident markers, the Bondaruks appeared to have been destroyed that night, but Nick kept an eye turned toward New Jersey nonetheless. Vio Marconi had described them as a hydra, with vast resources in Ukraine, and they watched for a new head to rise up and cross the ocean. Was it that? Were the Bondaruks back and Nick didn’t think Trey was strong enough to face them?

  “If they’re back, Uncle, I’m ready. I won’t choke again. I make you that vow.”

  Nick turned to his underboss and lifted his head. Donnie stood at once and left the room, closing the doors behind him.

  “I know why you choked. It was a bad time to make a mistake that big, but I understand why it happened. This is not a punishment, Trey. It’s a recalibration.” Nick stood and came around his desk, taking the seat Donnie had just vacated. “Do you understand my plans for you?”

  “You want me to be made.”

  “I want you to have this office, Trey. I want you to lead the Pagano Brothers.”

  Trey actually felt the blood rushing down from the top half of his body. “Please?”

  “I’m sixty-five years old. I figure, if I don’t get killed, I’ve got about ten more good years at the head. I don’t want to be holding on with the last spasm of my dying fingers. I want out while I’m respected, and while I’m feared. And I want to turn my seat over to you. I don’t want anyone who is not a Pagano, by blood, to lead this thing my father and uncle built. So I have ten years to make you ready, and to make our world ready to accept a half-blood.”

  “Fuck, Uncle.” The words slipped out without Trey’s intention.

  Nick laughed. “Right. Not much time for a tall order. I’ve had you at my side because I want you to see what leading is. But that was a mistake. You need to understand the world from the bottom before you can understand the top. So now, you go where you should be.”

  “I am not well loved at the bottom.” To put it mildly.

  “I know. Another reason this was a mistake. We’re nothing without the men who do the daily grind, and they need to respect you. They need to be ready to fight for your right to be made. They need to want to die for you if necessary, to consider that an honor. So you need to earn their respect. What you have now is the shadow of their respect for me. Yes, they’ll see this as a punishment, and yes, they’ll make you feel it. But you show me you know how to use that. Turn it around. Learn. Earn their respect.”