Pagano Brothers Shipping. In either gig, he wore jeans and t-shirts, mostly—plus a hoodie or a coat when the temperature dropped.
But he’d been called to the front office, and you didn’t go there unless you were dressed to belong.
It had to be about the frat party, what had almost happened and what had happened, and Alex’s pulse vibrated with anxiety. He’d done everything right, he thought. He’d kept Lia safe and handed the asshole who’d meant to hurt her over for justice. So, rationally, he didn’t think there was any reason for this meeting to be bad news. Maybe it was good news. Thinking calmly, good news seemed most likely. At least a pat on the back, maybe.
But the very first time the front office had noticed Alex, they’d thought he was a traitor. He’d been just a dumb kid, full time with the Paganos only a year, standing on the lowest rung of the ladder—hell, not even on the ladder yet. An errand boy and nothing more. The Ukrainian assholes had tried to turn him, but he’d been way too smart for that.
However, he’d been too stupid to know what to do about it, too afraid that telling anybody would turn bad attention on himself, so he’d kept the contact quiet and hoped it would just go away.
It had not. He’d been seen in contact with the Ukies. And his silence had made him look dirty.
Angelo Corti, then Nick’s chief enforcer, had taken on the task of determining the extent and value of Alex’s loyalty. Angie Corti, who was renowned in the family and beyond it for his innovative cruelty.
Angie’s ‘tests’ had gone on for hours. For Alex, it had been lifetimes. But he hadn’t broken. Because he was truly loyal, and he’d known his only chance was to hold on and prove it.
Angie had finally been convinced. Alex had survived the trial, and his sailing with the Paganos had been smooth since. In fact, the very first time he’d been face to face with Nick had been shortly after that terrible night, when the don had called him in to convey his respect for Alex’s ‘heart and will.’
Things had turned out okay—good, even. Since then, Alex had gotten his feet on the ladder, and every now and then, the big bosses turned his way. Now he was trusted with the protection of one of the don’s precious children.
Three years had passed since that terrible night he’d spent hanging from a hook in a warehouse at the Quiet Cove Harbor, but for the rest of his life the scars Angie had left, inside and out, would ache.
So being called to the front office would always scare the piss out of him.
~oOo~
His meet was with Donnie Goretti, the underboss of the Pagano Brothers. Ten minutes early when he arrived, he wasn’t called back until twenty minutes past the time he was supposed to meet.
He spent that half-hour sitting straight and rigid in the reception area, trying not to fidget, worrying more with each passing minute that he’d been summoned because he’d done something wrong. He’d tied his tie too tight, apparently, and it was all he could do not to yank on it and get some breath and blood moving.
The pretty receptionist unintentionally made it worse, looking over at him every now and then and giving him a smile he could only interpret as pitying.
Then, finally, Rocky Carbone, one of the guards on duty here, came through the door to the executive suite and said, “Okay, kid, it’s time.”
That sounded ominous, too.
Alex stood, buttoned his suit, tried to swallow and failed. He followed Rocky through the door and down the corridor, praying he wasn’t going, again, to a doom he didn’t understand.
They passed the first office, which had been Angie’s and was currently empty, since Angie had been pushed out and was now married to the new donna of the Sacco Family in Boston. Then Nick’s office, with its heavy double doors. They were almost closed, but one was a bit ajar. Not even enough to see light in the gap.
Finally, Donnie’s office. That door was halfway open. Rocky pushed it farther and leaned in. “Got ‘im, boss.”
“Thanks, Rock,” came Donnie’s quiet voice.
Rocky stepped back and ushered Alex forward with a sweep of his hand.
Alex took a breath and went in.
When he’d started working with the Paganos, he never got anywhere close to this building, much less one of the inner offices. Down that far, people called Donnie Goretti ‘The