spoke with measured force. “He came into my house on Christmas Eve. He killed my daughter”—every time that thought or sentence rose up, Nick felt a blow to his heart and knew he would feel it for the rest of his life—“and hurt people I care deeply about. He will be in my house when he dies.”
Trey nodded thoughtfully. “Not here, though. Not the actual house.”
“Of course not. But where I preside. When Ettore Cuccia dies, he will have nothing. He will know he is nothing.”
~oOo~
That afternoon, after Trey and Nick took Laura and Frank home, they picked Donnie up and headed to Boston, with Mel at the wheel. As soon as she’d been strong enough, Giada Sacco had been transferred from St. Gabriel’s to a hospital in her own town—which had been, of course, the right thing to do. But Nick had been sorry for it; the two weeks she’d been at St. Gabriel’s, he’d seen Angie every day, something that hadn’t happened for months, since he’d pushed Angie out for becoming involved with Giada.
Nick hadn’t been wrong to push Angie away; he could not possibly have kept at his side a man romantically linked—now married—to another don. Yet, the loss continued to ache. Losing Angie’s friendship had been worse; a blow more disabling than two bullets to his chest had been. At least he’d mended the friendship. But Boston was farther away than the miles between that city and Quiet Cove. Now, Nick saw Angie at the Council table more often than a dinner table. And that hurt.
Especially now. Nick was beset by loss, and he was finding it difficult to set the pain of it aside and do the things he needed to do for his family and his business.
So while he was glad she was recovering, he’d been sorry to see Giada ride away from the Cove in an ambulance, with Angie at her side.
Here in Boston, she was in a regular room—a private, luxurious room, but with no special monitoring required. It was a good place for a meeting of business associates who were also friends.
When Nick, Donnie, and Trey came into the room, Angie and Bruno were there. Giada was up, sitting in an upholstered armchair in the small sitting area of this private patient room. She wore an elegant red silk robe, and her hair and makeup was done. Except for the bandages around her neck—she’d had another surgery a few days ago, in an effort to restore her voice—and the thinness and pallor that came from long illness, she looked beautiful and strong.
“You look good, Giada.” He bent and kissed her cheek, and she smiled and patted his hand where it rested on her arm. As she accepted greetings from Donnie and Trey, Nick gave Angie and Bruno friendly hugs.
“Trey,” Angie said as they all sat. “You look good. You feel okay?”
“Still a little stiff, some pins and needles in my legs, but yeah, I’m doing okay.”
“I didn’t expect to see you today.” Angie’s glance shifted to Nick as he said it. “This is your circle now?”
That was a question Angie no longer had a right to know, primarily because Nick didn’t have a solid answer yet. There was a strong argument that Tony should be at his side, and Tony had been nothing but loyal and smart and worthy. He was more experienced in all ways than Trey. He was more like Angie than Trey and could more easily fulfill all the roles Angie had held.
But Nick couldn’t quite bring himself to trust Tony enough to pull him all the way to his inner circle. It was Trey he trusted, despite his greenness.
The answer he gave Angie now was, “This is who I brought with me today.”
Fully aware that his question had been pushed aside, Angie nodded tersely and sat back in the chair beside Giada.
“You wanted to meet, Nick,” Bruno said after Giada signaled him with a wave. “You’ve got news?”
“I do, and I wanted us, those of us most keenly affected by what happened on Christmas Eve, to talk about it first. Then I want to call a War Council meeting. Giada, we can’t do that in the hospital. When will you be out of here?”
She leaned forward and picked up a tablet and stylus that had been sitting on the low table before her. She wrote briefly and held it out so the others could see: Discharged next week. Don’t know about voice. Can’t try for three more