minutes more passed before the men who’d walked away were back, now with Angie. They came from that side corridor with purposeful strides and resolute expressions. Alex’s stomach twitched; he’d seen that look on Angie Corti’s face before, and it meant pain and suffering.
Don Pagano stopped at the edge the waiting room. “Alex,” he called.
Lia tensed—and it was her reaction more than his own name that made Alex realize the don meant him.
“Yeah, don?” he asked without getting up.
“Come.”
All Alex could think was that, because he’d known about the lighthouse, the don blamed him for all this. Or that something he’d done had put the lighthouse on the radar of the men who’d attacked them.
Or maybe they’d figured out that the little homey touches on the first floor were from Alex making the place he and Lia had sex as nice for her as he could. Somehow, though, he was about to face the don’s legendary justice. The word Nick Pagano used for vengeance.
He turned to Lia, trying to keep calm. She looked sad and disappointed, but clearly hadn’t reached the same conclusion he had.
“It’s okay,” she sighed. “I know you have to go.” She tried on a little smile. “Will you come back, though?”
Alex swallowed. If the don meant to make him pay for what had happened to Lia’s sister, then no, he wouldn’t be back.
But he managed to smile and kiss her lightly on the lips. “As soon as I can. Promise.”
He stood and tried to walk calmly from the room, to follow the Don and all his most powerful, most trusted associates. Probably to his doom.
~oOo~
They rode in a short caravan through Quiet Cove to the harbor. No one spoke at all, and Alex was afraid to break that silence with the question in his mind, which became more a certainty with every turn of the wheels. He was afraid to have the answer codified into word and sound.
He sat in the back seat, beside Don Pagano, trying to stay calm, preparing himself to meet like a man what would no doubt be an excruciatingly painful death. He wanted to call his mom, but he couldn’t call her, not here, not like this.
God, hanging up on her would be the last thing he did with her in his life.
He needed his mom.
They pulled into an unmarked warehouse. Alex knew it well. He’d once hung from a hook inside it.
He wished he’d told Lia he loved her. He’d wanted to live fully with the feeling first, but now he wouldn’t get the chance.
When Mel cut the engine, Alex nearly pissed himself.
When the Don turned to him, his jaw twitching, Alex thought he’d have a heart attack right there—which would be preferable.
There was no trace of the exhausted, grieving father now. The man looking at him was pure don, ruthless and matchless.
“I know you’ve fought for me, more than once. Faced fire for me. You’ve served me well, Alex, already. And you’ve held up under pain, too. But”—That But was like a bullet, right into Alex’s chest—“what you’re going to see now, this is justice. It’s brutal, and it’s not quick. But it is pure. Capisci?”
With everything he had, he made his voice steady. “I understand. But don—”
Angie came up to the door, and Nick’s attention turned that way as he brought the window down a few inches.
“They’re ready,” Angie said. “Let’s get in there. I need to fillet these motherfuckers.”
“We need information first, Ange. If you’re too hot—”
“I’m not. They’ll talk. But Nick, let’s go.”
“Go on. We’re right behind you.” He put the window back up. In the front seat, Donnie opened his door and got out. He stood beside Nick’s door. Mel got out, too.
Alex could only blink and gape like a fish when Nick turned back to him. He didn’t understand anything. Was he the target of the don’s justice, or not?
“Tonight, Alex, you see what it is to be in this world. You see, and you understand.”
Nick climbed from the car then. Alex got out as well, but Nick was wrong. He didn’t understand at all.
~oOo~
He understood better when they were in the warehouse. Two men in stealth clothes—black cargo pants, black crepe-soled boots, black sweaters, the sweaters nearly shredded—lay on the floor, trussed at ankles, knees, and wrists with duct tape. Duct tape covered their mouths, too. They’d already been badly beaten, and blood smeared the concrete beneath them.
Off to the side, on a stack of pallets, an elaborate sniper setup was arrayed in