Angie grinned. Oh, she was really coming for him. With everything she had.
Normally, he got a lot of trim. He was powerful, had plenty of money, wasn’t bad looking, took care of his body. Also, he was a so-called ‘bad boy,’ and lots of chicks dug that. He’d never been in love, never had what might be called a serious girlfriend, though he’d had a few favorites he’d lingered a while with over the years, but he’d never wanted for female attention or affection. Even as he’d started sidling toward middle age (okay, he’d arrived, whatever), there were plenty of chicks lining up for a ride on the Angie-go-round.
The last six months or so, however, he’d been going through a dry spell. That wasn’t for lack of interest on the female side; the girls were still lining up. It was all him. Since that night back in July, when the Ukies had shot up Dominic’s, he hadn’t been able to get it done.
There had been only one actual equipment failure, mainly because after that, he’d caught the warning signs and backed off far in advance of a repeat non-performance.
He could get it up; he jacked off more days than not. But his head got very weird now when he was with a woman. As soon as he got close to intimacy—the physical kind; it was the only kind he ever had—his head put on a 4D screening of that scene in Dominic’s: Angie trying and failing to shield his people, sitting there useless with two bullets inside him. Nick bleeding out on the floor beside him. Donnie shot, too. Their wives crying.
And Brenda, dumb, sweet little Brenda, lying at his other side, most of her head blown away.
She’d been nobody. Unimportant. Just a chick who’d had a little thing for him. Somebody who cleaned up nice and would look okay at his side at the don’s dinner table. Somebody who’d let him do just about anything he wanted to her later, in bed. He didn’t even know what she did for a living.
He hadn’t cared about her at all. In fact, at that very table, while he’d sat with Nick, Donnie, Trey, and even Tony and compared Brenda to their elegant, accomplished women, Angie had been embarrassed of her. He’d been sitting at that dinner wondering if he didn’t need to up his game and set his sights on a better class of women.
And then half her head had been blown off. Because he’d invited her to dinner with Don Pagano, and their war had broken out in the restaurant.
She’d had parents. She’d had—something he hadn’t known until her funeral—a child. A daughter, barely out of diapers, who would now grow up an orphan, because Angie had been cavalier with her mother’s life and brought a civilian into his violent world. He’d done it hundreds of times with probably hundreds of women, but Brenda had been the unlucky one at his side when the odds tipped over.
And he should have fucking known better. He had known better.
So … yeah. He was having some trouble getting his head straight with that. Maybe he was better off alone—not simply unattached but truly alone. When his hand wasn’t enough to satisfy, maybe he could get it done with a professional. Somebody who understood the score. The Paganos had a stake in a couple high-end brothels, and he’d sampled their wares often enough.
But now, if he needed feminine company, he’d rather go away from the Pagano world altogether, find someone who didn’t know him, someone far away from what he was, what he did, someone who couldn’t get touched by his world—and who couldn’t dent his rep if he couldn’t get the deed done.
Ukraine was about as far away from home as he could imagine. And here, at least for now, he was Andrew Rutland, printing company executive. He had the papers to prove it.
Angie studied the beauty before him. She was tall and curvaceous, with big blue eyes and a pretty, artfully made-up face. Not too young. Mid-thirties or so. His sweet spot.
He really appreciated a woman who did herself up well. Fresh-faced beauty was fine, but overrated. He liked the artistry, the drama, of makeup. Guys complained about cosmetics being ‘dishonest,’ some kind of crap about ‘truth in advertising,’ but Angie saw it as confidence and self-assertion. With makeup, a woman took what she’d been God-given and made it better. Made it her own. Chose her look. That was hot.
Simone was all kinds of hot, and the feeling was obviously mutual. He could smell the desire coming off her in waves, lofted on a scent of citrus. A chick this forward would be quite a ride.
But he wasn’t Andrew Rutland, was he? No, he was Angelo Corti Jr., caporegime and consigliere to Don Nick Pagano, and he was here on that business. He brought the Paganos with him everywhere he went, and he always would.
He was a Pagano man.
He changed his smile and shook his head. “It’s not gonna happen, doll.”
~ 2 ~
“Let’s sit on this one for another minute. With what’s going on across the street, I think we let Grenner stew a while before we show more interest. He’s on the hook, let’s let him twist.” Giada Sacco swiped the presentation from the screen of her tablet and focused on Jasper Alberici, the agent who’d put it together. He was staring at her tablet like she’d just signed off on the execution of his family. “Unless there’s more to it than you’ve shown here?”
Jasper lifted his eyes. When he met hers, he blinked. “No, ma’am. If you want to wait, we wait.”
Giada sighed and pushed her tablet aside to cross her arms on the gleaming surface of the conference table. “Jasper, I know you’ve only been with us a few months, but it’s time to stop being the new kid. The way things work here is you tell me everything I need to know to make decisions. If you think I won’t like it, you still tell me. Killing the messenger is not the way I work.”
Her brother, on the other hand … but the one smart thing their father had done before he’d been killed was block Tommy from having any real influence on their legitimate businesses. She was President and CEO of Sacco Development. Tommy was on the board, but only as an ex-officio member, with no voting rights.
And yet, the Sacco reputation—specifically Tommy Sacco’s reputation—bled all over her.
She meant to change that.
Jasper cleared his throat and darted his glance all around the table, to every colleague in this regular Monday-morning meeting. Giada kept her attention on him and waited.
When he met her eyes again, he cleared his throat once more before he spoke. “It’s … um …”
Giada tapped her index finger on the table—just that single manicured nail, just one time, but with emphasis.
With a glance at her hand, Jasper finally found his balls and answered her. “Don Sacco called me. He wants the property. He said I had to make it happen or—”
Cutting him off with a lift of her hand, Giada said, “My brother does not make decisions for this company.” It was so fucking typical of Tommy to duck around her and threaten the weakest link he could find.
“With all due respect, Ms. Sacco, I have kids.”
“Your children are safe, Jasper. I will handle my brother. I don’t suppose he happened to mention why an apartment building near Boston University is so critical to his interests?”
“No, ma’am. He just said he knew we were looking at it and to make sure you bought it right away.”