by Elle Jackson
Running his hand through his hair, Lorenzo said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Sighing loudly, Lorenzo moved from behind the oak Renaissance-era antique desk, positioning himself at the door to his office. The man, apparently one of the head cats in the KKK, stood statue-still, beady eyes focused on Lorenzo.
The man had no idea that Lorenzo planned to put his head on a spike in the middle of the city for all other KKK members to see. The only reason it hadn’t already happened was because Lorenzo needed information about who else was involved in his cousin’s murder.
Three years ago Lorenzo’s nightclub, Blues Moon, had opened up at the beginning of one of the hottest summers in Kansas City. He hadn’t used his father’s money to start the club, like his father had wanted. That fact, however, hadn’t removed the stain of Lorenzo’s mob family from Lorenzo’s elegant club.
Lorenzo had started off small. He’d worked for another club for four years as the money man, saving everything he could to start his own establishment. Lorenzo had fallen in love with the blues and the new sounds that were coming out. He knew exactly what kind of band and atmosphere he wanted to create, and he’d done it. He’d exceeded his own expectations, crediting his success to the fact that he was an inclusive club owner who served everyone equally.
It was more than making money for him, though. It was about being one of the only places people could come and commune together with great music, food, and booze. He and his cousin Vinny had snuck into speakeasies when they were young and fallen in love with the music and the dancers. With Vinny gone, it was even more important to Lorenzo to make his club something spectacular.
Now the KKK thought Lorenzo should be an active leader in the organization, to solidify the KKK’s influence in the city with backing from the mob.
No one knew Lorenzo had declared his independence from his family. He’d been shocked that his father had directed all the bosses to keep that information hushed. Lorenzo’s mother had told him it was because his father still wanted Lorenzo to be protected, and still held on to the belief that Lorenzo would change his mind. So Lorenzo continued to reap the benefits of the family name, and he wasn’t sure how to change that. He didn’t want to be a benefactor of his family’s malevolent deeds, but what choice did he have aside from leaving the city or changing his name?
The KKK openly hated Italians, but the hold Lorenzo’s family had on the city and its politics had caught the interest of the vile organization. The leaders of the KKK had no idea that the De Lucas suspected the organization’s involvement with Vin’s murder.
After Lorenzo had gotten home the day he’d visited his mother, she’d called to apologize and let him know that his father had information about the KKK and one of its leaders who had been connected to the disappearance of several young Black women in the city in the last few months, and now that man stood blubbering in Lorenzo’s office. It was like Lorenzo was supposed to avenge Vinny’s death and the deaths of those young women.
Lorenzo looked through the window of his office. He had a view of the dance floor, which could easily hold one hundred people. He still marveled at the chandeliers, strategically placed over tables with red velvet cloths and patrons of all races.
“As you can see, Mr. Simmens...” Lorenzo motioned to his patrons “...I don’t care what race my customers are. They all have green money. And, while we are on that subject, your presence here is making some of them nervous. When they get nervous, they leave. And I lose money. I get angry about losing money. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
Lorenzo needed the information about Vinny’s killers, but he had no intention of joining such a disgusting organization. He would figure out another way.
Mr. Simmens, to his credit, didn’t respond to Lorenzo’s thinly veiled threat. “Mr. De Luca, boy,” he said, drawing out the “b” sound, “you better rethink your business ventures before something happens to this beautiful place.”
Lorenzo didn’t like being threatened, especially in his place of business. He grabbed Mr. Simmens by the collar and shoved him against the wall. “Don’t come back in here, or the next time you might not walk out. Don’t forget who I am. I can make you disappear, and no one would dare ask me about it.”
Lorenzo tightened his grip around the man’s throat, seriously considering choking him until he passed out. It had been a while since Lorenzo’s temper had gotten the best of him, but Simmens had brought out a side of him he tried to hide even from himself.
This side—the anger and violence—took Lorenzo back to a time when he’d thought he would follow in his father’s footsteps. That was before what had happened to Holly, his high school sweetheart, the only girl he’d ever cared for. They’d been planning a future together all those years ago. He’d thought he loved her, but as he’d grown up he’d realized he’d been infatuated with her. He’d wanted to possess her as his father had done his mother. After Holly’s death, Lorenzo had learned that possession and infatuation were not love.
Holly had been outside of the mob. Her family had been moderately wealthy, but even they hadn’t been able to escape the catastrophic consequences of one of them being involved with the mob. Holly had been just an innocent girl who fell for the wrong boy.
When Lorenzo released Mr. Simmens the Klansman clutched his throat, gasping for air.
Lorenzo rolled his eyes and took a threatening step toward the choking man. Mr. Simmens straightened himself up quickly and left the office.
Turning around once he was in front of other patrons, Simmens said, “You have one week to confirm your membership.”
Sweat beaded on Mr. Simmens’s forehead and slid down his cheeks. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, yellowed from age or use, and rubbed his brow.
He hurried toward the door and called over his shoulder, “One week.”
Lorenzo’s club brought glamour and opulence to the downtown Kansas City area. No matter the time of day, his customers wore three-piece suits, flapper dresses, boas and floor-length fur coats in the winter. They paid for its opulence with overpriced whiskey and the best moonshine for two hundred miles. The smells of hot ham and fresh pretzels wafted through the air.
Before Mr. Simmens could reach the entrance, the door swung open and the most beautiful woman stepped through the threshold. She paused a moment, probably letting her eyes adjust to the dimly lit club, before walking—or gliding like an angel, more accurately—to the bar.
Lorenzo’s mood immediately lifted. The woman had skin the color of wet sand. Her wavy hair, thick and dark, had been pinned neatly away from her face, highlighting her rosy-colored high cheekbones and sensual full lips. Lorenzo wanted to know this woman. He wanted to touch that satiny skin, nuzzle his nose in the crevice of her slender neck just above the collarbone that showed so seductively.
Mr. Simmens picked up his pace. As the dame with the form-fitting dress and matching lavender hat and gloves passed, Simmens grabbed her slender arm and said, “I’d love to teach an uppity n—”
Mr. Simmens didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence.
Lorenzo couldn’t remember socking the Klansman, but seconds later Mr. Simmens was on the ground, and Lorenzo’s hand was throbbing and red. Blood gushed from Mr. Simmens’s nose. His body went limp. His eyes rolled and closed seconds later.
Silence filled the air, smothering the usual baritone sounds of Lorenzo’s bass guitar player.
Lorenzo looked up to see the woman staring at him. Her eyes were a light brown, almost gold, framed by long curly lashes, and her gaze tore into him. He took a step toward her, hand outstretched. Realizing he was about to cup her face, he let his hand drop to his side. He didn’t even know her.
“Are you all right?” he said.
She didn’t respond right away. Lorenzo worried she was in shock from the near assault.
“I’m fine, and
I don’t need you acting like a Neanderthal for my benefit.”
Her hands were balled into fists. Lorenzo wondered if she’d planned to hit Simmens herself.
“Is this how you behave regularly, or was this show of testosterone for my benefit only?”
Lorenzo couldn’t understand why this woman would get sore when his gesture had been nothing less than chivalrous. It seemed like she’d been offended by his defending her.
“I... I was just... He was going to say...” No one had made Lorenzo stutter in his entire life.
“I know what he was going to say, Mr....?”
“De Luca. Lorenzo De Luca.” Lorenzo tried to regain some semblance of composure. He forced his voice deeper, to sound more authoritative, which was actually his normal register.
“Mr. De Luca, it wouldn’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last. I don’t need your help.”
Lorenzo, aghast at her words, couldn’t think of anything to say—partly because of her harsh tone and partly because of how beautiful she was. The demure dress couldn’t hide her womanly figure. With her high cheekbones and sharp chin, brown skin and pink lips, she should have been a movie star; maybe she was.
“I’m looking for the owner of this club.” She looked at him with her brows furrowed.
“I’m the owner,” Lorenzo said, still confused by her reaction. He realized everyone in the club was looking at him, this woman and the unconscious man on the floor.
“I would like to audition to be your lead singer.” She switched her handbag to her right forearm, seemingly unfazed by the blood pooling at her feet. She had a slight accent—Southern, maybe. Her hands were covered by gloves.
“Boss, you want us to take care of this?” Lorenzo’s security guard asked, pointing to Simmens on the floor.
Lorenzo nodded, not looking away from the woman. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Suddenly the air swirled warm around him. Lorenzo’s last lead singer had gotten a record deal and had gone on tour. He was happy for her. His goal was always to uplift someone if he could. But it had left him tasked with finding a replacement for his most popular nights last-minute. His club had a combination of live music, instrumental nights and nights with singers. He had been on the search for a singer for three nights a week. The other nights were already taken care of by his current singers.
The gorgeous woman shifted her weight, looking around at the other patrons who’d started talking, dancing and drinking again, but still stared.
The light from outside shot into the club when Lorenzo’s security guys opened the door to carry Simmens out. They would take him and dump him somewhere his own kind would find him. The Ku Klux Klan had set up shop just east of the city limits, in a large barn that sat on a couple of acres of land. Lorenzo’s men would drop him near there, so he’d be found.
The woman smoothed her dress with her gloved hands repeatedly.
Lorenzo, remembering himself, said, “So you can sing?” It didn’t seem fair to Lorenzo for one person to have beauty like hers and have a beautiful voice.
“That’s what people tell me. I’ve been singing since I was a child. My aunt sings, and I heard your club was a good place for...everyone.” The woman averted her eyes from Lorenzo.
Lorenzo smiled at that. He liked that his club was known for treating people right. Maybe him being a mobster’s son wasn’t all people said about him and his establishment.
“I’d love to hear your voice. You want to sing something now?”
Lorenzo had, in fact, already hired a lead singer, but for some reason he didn’t care about that. He’d auditioned probably a dozen beautiful women. Most of them had pretty good voices, but Lorenzo wanted—no, he needed to hear this woman sing. He’d got that feeling in his gut that something spectacular was about to happen.
However, in spite of his gut feeling, he couldn’t get the woman’s anger out of his mind. He’d thought he’d done the right thing. It bothered him how consumed he already was by this gorgeous woman. She was a looker. He had to know what he’d done that had upset her. Simmens deserved to have his big beezer broken.
“Yes... I’d love to sing for you.” The woman scanned the club again. “Um...in front of all your customers?”
“Yes. They’re who you’ll be singing for if you get the job, Miss... I’m sorry, what is your name?”
She smiled, rosy lips revealing bright white teeth. “Evelyn—Evelyn Laroque.”
“Miss Laroque, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Lorenzo held his hand out to shake hers, remembering when he’d almost embraced her. The idea of touching her stunning face made his heart beat faster.
When their hands touched, Evelyn sucked in a quick breath. That small gesture nearly did Lorenzo in.
He wasn’t sure what he’d do about the woman he’d hired if Evelyn’s voice was as outstanding as her looks. But Lorenzo was a shrewd businessman. He’d never second-guessed his decisions and that confidence in himself had always led to more success. So he wouldn’t start questioning his gut now. Besides, hearing Miss Laroque sing was the right thing to do. After all, she’d almost been assaulted in his club. And if she was indeed an amazing singer, he would have to do what was best for his business—hiring Evelyn and firing the other woman.
The only problem was that Lorenzo prided himself on being a man of his word. The woman he’d promised the position to would need some sort of compensation.
Lorenzo couldn’t believe he was already thinking of hiring Miss Laroque and firing Nelly, an amazing singer in her own right, before even hearing Evelyn sing.
Chapter Four
Evelyn
The club smelled of savory meats and breads. Evelyn hadn’t indulged in food like that in forever. She’d been careful with her money, saving for the things she would surely need if she got the job as lead singer for Blues Moon—new dresses, reliable transportation from West Eden to Kansas City...
Her grandmother continued to be a seamstress, but the more often she fell, the harder it was for her to keep up her business. When Evelyn was growing up, before her parents were murdered, she’d never worried about money. Whatever she’d wanted, her parents would get for her—and her brother. Now Carmichael helped their grandmother as much as he could, but he’d purchased land just outside Kansas City, and his crops hadn’t made a profit yet.
Evelyn walked with Mr. De Luca, still unsure what to think of this man. He was beyond handsome—dark hair against pearl skin, beard with just a dusting of silver, making him look distinguished.
The way his suit stretched across his shoulders made warmth rise to Evelyn’s face. Her mother had always told her that she wore her feelings in her expression. Evelyn’s heart raced, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was about to sing in a twenty-four-hour club in front of strangers for the first time, or because of the way Mr. De Luca looked at her, so intense, with those gray-green eyes. Evelyn had never seen eyes like his...
“Benny, this is Miss Laroque. She’s going to sing something for us.”
Evelyn had been so caught up in her own mind that she hadn’t paid attention to where Mr. De Luca was taking her. Now she was on the side of the stage waiting while Mr. De Luca spoke to his bass guitar player. Evelyn didn’t miss the look that passed between Benny and Lorenzo. Benny seemed taken off guard by Lorenzo’s introduction.
“Sure thing, boss. Miss Laroque, it’s a pleasure. What song would you like us to play for you?”
The gentleman with the guitar wore a red shirt with black pants. He had an elegant burgundy guitar that seemed to glow under the low lights of the stage. There was also a pianist—an older gentleman with a kind smile—a drummer and a saxophonist.
Evelyn hesitated at first. She couldn’t seem to make her feet take a step toward the center of the stage. And Mr. De Luca must have noticed her hesitation because he motioned for her to come forward to join them in the sp
otlight. His reassuring gaze broke her trance.
“Do you know ‘Crazy Blues’ by Mamie Smith?”
“Do we know it?” Benny smiled at the others in the band and struck up the first chord of the song.
The gentleman eased Evelyn’s anxiety a little. His smile was so welcoming and warm, she couldn’t help but relax a little. She’d wanted to be a singer for so long, but she hadn’t thought what being a part of an actual band would feel like; so far, so good...
Mr. De Luca held out a microphone before Evelyn had a chance to think about it. It was the first time she’d used one. She faced the crowd, closed her eyes and let the melody carry her remaining fears away.
The first words floated from her like they were part of the atmosphere; she dug deep for strength and courage. Benny and his band kept up with her easily. She did the runs, and finally started to relax into the flow of the song. People were out of their seats dancing. When she finished, the patrons cheered, and Mr. De Luca clapped slowly, staring at her from the side of the stage. His expression didn’t give away his thoughts.
She picked her purse up from atop the piano. “Well, what did you think?” she said as Mr. De Luca led her off the stage and to a back office.
He closed the door behind them. Her pulse quickened. She took a deep breath, trying not to panic.
“Have a seat, please.” He motioned to a beautiful paisley-patterned chair across from a very grand desk. “Drink?” he said.
“Um...no, thank you.” Clearing her throat, she said, “Are you going to tell me what you thought of the song?”
He poured himself a drink, seeming unfazed that she didn’t wish to join him. “I thought it was sensational,” he said with his back to her. “I’m trying to think of words to describe your singing, but nothing seems adequate.”
His voice was like a smooth baritone note with perfect inflections. He turned to face her. Evelyn searched his expression to see if she could determine if he was filling her with lies or not. She couldn’t tell.