Princes of the Lower East Side: A 1920s Mafia Thriller (A Scalisi Family Novel)

by Meredith Allison

  “It…hurts? To be there?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Again, a nod. He met her gaze in the doors’ reflection.

  “If there’s ever anything you want, anything I can do for you, you need only let me know.”

  His eyes flashed with gratitude, but he gave her a small smile, pointed to his mouth, and shrugged. How?

  She grinned at his little joke.

  They arrived at the top of the building, Hyman’s penthouse. A few guards stood in the open foyer in front of his office. They all did satisfying double-takes as she walked toward them.

  “He’s inside?” she said before anyone else could speak.

  “He’s—he’s—yes. He didn’t mention you were coming,” one of the guards stuttered.

  “He never mentioned you were home,” another one added.

  “Well, surprise, boys,” Mia said without cracking a smile. She turned for the door.

  One of the guards stopped her with a hand on her forearm. “Just a min—”

  Like lightning, Paolo leaped in front of her with a low growl and grabbed the guard by the neck before ramming him against a wide marble pillar. Air whooshed out of the guard’s lungs, his eyes shocked and rolling as he grabbed at Paolo’s hand around his throat. Before either of the other two could move a muscle, Paolo had drawn the pistol at his waist and pointed it at the forehead of one of them.

  The man’s speed and agility shocked her, but Mia placed a hand on his, pressing lightly to get him to lower the gun.

  “It’s all right, Paolo,” she said softly, her calm exterior belying her thundering heart. “They’re just doing their jobs.”

  Paolo bared his teeth as he lowered the gun and released the guard, who immediately doubled over and gasped for air.

  The other two stared at them in shock.

  “I’ll show myself in, yeah?” Mia turned on her heel without waiting for an answer and crossed the floor to the heavy oak doors. She put her ear to the door, and picked out what sounded like a few masculine voices.

  So Trudy’s dope had been spot on. Mia was right on time.

  She pushed open the door, and the voices grew louder and clearer, punctuated by laughter and the smack of pool balls clattering into one another. She stepped silently into the room.

  Hyman leaned over the table, lining up a shot, while three men looked on. Moritz Schapiro rested a hand on the table, smirking, and Charlie Lazzari stood a few feet back, leaning on his pool cue, an amused look on his face. A third man had his back to her, but for a moment, her gaze only settled on Charlie.

  Now that she was back, now that she was in the same room as him, she realized for the first time how much she’d missed him.

  Then, a stern inner voice resounded through her mind. This is business. Don’t behave like some lovesick schoolgirl.

  Mia stepped forward a few more feet. No one noticed her. If she’d been someone who’d shown up with bad intentions, all three men could have been dead before they’d hit the floor.

  Perhaps she’d point that out.

  She cleared her throat.

  Abruptly, the chatter and laughter ceased, and all four heads swiveled in her direction. After a brief moment of silence, the three faces she recognized adopted similar shocked expressions, as though they were looking at a ghost.

  The unfamiliar man appeared to be around the same age as Charlie and Moritz, and was tall and quite handsome. His broad shoulders filled out his perfectly tailored suit, and his eyes matched his thick, wavy dark hair. He lifted a cigarette to full, smirking lips, his gaze going over her with lazy disrespect.

  “Hello,” Mia said coolly.

  “Mia,” Charlie murmured.

  Hyman recovered first. “Miss Scalisi,” he said, setting his cue across the table. “What a shocking, but happy surprise. Did you telegram me, and I missed it somehow?” He crossed the room to her, sweeping her hand into his and bending over it gallantly.

  “No. I never telegrammed.”

  He straightened, his brow creasing ever so slightly in confusion. “No?”

  “No.” She smiled politely. “I thought I’d just drop in and say hello. Find out how things have been.”

  Moritz and Charlie walked over to her, moving almost hesitantly as though they truly believed she were an apparition. When they reached her, they both hesitated.

  Mia stood still, waiting.

  “It—it’s good to see you,” Moritz said, scooping up her hand and pressing his lips lightly to her knuckles. He laid his other hand on top when he straightened, meeting her eyes and offering her a small but sincere smile. “Truly. You look wonderful.”

  “Indeed,” Hyman chimed in. “The Sicilian sun agrees with you tremendously, my dear.”

  “Thank you,” Mia replied. “It’s very nice to see you again, Morrie, Mr. Goldberg.” She turned her head to look at Charlie.

  His gaze went over every inch of her face, then her dress, and back up. She studied him in turn; there was something so different about him than she remembered, though he looked like the same man as she’d left last January, down to the errant black curl hanging over his forehead. His eyes were sterner, and his tenderly cut mouth had more of a downward turn than she recalled, but he was still Charlie. Her Charlie.

  Her heart turned a double backward somersault, but she kept her poise. She wanted so much to believe Charlie was still with her, had waited as he’d promised, but there was nothing she could trust. Nothing, and no one, except her family.

  “Last person I expected to walk through that door,” Charlie murmured.

  “Well,” Mia said, her voice coming out much colder than she’d intended. “Here I am.”

  She wondered if he might have hugged her, but with the other men in the room, and all of their curious glances at Paolo, silent and steadfast behind her, Charlie simply took her hand but kissed it with enough pressure to let her know she’d been missed, indeed.

  “When?” he asked, releasing her. Her fingers slid slowly against his as she lowered her arm back to her side, and she nearly jumped at the crackle of electricity that passed between them.

  “Last night,” she answered. “It was nearly a two-week trip.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?”

  “I thought it best to keep it to myself,” she said.

  Charlie’s jaw flexed, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes.

  “We haven’t met,” the strange man said, strolling over. “But I’ve heard quite a lot about you. I’m Jacopo Morelli.” He extended his hand to her, and she noted, with a healthy dose of suspicion, the gold, bejeweled rings that adorned the last three fingers. Emerald, ruby, diamond.

  She slipped her hand into his and he, too, lifted her hand to kiss it, pulling her forward a few steps to do so until she was almost against him. Mia lifted a brow as he pecked the backs of her fingers.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I heard,” Jacopo said in an insolent tone. “Beauty, brains. Danger. Talent. Sounds like my dream girl.”

  More like a nightmare. She gently extracted her hand from his. “Charmed, I’m sure, Mr. Morelli.”

  “Ah, please,” he said with a wide grin, placing a hand over his heart. “All my friends call me Jake.”

  She resisted the urge to sneer. “Since we’ve only just met, I’ll stick to ‘Mr. Morelli’ for now.”

  “Oh, but I want us to be so much closer,” he murmured, his dark eyes burning into her. “I need a dame like you in my life. And it’s pretty clear to me you need a real man inside—pardon me. Beside you.”

  Charlie turned slowly to stare at him through narrow eyes.

  Mia felt a spark of amusement. This man was trying to intimidate her as much as he was trying to woo her, as ridiculous as it was. He was an incredibly handsome man, and certainly, weaker women might collapse under his charm. She was certain many had.

  But she was not weak.

  “So, Mia, tell us, who is your quiet companion?�
� Hyman broke in with a polite smile, as much to save her from Mr. Morelli as to indulge all of their obvious curiosities about Paolo. “Is he a bodyguard? A counselor? Friend?”

  Mia looked at Paolo, who frowned and nodded once. “Yeah,” she replied.

  “Oh,” Mr. Goldberg said, clearly confused. “Well. Splendid.”

  “This is Paolo Scarpa,” she clarified. “He knew my father and works for my cousin Carlo in Catania.” She decided in a split-second that keeping things simple about him was the best course of action. She wasn’t sure why, but some instinct advised her against sharing more.

  “You’re quite a long way from there,” Hyman said to Paolo. “What sort of work is it that you do?”

  Mia thought back to the lightning-fast, violent reaction Paolo had when Hyman’s guard had merely touched her, or the unpleasant scene with the youths in Palermo. That was certainly one line of work.

  Paolo, of course, said nothing and stared steadily at Hyman.

  “Ah…?” Hyman lifted his brows delicately and glanced at Mia.

  “He doesn’t speak,” she informed him.

  “Why is that?”

  “He has an injury.”

  “I…see.” Hyman nodded slowly. But when it was clear as the seconds ticked by that neither Mia nor Paolo himself were going to offer more, he smiled politely at the man. “Well, any friend of Miss Scalisi’s is a friend of mine, Mr. Scarpa, even the silent ones.”

  Charlie stepped forward and extended a hand. “Charlie Lazzari.”

  Paolo sniffed and looked Charlie up and down before shifting his gaze to Mia. She gave a slight flick of her head, and Paolo grasped Charlie’s hand in a brief shake before releasing it and stepping back.

  “Moritz Schapiro,” Moritz spoke up. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  Again, Paolo looked at Mia. She nodded, and he shook hands with Moritz.

  “Charlie and Morrie are my two most trusted allies, along with Mr. Goldberg,” she said to Paolo. “They all knew Domenico.”

  At the mention of her brother’s name, Paolo bowed his head and quickly crossed himself.

  “Jake Morelli,” Jake added, grinning, his hand out.

  Paolo glanced at Mia again, and she looked at Jake with cool appraisal, then back at Paolo. He did not shake Mr. Morelli’s hand.

  “What, ain’t I good enough to get my hand sniffed by your dog there?” Jake said, dropping his hand.

  She ignored him. “So, now that I’m here, I suppose we can talk some business,” she said. “Unless your game of pool is too pressing to be further interrupted.”

  “No, no,” Hyman said. “We were just playing for fun, anyhow.” He walked back to the pool table and scooped up a stack of cash, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket.

  Perhaps only fun for Hyman.

  “Would you gentlemen excuse us, please?” he added, smiling his bland, polite smile at Charlie, Moritz, and Jake. There was no reason to dismiss Charlie and Moritz—at least, none she could think of, unless something had drastically changed in the past year—so Mia assumed it was so Jake wouldn’t take offense. And if his mere presence in Hyman Goldberg’s penthouse weren’t indication enough, his efforts to not offend Jake made it clear they had business.

  “It’s no trouble,” Jake said. “Just tell me what time the delivery’s gonna be tonight so I can be at the shop early with my guys.”

  Mia snapped her head toward him, then back to Hyman. “Delivery? Shop? My shop?”

  “Liquor, dollface,” Jake said. “What’d you think I meant, flowers? And yeah. That pretty little storefront with your name attached.”

  She ignored him and kept her gaze on Hyman, then glanced at Charlie and Moritz. “I’ve been wondering. How is the—our—operation?”

  The men exchanged a three-way glance. Jake lit up another cigarette and leaned against the pool table, smirking.

  “A lot’s happened in a year,” Charlie began.

  “We needed some support,” Moritz said at the same time.

  Mia folded her arms. “Well, I suppose there’s no need for privacy now, is there?” She wasn’t angry, but she was curious—and deeply suspicious.

  Hyman held up a hand to stop them. He walked toward her. “I had hoped to have this conversation with you alone,” he said quietly. “But since we’re all here… Come, sit.” He placed a light hand on her back and guided her to the seating area beside the fireplace.

  Mia sat in a high-backed chair, Paolo standing behind her at a respectful distance. Jake dropped into the chair beside her with a grin at Charlie, who had been on his way to claim the seat himself. He said nothing and took a seat on the sofa that faced the two chairs across the shiny, glass-topped coffee table. Moritz sat beside him, while Hyman opted to lean against the mantel.

  “The good news is that demand is as high as it can be,” Hyman said. “Your friend in Iowa, Mr. Wyatt, is pumping out whiskey in huge quantities to service all of our locations.”

  “And the bad news?” Mia asked.

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it bad, but we needed extra warehouse space in our key locations, including here in the city. And some of those locations threatened to encroach on territories already spoken for.”

  Jake looked over at her, flashing a wide smile. “That’s where I come in.”

  “You don’t say,” Mia replied.

  “I do say. And I was, of course, only too happy to partner with the great Mr. Goldberg and the fantastic Mr. Lazzari and Mr. Schapiro.”

  Mia noted the mocking note in his voice. He was amusing, but bold. “Only too happy, to the tune of what percentage?”

  Jake lifted his brows. He glanced at the other men. “Sharp, this one.”

  “Miss Scalisi is more than sharp,” Hyman said. “It would suit anyone to not underestimate her.”

  Jake reached out and lightly touched the back of her hand. She didn’t move it away. “A reasonable percentage.”

  “I like real numbers, if you don’t mind.”

  “Go ahead,” Charlie said. “Tell her.”

  “A mere five percent,” Jake replied.

  “Five percent?” She looked at Charlie and Moritz, then Hyman.

  “It was a fair percentage we negotiated,” Hyman replied.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Mia said, “but Mr. Dennison in Omaha receives ten percent. Mr. Wyatt receives twenty. The Outfit in Chicago gets fifteen.”

  “And per our agreement last year,” Hyman said, “I forfeited my percentage to take you on as my personal supplier and since I’ve marked up my prices, I’ve already recouped my initial investment.” He studied her. “You once told me if I took you up on that, I’d get all my money back before I saw a second of 1925. You were nearly correct. I got all my money back by February of last year. New Year’s Eve 1924 was a wonderful moneymaker.”

  Mia allowed herself a small but genuine smile of pleasure in return.

  “So you see,” Hyman continued, “there’s plenty of room for a little five percent to go to Mr. Morelli.”

  The pleasure seeped out of her like air from a balloon. “Which leaves fifty percent for the three of us,” she said. “Not even seventeen percent a head.”

  “Love a broad who knows numbers,” Jake said, flashing a grin that was both lazy and devilish.

  She stood up, tucking her hands behind her back. Paolo perked up, immediately wary as he tracked her slow steps to stand in front of Jake and look down at him.

  “I’m the sister of the man who masterminded this deal, the person he trusted more than anyone else in life. These two men were his original partners. They’ve known one another since they were hardly young men. How do you, an outsider, figure you’re entitled to a percentage, rather than a few dollars for a job well done?”

  His dark eyes glinted with malevolence, but the arrogant smirk never left his face as he made a show of leaning his head back to look up at her. “’Cause I got the goods, sweetie. That’s how.”

  “Yeah, I’m still confused about those
goods,” she said. “What exactly do you do that’s so valuable?”

  “Simple,” he replied. “Connections. You wanted the warehouse space, the distribution areas that didn’t belong to you, I know the fellas who control ’em. They deal with me, and they don’t bother none of you or your men. I’m in the business of protection, Miss Scalisi. Among other things.” Jake’s gaze traveled over her. “You need protectin’? I’d do it for nothing.” He eyed her again, stopping at her chest. “Well. Almost nothing.”

  “Sure, I need protection,” she said, fixing him with an icy stare, her voice hard. “I need protection from vultures and leeches and men who think they’re smarter than me.”

  “Mia,” Moritz said quietly, “it’s done.”

  She tore her gaze from Jake and shifted it to Moritz. “You might have written me.”

  He shrugged. “We thought it best to have the conversation in person.”

  No. You thought it best to make decisions without me.

  Hyman cleared his throat. “Mia, I wanted to run something by you I’ve been germinating in my mind for some time. As you know, the club opens in less than a month. I want to have a little pre-opening-night showcase here. For my good friends. Some businessmen, some politicians. A private party in which to show off my new star.”

  Mia tilted her head. “Which part of that are you ‘running by’ me? This sounds like something else that just is, regardless of my opinion on the matter.”

  Hyman spread his hands. “You’ve always been the most astute person I know. What can I say? You’ve already got a great number of fans who are eager to see you. My friends, they’re influential men. And women. They’ve got the pull to bring in a lot patrons.”

  “Have you and your partner decided on a name for the club yet?” Mia asked. “You never mentioned it.”

  “She came from Stems,” Jake said, jerking his head toward Mia. “How about ‘Legs’?”

  Hyman smiled politely at him, but Mia noticed the horror in his eyes. “Clever, Mr. Morelli. No, as tempting as it is to name clubs after the limitless physical charms women possess, we decided on something a little less on the nose. The Divine.”

  “It has a certain ring to it, Mr. Goldberg,” Moritz said.