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

by Meredith Allison

  Mia looked at Charlie. “Have you nothing to say?”

  “We’re trying to make money here,” he said. “That’s the bottom line.”

  “So quality means nothing? Nick means nothing?”

  A look of pain rolled across his face, then disappeared as his eyes narrowed. “The more diluted we make it, the more they need to drink to get drunk, the more they buy. The more bang for our buck we get. It’s called commerce, Mia.”

  She glared at him. He might have tried to gloss over her last question, but she refused to let him. He, Moritz, Hyman—all of them would be called to account here and now.

  “Nick was your best friend,” she said through her teeth. “You know goddamn well how much it meant to him to have a quality product to sell that he was proud of.” She shoved his chest. “You look me in the eye right now and tell me he’d approve of this. That he’d like the taste of that. That he’d be happy to sell it to his customers. Look me in the eye, Charlie, and tell me. If you can do that, I won’t say another word. Go ahead.”

  Charlie looked away, shaking his head. Then he lifted his eyes to hers. And said nothing.

  Mia whirled on Moritz. “Get it. Out. Now.”

  “I think,” a deep voice said from behind Hyman, “that you fellas oughtta listen to her.”

  The tall man who’d trailed Hyman stepped into a pool of light from a sconce on the building. She straightened as she recognized the thick, wavy black hair, heavy-lidded eyes, the leonine features.

  Charles Luciano, the man they called “Lucky.”

  She’d met him a few times over the years—once before Nick had been drafted, once when she’d worked in Atlantic City and Mr. Luciano and several friends had come to Penny’s, and once before she’d left for Sicily, when she’d gone to personally deliver a crate of real Templeton rye as a thank-you for the respectful tribute he’d sent to Nick’s funeral. Both meetings had been cursory, if polite.

  He was only a couple of years older than Nick, but he carried himself with a quiet dignity that made him seem years older than he was. He’d earned nearly half a million dollars for himself by the time he’d been Mia’s age. It had been no wonder Nick had looked up to him so much.

  Mr. Luciano tossed his cigarette butt away and blew out a stream of smoke. “I been at the bootlegging game for quite a few years now. It’s getting to a point where people actually want decent shit, not the bathtub gin like in the early days of Prohibition. I understand wanting to make a profit—why the hell else would any of us be doing this otherwise? But Miss Scalisi has a fine point. They’ve gotta get what they’re paying for, and reducing it to the shit that used to kill drunks in the early days ain’t the way to go about it. You’ll lose all your clientele that way—especially if they start dying from what you’re selling.”

  She was shocked. Mr. Luciano, one of the biggest and most successful bootleggers in the whole country, agreed with her. Agreed with a woman.

  For an instant, Nick was beside her, a careless, affectionate arm about her neck. That’s my sis, a phantom voice chuckled in her ear.

  “All due respect, Mr. Luciano,” Moritz said, his voice strained, “but this is our business.”

  Mr. Luciano smirked and lifted a hand in mock-surrender. “Yeah, sure, pally. I got no idea what I’m talking about. Go ahead and lose money.”

  “If you want to sell that,” Mia said to Moritz, “you’re going to have to find your own place to store it, and you’re going to have to change the label. Because that’s not Templeton rye.”

  Jake stepped into the alley then, hands spread wide. “Hey, what gives? I thought I provided men to unload crates, and ain’t nothing getting unloaded. Wasting time costs me money.”

  Mia turned to him. “You can have them unload Mr. Masseria’s crates.”

  “That’s it?” He looked from Moritz to Hyman to Charlie.

  “That’s it,” Mia said, the edge in her voice drawing his attention again.

  He smirked and gave her an up-and-down look. “Oh, you’re in charge?”

  “Yes,” she said before anyone else could say anything. “You’d better get them started, or else they’re going to be here all night. I imagine that’ll get pretty expensive for you, right?”

  Jake shrugged, then turned to his men. “Fellas, forget about the Templeton for now. Get Masseria’s crates tucked in.”

  She felt a small flash of surprise. At least the loudmouthed Mr. Morelli didn’t question her orders.

  A tense silence befell the small group as the workers moved into action, except for Mr. Luciano, who looked perfectly at ease as he checked his pocket watch and lit up another cigarette.

  “Well,” Hyman said tightly, “it’s rather late for you, Mia, isn’t it? After all, you have a party to prepare for in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “It will be a very late night for me,” she replied, “but luckily, I can sleep late since I don’t need much time to rehearse. I’ll be staying until you’re all done. After all, I have to lock up, don’t I?”

  “I believe I also have a key,” Hyman said. “I’d be happy to lock up for you.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “We’re clearly not going to come to an agreement tonight.” Hyman looked between her and Moritz. “Let’s just remove the offending product for now and discuss things later.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Mia said.

  Moritz gave her a cold smile. “You have a lot to learn about this business, Mia. A lot to learn. Like remembering who your friends are.”

  She stepped toward him until only a few inches separated them. “I would advise you the same.”

  Over the next two hours, she watched, arms folded, as the crates of diluted Templeton rye were removed and Mr. Masseria’s stored.

  As Charlie and Moritz paid the team, Jake sauntered over to her. Paolo tensed beside her, but Mia patted his arm.

  “So,” Jake said. “How ’bout that drink? I’ve worked up quite a thirst.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” she replied, “but I need to get my beauty sleep.”

  He winked. “You’re already plenty beautiful, but I could tuck you in.”

  She sighed, exasperated, reluctantly flattered, and a tiny bit amused. “Don’t you ever quit?”

  He faced her. “Not when there’s something I want real, real bad.”

  Mia tilted her head. “Mr. Morelli, you don’t even know me to want me.”

  “Call me Jake already. And I don’t have to know you to want you.” He leaned toward her, careful not to touch her. “But I like what I see. And I’m real curious about what I don’t. I can tell there’s more to you than meets the eye. And I want to see it all.”

  She noted the way his gaze traveled between her eyes and her chest. “I’m sure you do.”

  “So, how ’bout it?” he pressed. “Gimme a chance. I think you’ll find I know how to treat a lady.”

  “You may know how to treat women, Mr. Morelli, but I doubt you know how to treat a lady.”

  “Teach me. I’m a fast learner.”

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” She waved a hand toward the back entrance, where the crew was filing out. “It appears the men are done for the night. You should be on your way so I can lock the place.”

  He chuckled. “After I pick my face up off the floor, I’ll see myself out.”

  She couldn’t contain a slight smile.

  Mia remained by the back entrance as the storage room cleared of the men who’d packed it earlier. At least the inventory for the shop was unharmed.

  Hyman strolled over to her. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed in some of the conversations had here tonight, but you’ve only just come home, and there’s much about the business you have yet to learn. I hope a good night’s rest will help you see things more clearly in the morning.” He put on his hat and stepped outside to join Mr. Luciano. Mia wondered when they had become friendly.

  Mr. Luciano met her gaze, gripped the brim of
his hat, and smiled at her before getting into the same vehicle as Hyman.

  Moritz barely glanced at her as he wished her a curt goodnight.

  Charlie halted in front of her. “I’m sorry about all this.”

  She looked away from him, watching as one by one the trucks pulled slowly out of the alley and headed in different directions. “You knew what Morrie was doing. Or you were in on it. Either way…that hurts.”

  “I knew about it,” he said gently. “I didn’t tell him not to do it at the time. It was a good business move. The market’s getting clogged, and we needed to expand our clientele.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Charlie,” she said. “There’s only so much honor among thieves, and this is an illegal business, after all. I understand, logically, what you were doing. But this is different. It’s different because of Nick. And I feel Nick was disrespected tonight by two men in particular who should’ve known better. Who do know better.”

  “I won’t insult you further by arguing that point,” Charlie said. “Morrie always has the brilliant mind for business, and what he proposed seemed like good business—for us. There’s other ventures to get into, you know. Liquor’s good, but it’s not the best.”

  Immediately, Mia thought of the heroin epidemic in the old neighborhood. “I want to ask you something. Is Jake the same ‘Gems’ fella I keep hearing about?”

  Charlie shrugged. “People call him that. Why?”

  Her stomach clenched at the confirmation, but she wasn’t surprised. “He’s got a decent operation in one of those other ‘good business ventures’ you mentioned—heroin. He’s poisoning my old neighborhood.”

  “He makes good money in heroin, and we could too,” Charlie said. “We’ve been telling you that for a year now.”

  “And I told you how I feel about that,” she replied. “My answer is the same. I won’t repeat myself. I had a talk with Mr. Masseria about Gems. He won’t be dealing in the neighborhood anymore.”

  Charlie lifted a brow. “You sure about that?”

  She wasn’t convinced she was lining Masseria’s pockets for nothing in return, but she refused to admit it to Charlie. “Mr. Masseria, at least, seems to value friendship.”

  “Mia…”

  “You should go,” she said. “I need to get back to the hotel and check on Gloria and Emilia. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  A look of hurt flashed briefly across his face, but Charlie nodded and walked out the door.

  Alone, with Paolo at the front of the store where she’d asked him to pay Fred, Mia shut the door and locked it, then looked at the cellar door.

  She’d won the battle she’d fought hard for tonight, but she was fairly certain war was on the horizon—in her own camp.

  Chapter Five

  Mia slept until the late afternoon the next day. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep until just before dawn, lying awake and staring at the ceiling. Thinking.

  She’d managed to sneak into the hotel suite undetected at nearly four in the morning. The soft snores coming from Gloria’s room let her know they were safe.

  The April day was cool and gray, and gentle patters of rain dropped against her large window beyond the filmy white curtains. She rolled onto her side, staring out the window. She hadn’t woken up as much as she’d just become alert. Instantly, her mind fell back to the previous night, and her anger returned.

  What the hell was Morrie thinking?

  She was a challenge to his position, that much was clear. But for that to have even become an issue between them was asinine. She’d never wanted to be part of the business, anyhow—she’d only wanted to make sure her brother hadn’t died in vain. That his hard work would come to fruition, that he’d be able to change the lives of his family and friends the way he’d always dreamed. When she’d sailed back to America, she’d considered the words of Don Catalano and Johnny Torrio, cautioning her that things back home had changed. That her brother’s operation was hardly even a Scalisi operation anymore. She hadn’t quite understood what they’d meant at the time. After last night, it was crystal clear.

  She had returned home with the intent to focus on her career at Hyman’s nightclub. Perhaps she would check in with the operation, but she’d thought it would be for the best to leave the heavy lifting to those better equipped—her “trusted” comrades. They’d have the operation’s best interests at heart, she’d thought. They’d never let Nick’s name or hard work be squandered, she’d been certain.

  I was wrong.

  She sat up and walked to the window, leaning her palms on the sill.

  Things were going to change.

  A knock on her door drew her attention. “Yes?”

  The door opened, and her niece wheeled in a small cart that contained a covered dish and a silver pot of coffee.

  Mia smiled. “Oh, you must be the new maid the hotel told me about. Let me see if I have a tip for you…” When Emilia was within grabbing distance, Mia snatched her up, tickling her, and they tumbled onto her bed, Emilia shrieking with laughter.

  “I brung your breakfast, Auntie,” the little girl informed her, wiggling away from Mia’s fingers. “Even though it’s afternoon now.”

  “Brought,” Mia corrected gently, and kissed the top of her head. “And thank you, dearest.”

  She glanced up, catching sight of Gloria in the doorway. Her arms were folded, and she had a slight smile on her face as she watched her daughter busily arrange the cart beside Mia’s bed.

  Beneath the plate covering was a generous helping of bacon and eggs, with a side of buttered toast and jam. Mia bypassed the food for a moment to pour her first cup of coffee. After adding cream and sugar and taking a long, fortifying sip, she looked at Gloria. “What time is it?”

  “It’s nearly three,” she replied. “Mr. Goldberg has rung here for you three times since ten o’clock.”

  Mia sighed. “I have to attend his party tonight. And sing a couple of songs.”

  “Well, he seems rather urgent to talk to you. You should ring him back soon.”

  “I will.” But not before she applied herself to her breakfast.

  Gloria reached into her pocket and withdrew a telegram. She set it on Mia’s tray. “It came earlier. Raquel is on her way. She arrives in a week’s time.”

  Mia smiled as she read the short message from Carlo’s younger sister that echoed Gloria’s words. “Good. It’ll be wonderful to have her here. Emilia will be so excited, won’t you, darling? Your other zia is coming.”

  “Raquel?” the little girl said, hopeful.

  “That’s right.”

  “Hooray! Can we go pick shells on the beach?”

  “When it grows warmer, we’ll go to Atlantic City and you can do just that,” Mia promised.

  “Emilia, dear, go play with your dolls in the other room, please,” Gloria said. “Mama and Auntie need to have a talk.”

  Oh brother. Mia returned her attention to the last bite of her toast, feeling like she was about to be in trouble.

  After Emilia obediently trotted from the room, Gloria walked toward the bed. “Where the hell were you all night?” she demanded in a harsh whisper. “It was nearly four in the morning when I heard you come back in.”

  Apparently, Mia hadn’t been as stealth as she’d thought. “I had business to attend to,” she said without looking up.

  “You just left without saying goodbye or telling me where you were going!”

  “Well, our little chat beforehand wasn’t exactly conducive to any of that,” she said. “Look, Glo. You need to get used to me coming and going at odd hours. For one thing, I’m getting back into show business. You know what that’s like. For another, after last night, it’s blatantly clear the operation is going to shit. I refuse to let that happen, and that means I gotta be out more to keep an eye on things.”

  Gloria perched on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean, going to shit?”

  Mia set her fork down. Nick probably never would have said what she was ab
out to say. But I’m not Nick. “The Templeton is being diluted almost all the way down with water. It’s not the product Nick was selling.”

  “Don’t all bootleggers do that?”

  “To an extent. Not to the level I tasted last night.”

  “Who’s behind that? Goldberg?”

  “Moritz. And Charlie.”

  Gloria’s eyes widened. “Why would they do such a thing?”

  “They’re getting greedy.” Mia shook her head. “And, they’re getting pressured. You can’t just sell booze anywhere. Every part of the city belongs to someone. If you want to do business on someone else’s turf, it’ll cost you.”

  Gloria was silent for a long moment. Then she said, “How do you go about getting your own turf?”

  You’re smart enough to know the answer to that. Mia studied her, chewing the inside of her cheek, then decided to give it to her straight. “You gotta kill a whole bunch of men.”

  To her credit, Gloria flinched only slightly. She nodded, very slowly. “And…is that what you’re thinking of doing?”

  Images of Kiddo Grainger and his bloody mouth, screaming for mercy, of Vinnie Fiore and the hole in his forehead, of Sal Bellomo, oozing blood from his chest flashed through her mind rapidly but one at a time. She lowered the cup of coffee that had been halfway to her mouth back to its saucer, fearing she might vomit if she took the sip.

  She had killed before, for her brother. She would kill a thousand men for him. But for business? The thought made her hands tremble.

  But she couldn’t answer no to Gloria’s question.

  “I—I need to figure out who I can trust.” Mia shook her head. “Things have…changed since I’ve been away. People have changed.”

  “Can you still trust Charlie?”

  Mia stared down at her half-eaten plate of food, her nausea increasing. She couldn’t meet Gloria’s eyes as she said, “Part of what I need to figure out.”

  Mr. Goldberg was waiting for her in the foyer when she walked into his opulent penthouse that night. She was early, as he’d ordered. Early for her, that was. The party, though in its early stages, was in full swing. Men in tuxes and women in evening dresses stood about the room, sipping drinks, eating hors d’oeuvres, and chatting pleasantly. An eight-man orchestra—her new band—sat in a corner of the room, filling the place with soft, background jazz.