“Mia?”
She looked up. Hyman’s brow creased as he studied her. Behind her, Gloria placed a light hand on her back.
“All right?” she murmured.
Not trusting her voice, Mia just nodded.
“How about a turn?” Hyman said, spinning his finger in the air. He stood from his chair and approached her.
Mia extended her arms to either side and spun in a slow circle, then met his eyes with a haughtily raised eyebrow.
His lips twisted sardonically. “Well. Isn’t she stunning.” He snapped his fingers as he returned to his seat. “That one will do. Next gown, please.”
Over the next two hours, she tried on gowns, got jabbed by Mrs. Astor—at this point, Mia was convinced it was on purpose—and spun in circles for Hyman. He systematically rejected and approved a variety of gowns. There was a pile of them Mia had quite liked herself that he’d dismissed for a variety of reasons.
“She’ll need a few numbers suitable for dancing,” he told Mrs. Astor once Mia was back in her day dress. The dressmaker nodded as he turned to Mia. “Opening night will be one week from this Saturday. Beginning tomorrow morning, you will commence rehearsals. We are still finalizing some last-minute things at the club, so you’ll rehearse at the Cotton Club in the meantime.”
“The Cotton Club?” Mia repeated. “Aren’t they booked full of acts who’d need the rehearsal space?”
“Owney Madden can be very accommodating. For the right price.” Hyman smiled thinly. “It’ll just be for a few days. I’d like you to be more present at the shop as well. Inform the ladies of the grand opening, encourage them to attend.” He glanced at Gloria. “As should the sister of the star. Who ought to have a lovely gown, too. Please, Mrs. Scalisi, choose whichever you like best. On me.”
“Oh.” Gloria blinked, then glanced at Mia as if for approval, who flicked her head. She was more than capable of purchasing Gloria a bespoke evening gown, but it was best not to refuse Hyman’s generosity, though she was suspicious of the probable strings attached. “Why, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”
He smiled and extended a hand toward the screen. Gloria stepped behind it, and Mia hid a smirk when she heard Gloria let out a short hiss of pain as Mrs. Astor set upon her with her sewing pins.
“So,” Hyman said. “Do you like your gowns?”
Mia cocked her head and smiled. “You don’t really care if I did, do you?”
His eyes gleamed with amusement. “No, I don’t. Not really. But, it still pleases me to know you’re happy.”
“Happy?” She considered that. “I guess time will tell, Hyman.”
“Indeed. But I do wish you to know that your happiness is important to me, if not necessarily a priority.”
She huffed out a short laugh. “You’re a real charmer, Mr. Goldberg.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but there was a knock on his door.
“Sir,” came the muffled voice of one of his guards. “Mr. Yale is here to see you.”
Mr. Yale? As in, Frankie? Mia glanced at Hyman, who suddenly appeared rather uncomfortable. Apparently, this visit was unplanned.
Johnny Torrio had been a mentor to Frankie, like he’d been to Al. And Frankie was one of the biggest bootleggers in New York. He controlled Brooklyn, and he was in charge of picking up Al’s orders of Canadian Club—along with delivering the Templeton, in which there was some interest in Ontario.
Her Templeton.
“Tell him I’m busy and he should come back,” he called.
No way in hell. Mia caught Paolo’s eye and nodded to the door. Her bodyguard shrugged, and before Hyman could say another word, opened the door.
The guard, and behind him, a stocky man with thick, dark hair and a handsome face, looked at Paolo, and then at Hyman and Mia, in equal surprise.
“Come on in, fellas,” she said.
“Mia,” Hyman snapped behind her.
The guard looked questioningly at his boss, but Frankie Yale shrugged and stepped around the guard.
“Seems like this is a bad time,” he remarked.
“Yes, it is,” Hyman said.
“No, it’s not.” Mia looked Frankie in the eye and extended her hand. “I’m Mia Scalisi.”
At her last name, Frankie raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Well. It’s a pleasure, Miss Scalisi.” He shook her proffered hand with the gentleness most men used, but she squeezed his hand firmly, forcing him to look at her.
“Johnny tells me you’ve been running the Templeton up to Canada for us,” she said. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”
His dark eyes glinted with interest at her use of the word us. “I’ve worked out a nice deal for Charlie and Moritz. And Mr. Goldberg.”
“Mr. Yale has been a great asset to us,” Hyman said, and his emphasis on the word was not lost on her.
“Which version of the product are they buying in Canada, Mr. Yale?” Mia asked. “Pure, or cut?”
“Pure, of course.”
“Good. It seems while I was away, my partners took to cutting down the rye to an undrinkable state. I’d never want our friends in the north to be subjected to such trash.”
“I believe that’s enough,” Hyman said, his soft tone full of warning.
She turned to look at him. “Aren’t you concerned about the quality of product our clients are receiving?”
Frankie shifted his amused gaze to Hyman, as though also interested in that answer.
Before Mr. Goldberg could reply, Gloria stepped out from behind the screen. “Well?” Then she caught sight of their newest guest and flushed. “Oh—pardon me.”
They all turned to look at her.
She was stunning in a shin-length, sleeveless, burgundy chiffon dress with an overlay of netting covered in glimmering beads. The dress’s straight lines concealed her slender curves, but the plunging neckline revealed a hint of décolletage.
“Jesus Christ and all the saints,” Frankie Yale muttered beside her.
Mia cut her eyes toward him. He held a hand on his chest, and his gaze went over Gloria again and again.
“Gloria,” she said loudly. “Come. Meet Mr. Yale.” When Gloria reached her side, Mia wrapped a protective arm around her and faced Frankie. “Mr. Yale, this is my sister-in-law, Gloria Scalisi. My brother’s widow.”
He seemed to get the message. “Mrs. Scalisi,” he said, bending slightly over her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you,” Gloria murmured, casting her eyes down. “Mr. Yale.” Then her dark eyes flicked up to meet his again.
Oh brother.
He smiled widely. “That’s some dress.”
“Isn’t it?” Mia interjected. “It’s a gift from Mr. Goldberg for the first night of the club opening.”
“Oh, will you be there?” Frankie asked Gloria. “Won’t that be nice. Perhaps I can buy you a drink.”
“I’d like that,” Gloria said with a shy smile.
It was all Mia could do not to gape at her sister-in-law.
“As much as I’d enjoy chatting you up, Mrs. Scalisi,” Frankie said, “I do have some business to discuss with Mr. Goldberg.” He glanced at Mia. “Well, come to think of it, I suppose it has to do with you, too.”
“Mr. Yale,” Hyman said. “I’m sure whatever you have to share can wait, can it not?”
“I’m here now,” Mia said smoothly, patting Hyman on the arm. “And it concerns me, apparently. So, Mr. Yale, let’s talk. You’ve come all this way from Brooklyn, after all. Isn’t that right?”
He nodded slowly, glancing between her and Hyman.
“Let’s let Mrs. Scalisi get dressed in peace,” she added pointedly, noting the way Frankie’s stare followed Gloria back to the dressing screen.
“Yes, we can step out into the lobby,” Hyman said, and gave her a penetrating stare.
She’d be in trouble for this later.
Out in the lobby—Paolo standing back several feet behind Mia—Frankie shrugged. “I had some business in the city, any
way. Thought I’d drop in. I just wanted to let you know I made space in my warehouses for the product you’re not keeping at her shop.”
This was news, that Frankie Yale had become a trusted partner with Hyman Goldberg. Mia glanced at Hyman.
His nostrils flared. “After our friendly little discussion at the unloading last Friday night, I took it upon myself to locate another venue for the cut Templeton that created so much ire. So, Miss Scalisi, your shop should be free of anything that is not up to your standard.”
“And how much will that cost?”
“It’s a side deal,” Hyman replied. “That product, as Moritz informed you, was already lined up for a buyer. The terms are between us and Mr. Yale now.”
“As long as those bottles don’t still say ‘Templeton Rye’ on them,” Mia said. “Because that’s not what it is.”
“We had the labels changed,” Hyman said tightly. He turned to Frankie. “Is that all? A phone call would have sufficed.”
“As I said, I had other business in the city,” Frankie replied. “Besides, Johnny always taught me to discuss business face to face and not over the telephone. Figured a businessman such as yourself would appreciate that.” His gaze wandered to Gloria as she joined them in the lobby, back in her normal clothes. A slow smirk spread across his face. “I suppose it wasn’t a fruitless trip, after all.”
“Well, since you’ve come all this way, I suppose it would be impolite not to offer to take you to dinner,” Hyman said tightly. Then he turned to Mia. “Would you and Mrs. Scalisi care to join us?”
Gloria brightened, but before she could say anything, Mia shook her head. “Thank you, Mr. Goldberg, but we’d better be on our way. We have to collect Emilia.” She glanced at Frankie. “Her child. My niece.”
He didn’t seem deterred, keeping his smile fixed on Gloria. “Next time, then.”
Mia took Gloria’s arm, and the two of them followed Paolo to the elevators.
“Why are you in such a rush now?” Gloria said irritably when the elevator doors shut. “It’s barely six thirty. And I am hungry.”
Mia stared at her in astonishment. “You can’t really mean you wanted to go.”
Gloria hmphed impatiently. “Well, why not? I’m always at home with Emilia or with my aunt and uncle. You’re the one who always gets to have all the fun.”
“Fun?” Mia said, her voice raising. “Fun? You think having to deal with stubborn men about liquor and money and drugs is fun? Or acting like Hyman’s little doll? Or constantly having to prove myself to these bastards that I have an operating brain? Which part of that sounds like fun to you, Glo?”
In the mirrored door’s reflection, she caught a glimpse of Paolo frowning at her. He seemed to have a soft spot for Gloria and especially Emilia, even if the former didn’t return his affection. He disapproved of her words, but he could go chase himself. Gloria had no idea what she was talking about.
Gloria pursed her lips. “It sounds better than what I’m stuck doing, which is nothing most of the time. I’m still a young woman, after all. Besides, maybe you could benefit from having me around instead of just stuffing me in a room all the time. Did you ever think about that?”
Mia drew in a deep breath to the bottom of her lungs, struggling to hang onto her rapidly disintegrating patience. She tried to put herself in Gloria’s shoes.
“I know it must seem…exciting to you,” she began. “And sometimes, it is. But, Gloria, you must understand something. I’m trying to keep Nick’s business afloat. All of his so-called friends are just… They’re driving it into the ground.”
The elevator reached the lobby and the doors opened. They stepped out, Paolo striding ahead to open the building’s glass doors.
“I thought they could be trusted.” Gloria sounded confused.
Mia set her jaw. “So did I. Anyway, I feel like I’m fighting the battle alone. I don’t know who to trust. It’s not safe right now, and I promise you, it’s not any fun. I’d much rather be home with you and Em than doing this, but I won’t have it go by the wayside. Nick believed in the rye, so much he died for it. If I let them destroy what he built…his work, his death, would be meaningless.”
Gloria’s eyes glistened. She looked away. As Paolo opened the car doors for them and they climbed inside, she said, “I’m sorry I said it sounded like fun. I just—sometimes I get so lonely, Mia. Even with the baby. She’ll start lessons with a governess soon, you know, and what’ll I do? You’ll be at rehearsals all day for the club, and then you’ll be there performing all night.”
“Raquel will be here to keep you company.”
“Yes,” Gloria said, her lips stretching into a polite smile. “She will. But it’s not the same as… Well, you’ve got Charlie, after all. And I— There’s no one else…no one.”
As Paolo pulled into traffic, Mia put a hand on Gloria’s arm. “Filling your…time with another gangster isn’t going to end in anything but more heartbreak, Gloria.”
She flushed and averted her gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on,” Mia said drily. “I haven’t seen you look at a man like you looked at Frankie Yale just now since you were sixteen and Nick dragged me to the grocery so he could flirt with you.”
“So, what, I’m supposed to be dead, just like my husband?” Gloria snapped, and Mia winced. “I’m not supposed to find a man attractive, or enjoy the attention he gives me? Or like that he obviously seems interested?” She huffed. “I’m sure I’m just an old widow to you, Mia, but I’m only twenty-five years old. I’m not dead. And—and—goddammit, I’m lonely.” Her luminous brown eyes shone with tears, and Mia slipped an arm around her shoulders. She kept her mouth shut.
There was no sense in warning Gloria about Frankie Yale or what he was—not now. Mia was lonely too, in her own way, but she had never been married. She had never had the companionship, the bond, with a man the way her brother and Gloria had had with each other. She understood Gloria’s grief, because she had her own, but she’d never fully empathize with it, because it was different.
Her thoughts crept to Charlie. She had not spoken to him since Saturday night. He had rung their room several times, but Mia had told Gloria to tell him she was unavailable each time. She couldn’t stop thinking about the scar on his palm—no better than a cattle brand. The same one Nick had worn.
And she couldn’t stop thinking about the truth he’d flung at her feet—about herself.
When Nick had become a made man, it had been a point of pride, of excitement. It had meant a new stage in their life. It had elevated their social position. It had been protection. She hadn’t been able to advertise the fact that her brother was a made man, but she walked the walk, silently daring anyone to try her.
She’d been so young and stupid then.
While that scar might still mean honor and loyalty and respect and tradition, it also meant the bearer was property to the men who placed it there. That they could never leave the life once they’d entered it. That the only way out was death. A made man might as well have meant a marked man. And Charlie had signed up for it.
But then, hadn’t she?
The scar was the only thing that separated them, he’d said.
Stop thinking about it.
She was still thinking about it, she realized miserably a moment later, and sighed and looked out the window.
They arrived at the grocery, and Paolo waited in the car while Mia and Gloria got out to walk inside. Since they lived upstairs, Joe and Connie usually kept the store open later than most other businesses in the neighborhood. There was always someone who needed a bottle of olive oil or a loaf of bread at the last minute, and Joe and Connie were only happy to oblige.
In the room at the back of the store, Gloria’s aunt and uncle sat with Emilia at the scarred table, nibbling bread, cheese, and meat. Uncle Joe was teaching Emilia to play checkers.
Aunt Connie made Mia and Gloria sit and eat and drink a little coffee, and they spent a few pleasant
moments chatting about the day.
“Where is Paolo?” Aunt Connie demanded. “Tell the old Sicilian brute to come in.” But she said it in an affectionate way, and with a smile, Mia went to fetch the grumpy man who’d insisted on waiting in the car. In the back room, Aunt Connie plied him with meat, cheese, and coffee, all the while berating him in Sicilian for not coming in sooner.
This old neighborhood always felt like home. More than the fancy suite at the Murray Hill Hotel, where every comfort, every luxury, was a snap of her fingers away. She toyed with the idea of what it might be like to move back here, back among her people, back where she felt safe. Could she come home again? And she wasn’t just responsible for herself any longer. Would it be in the best interests of her sister-in-law and niece?
Her gaze fell on Emilia, earnestly pushing checkers around the board where Uncle Joe pointed. It was important for her to be among her family, her people, too. It was something that had always been incredibly important to Nick.
Distantly, the sound of the bell ringing over the door reached them. Aunt Connie rose from her chair to go tend to the customer.
“Joe! Joe!” a man shouted.
In an instant, they were all on their feet except Gloria, who remained by Emilia’s side, eyes wide.
Mia put a hand on Paolo’s shoulder. “Stay here with Glo and Em.” She followed Aunt Connie from the room.
Out in the store, Uncle Joe held Signor Bruno in his arms. The man sobbed uncontrollably, crying out in Sicilian.
“Figghia mia! Figghia mia!”
My daughter. My daughter.
“Lock the door,” Aunt Connie said harshly to Mia in Sicilian, pressing her keys into her hand before stepping over to her husband to comfort the hysterical man.
Heart in her throat, Mia did as she was told.
“Come with me,” Aunt Connie said, gently but firmly as she led Signor Bruno toward the back room.
Mia trailed the group, lingering in the doorway to stay out of the way as Connie sat the man in a chair and placed coffee and bread before him. Signor Bruno wept into his hands as Connie rubbed his back and murmured soothing, unintelligible noises at him.
Princes of the Lower East Side: A 1920s Mafia Thriller (A Scalisi Family Novel) Page 14