Before she could lower it, Joey took her hand next, kissed it, and said, “My loyalty is yours, Miss Scalisi. Now, until I die.”
For a moment, brief panic set in, though Mia struggled not to show it. What exactly did this mean? What had she gotten herself into?
From the depths of her mind, a frightened girl’s voice cried out. I just want to sing. I just want to dance. That’s all. I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know I don’t know I don’t—
She drew a deep breath, and the frightened girl’s voice lowered into the voice of Nick, speaking now to a grown woman—one resigned to her destiny, loyalty to her blood. Loyalty to her dead brother, who had been a prince in this world still so foreign to her.
It’s your world now, surrùzza.
There in the empty dining room of the Murray Hill Hotel, with only three trusted men as witnesses, a young queen was crowned.
Chapter Eleven
When Charlie walked into d’Abbruzzo Grocery with Joe “The Boss” Masseria and Jake Morelli ten minutes early, Mia was waiting.
She’d already been sitting at the scarred, round table for thirty minutes to ensure she was the first one there, anticipating they might try to catch her unawares by arriving early. They hadn’t disappointed her, but she sincerely hoped she’d disappointed them.
The table was laden with four glasses and a bottle of strong red wine from Uncle Joe’s personal collection, which she would be sure to mention so Mr. Masseria understood the respect her uncle had shown tonight. Along with the wine was an antipasto spread of a big dish of marinated vegetables, a loaf of fresh bread baked personally by Aunt Connie, still warm from the oven, a bottle of Uncle Joe’s finest olive oil straight from Sicily, several kinds of cheese, and thick slices of salami. Her “guests” would not receive a full meal, but they would not leave hungry or disrespected.
After she’d gone up to her room at the hotel, she’d changed out of her funeral black and debated on the proper attire for the meeting. Nothing too low-cut; it would never do for them to accuse her of using her “feminine wiles” to get her way. Nothing too boring or simple, either.
In the end, she’d selected a dress of a deep purple-brown with a high neckline cut straight across her collarbone, a filmy, knee-length, handkerchief hem, and long, sheer sleeves gathered at the wrist into a jeweled cuff, its only decoration. She’d kept her makeup light, with only a touch of rouge on her lips. The only other ornaments she wore were the dangling diamond earrings her brother had given her the Christmas before he’d been killed.
Uncle Joe met them at the door, greeting Mr. Masseria first, then Charlie, then Jake, and took their coats. He held a hand out toward the back of the room, toward her.
Mia did not smile as they approached, remaining seated with her forearms draped along the chair’s armrests, ankles crossed, back straight, and chin lifted. Paolo, Bobby, and Joey were lined up like sentries directly behind her.
When they reached the table, Paolo pulled her chair out for her, and Mia stood beside it. She greeted first Mr. Masseria with a kiss on each cheek and a shake of the hand—the most respectful greeting for a man of his station. Then she greeted Charlie with a cold handshake—all that was proper for the meeting facilitator. He held onto her hand for a beat longer than necessary, forcing her eyes up to meet his.
“Good evening, Miss Scalisi,” he said in a low, meaningful tone.
Her heart ached at the thought of the chill she’d forced between them, but as his hand slid away from hers, the raised line of flesh on his palm reminded her why it was there.
And for Mr. Jake “Gems” Morelli, who would either be her partner or her enemy when he left tonight, she offered her hand.
His dark brows shot up. “Is this an invitation to touch you, Miss Scalisi?” He eyed her up and down with a roguish admiration.
“It’s a gesture of courtesy.”
He slid his larger hand around hers with confidence. It was warm and firm. He tugged her closer, and she went willingly. “I’m eager to hear this business proposal of yours, honey. I hope it involves lots of time for us to get close and put our heads together.”
She couldn’t think of a single polite thing to say in response to that, so she offered a tight smile instead and gently extracted her hand. She gestured to the chairs. “Gentlemen, please sit.”
When they were all seated and settled, Mia nodded to Paolo, who uncorked the bottle of wine and poured some into each of their glasses.
“Ah,” Mr. Masseria said, taking a deep, appreciative sniff. “Your uncle’s special wine, no?”
“Yes,” Mia said, pleased. “How did you guess?”
He waved a finger in the air as he took a sip. “He sends me big case every year for Christmas. No other wine has aroma like this.” He fired off a trail of flowery praise in Sicilian.
She nodded to the spread in the middle of the table. “Please, help yourselves. The best of the best of my uncle’s store.”
Shrugging, Jake helped himself to bread, olives, salami, and cheese. He popped an olive into his mouth and chewed lazily, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs as if this were a social call.
“So,” he said between chomps, “where’s your Jew daddy? Goldstein, right?”
“Goldberg,” she corrected softly, though she was aware, as was everyone in the room, it had been an intentional slight. “Is this how you’d like to begin, Mr. Morelli? With disrespect?”
He grinned. “Just teasing you, toots.”
“Jake,” Mr. Masseria said disapprovingly, shaking his head. “Don’t be insulting to our host.”
It was time for her to establish control, as Don Catalano had instructed her. In matters of business, he’d told her time and again, control over the situation, big or small, was paramount. Should anyone suspect her control was slipping, she was done for.
She hadn’t asked him to elaborate on what “done for” meant, precisely.
“Mr. Morelli,” she began.
He reached out to pat her hand. “Jake. You call me Jake.”
To withdraw her hand would be a sign of disrespect, so Mia clenched her jaw and gave him a patient smile. “Thank you. Jake. I appreciate you coming out here this evening, as I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to on a Tuesday night.”
“I’d like you to be a pressing matter,” he said with a grin.
“Morelli,” Charlie snapped. “Let her fucking finish, already.”
Still grinning, Jake lifted his hands in surrender and leaned back in his chair, his body angled toward her, and crossed one long leg over the other. “You got the floor, dollface.”
Lengthy preamble, as Hyman had called it, was not going to work with a man like Jake Morelli. Neither would common courtesy, apparently. She folded her lips together and faced him head on.
“I have a business proposition for you,” she said briskly. “I’ll cut you into my liquor operation as a partner. You’ll receive twenty percent—out of my share.”
He blinked slowly and regarded her for several long seconds. Then he said, “Your operation?”
“I got a new buyer,” she said. “It’s a hot deal.”
“Mm-hmm.” He rubbed his forefinger beneath his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What kinda hot deal? Who’s the buyer?”
Here we go. She wanted to look over her shoulder at Paolo, Bobby, and Joey, to make sure they were still there, but she kept her gaze on Jake.
“Owney Madden.”
Charlie shifted slightly in his chair. Mr. Masseria looked up sharply from his glass of wine. Only Jake remained completely immobile. He didn’t even blink.
She waited.
“Owney Madden,” he finally said, drawing out the name. “You don’t say. Fella owns the Cotton Club, right?”
Mia sighed softly. He was toying with her now, like a cat with his prey. “There’s only one Owney Madden who matters in this city.”
“Mmm.” He tapped his chin, then unfolded his legs and leaned tow
ard her. “I find that to be a funny coincidence. Because, see, I had a booze deal with Owney Madden.”
“Not anymore,” she said.
Finally, anger flared in his dark eyes. “Oh, no? Want to tell me how the fuck that came to be?”
“Jacopo,” Mr. Masseria said in a soft, warning tone.
“Very simple,” Mia replied. “You sold him the crap Moritz tried to pass off as Templeton. Mr. Madden made the mistake of not tasting it first. I just so happened to be rehearsing there, and Owney and I, we got to talking. He expressed interest in my product once he had assurances it was of the utmost quality.”
“You had no right,” Jake said, his voice low and dangerous. “You had no fucking right to steal my business out from under me like a no-good thief.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” Mia said. “Hence the reason why we’re sitting here right now. I figured you’d be put out—”
“Put out,” Jake interrupted. “Put out? Yeah, you could say I’m a little fucking put out.”
This time, Mr. Masseria laid a hand on his forearm and gave him a disapproving frown. “Settle yourself.”
“As a gesture of goodwill and friendship,” Mia said between her teeth, “I’m offering to make you my partner in this deal exclusively. Twenty percent in it for you.”
Jake tilted his head back and laughed. “Twenty percent. He was my customer first.”
Mia’s patience cracked. “You can’t possibly have thought one of the most prestigious and famous clubs in the city would’ve wanted that rubbing alcohol you sold them,” she said sharply. “Once his patrons started dropping dead from whatever’s in that garbage, it would have only been a matter of time before Mr. Madden came knocking on my door. And let’s not forget, Mr. Morelli, you would have had no product had it not been for mine in the first place.”
“Yours.” He chuckled, the sound low and ugly. “Yours. That’s rich, sweetie.”
“Twenty percent,” she repeated. “I suggest you take it before it expires, Mr. Morelli.”
He fished a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. “Make it fifty, then we can negotiate.”
Mia tilted her head. “I’m genuinely curious as to why you think I would ever offer you fifty percent.”
He blew a stream of smoke just over her head. “Because I’m better off being your friend than not. And after the slight you just dealt me, my wounded feelings are worth at least fifty percent. And a blowjob, which I’m sure Madden had thrown into his deal, am I right?”
Instinct made Mia shoot her hand out to land on top of Charlie’s the moment he lunged out of his seat. She lifted her other hand into the air without turning to stop the three men behind her as well, hearing the sharp rustle of suit material as they moved toward Jake.
“It’s all right,” she said softly to all of them.
Mr. Masseria shook his head. “Apologize, Jacopo.”
“No, to hell with that,” he replied, violently flicking ash off his cigarette. “She steals my customer and then insults me with a twenty-percent deal?”
“It’s hardly an insult,” she replied. “I call that being awfully generous.”
He leaned toward her. “You got any idea what you’re doing, little girl? Going up against a man like me? You need to stay on stages and prance around for the fellas like the little dick tease you are.”
His voice was too low for the others to clearly make out, which was just as well—for him. Mia gave him a cold smile.
“I thought you wanted to be friends,” she said. “It’s not my fault you made a poor business decision, and it’s also not my fault Mr. Madden happens to want quality liquor for his establishment. Less is it my fault that he wants my quality liquor. This is called business, Mr. Morelli. I’m sure there’s plenty of poor folks and average joes who want your swill, but Mr. Madden isn’t one of them. In light of the fact that he was your customer before he was mine, I decided to do the friendly thing and offer to cut you in. But you’ve made your feelings on that entirely clear. So I’ll take your words to mean your ‘no’ is final.”
Jake hesitated.
She’d boxed him into a corner, as she’d intended. He hadn’t actually said no—he’d simply pissed and moaned about the way her deal had been orchestrated. Now, he’d have to either humiliate himself in front of the rest of the men by accepting her deal, or he’d be forced by pride into giving up twenty percent of a very handsome deal.
She gave him another second to weigh out the obvious dilemma, then placed her hand over his. It was time to place her bet.
“I’d be willing to make it fifty,” she said, allowing just a touch of honey to creep into her voice, “but you’d have to do something for me in return.”
Charlie gave her a sharp glance.
Jake glanced down at their hands. “That’s a tall goddamn order, all things considered.”
She used her thumb to stroke the back of his hand, once. “Once you hear my request, I doubt you’ll think so.”
“Then lay it on me, sister. I do so want us to get back to being the best of friends.”
She didn’t miss the slight note of interest in his voice as she leaned back in her seat, pulling her hand from his. “Today I attended a funeral. A young woman died last week. She was the daughter of a good friend of my uncle’s. Do you know how she died?”
Jake lifted a shoulder. “Can’t imagine.”
“She overdosed,” Mia replied. “On heroin. That she purchased in this neighborhood.”
Mr. Masseria slowly turned his head toward Jake.
“She died calling out the word ‘gems,’” Mia said, her voice growing softer with each word.
Jake said nothing, his eyes steady on hers.
“I tell you not to sell in this neighborhood,” Mr. Masseria said. “Didn’t I?”
Jake shrugged. “I don’t recall. Did you?”
“You work for me,” Masseria said coolly. “I hire you for protection for my deliveries. I make you a rich fellow, no? I got other interests in this neighborhood besides booze—and I got a valuable friendship with d’Abbruzzo and his family. You make me look bad, Jake.” His voice turned cold. “I don’t like to be made to look bad.”
“Listen,” Jake said in as reasonable a tone as Mia had ever heard. “I got a lot of business ventures. Deliveries. Protection. Booze. And, yeah, heroin. All due respect, Joe, but my business with you extends to delivery protection. You don’t control where I do my other business. And neither does she.”
“She is sitting right here,” Mia said. “You can address me.”
“Oh, sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “See, broads ain’t usually present in these kinds of situations unless they’re pouring my drink.” He patted his knee. “Maybe if you sit on my lap and feed me some olives, I’ll stop forgetting you’re here.”
Behind her, Paolo grunted angrily.
“You wouldn’t want me putting anything in your mouth, Mr. Morelli,” she said. Because I’d make sure you choked on it. “We can sit here and squabble all night about who does what and where. What I’m offering you is simple: fifty percent of my deal with Owney Madden, and you’ll stop selling drugs in this neighborhood.”
“I should get fifty percent anyway,” Jake said. “Since it was my deal to start with.”
“Enough,” Mr. Masseria said irritably. “She made you a fair deal. More than I would offer. Take the deal and be done with it.”
“That’s for me to decide,” Jake said and pulled another cigarette from his silver monogrammed case. “’Cause I don’t report to neither of you.”
Mr. Masseria’s face went a deep shade of red. Jake was toeing a very thin line.
Mia didn’t know whether to be impressed or shocked by his impertinence. Then she recalled again what Hyman had told her at the showcase—Jake was rumored to be in Maranzano’s pocket, where his real loyalty lay. And Masseria and Maranzano disliked each other.
“There are plenty of other places in this great, big city that have people who want heroin,�
� she said flatly. “This is not one of them. This is a community of families. Of elderly, of hardworking people, of young children just trying to get by. Go find the socialites in Manhattan to sell to. You could sell at the Cotton Club.”
“You want a little?” Jake leered at her. “’Cause it would sure mellow you out, hon. You ever felt ecstasy before?” He glanced at Charlie, then shrugged. “No, probably not. I’ll cut you a real swell deal.”
“Why are you so insistent on this neighborhood?” she asked. “Business has to be much better elsewhere.”
“Maybe I just like getting under your skin,” he said with a smirk.
“You’re giving yourself too much credit.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Now you’re just wasting my time,” she said. “I made you a deal. I’m waiting on an answer.”
“It ain’t a deal when you’re putting even more limitations on my business,” Jake said. “And I ain’t decided yet.”
“Then you should know this deal will expire the moment you walk out the door.”
“What if I wanna sleep on it?”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”
He tilted his head. “What happens if I accept your first offer and refuse the second?”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Selling heroin in this neighborhood means more to you than fifty percent of a lucrative liquor deal?”
The corners of his mouth turned down as he shrugged. “I just wanna know what happens, is all.”
“It’s fifty percent and no drugs in this neighborhood, period,” she said flatly. “That’s the deal.”
“Or…?” He smiled patronizingly at her.
Her patience reached its breaking point, and she spoke the first words that bubbled up her throat. “Or you’re asking for a war.”
The entire room went silent. She felt the heat from the stares of Mr. Masseria and Charlie, but did not spare them a glance, keeping her gaze steadily on Jake.
Internally, she was kicking herself. Goddamn Scalisi temper.
Princes of the Lower East Side: A 1920s Mafia Thriller (A Scalisi Family Novel) Page 18