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

by Meredith Allison

“Yeah?” he said. “You and what army?”

  She gave him a wintery smile, all the while asking herself the same question.

  He shook his head. “I’ll forgive you for those words. Because I know you’re in over your head, threatening me like that, and you got a bad temper,” he said. “But the next man might not be so nice to you. So you’d do well to watch your mouth.”

  “Would I?”

  “You need to remember something. You’re a woman, dollface. A gorgeous one I’d love to ride like a Kentucky Oaks filly, but a woman nonetheless. You ain’t your brother, whatever he used to be. And he’s dead now.”

  You ain’t your brother, whatever he used to be.

  The familiar words rushed back to her, spoken by a different man, in a different time, when she had been a different girl. And that night, the night she’d first heard those words, she’d set herself on an irrevocable path.

  “A man once said those exact words about my brother to me,” she said. “Do you know what became of him, Mr. Morelli?”

  Jake said nothing, just lifted an eyebrow.

  “I had him killed.”

  His eyes gleamed at her, recognizing the threat even as the expression in them turned mocking. He cocked his head with false concern. “Was he your first?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But not my last.”

  “Baby, I killed my first man when I was half your age. I’ve lost count since. It’s cute, you trying to scare me.”

  “You’re speaking awfully loudly, Mr. Morelli,” Mia said. “Are you feeling all right?”

  He sucked down then blew out an angry stream of smoke, stubbed his cigarette out right on the table, and stood up. Behind her, Mia felt the air move again.

  “Look, I came here out of respect for you, Joe,” Jake snapped. “This broad’s threatened me twice in the same breath, and I’m the asshole, right? You just gonna sit there and let her say this shit?”

  He seemed rather excited, Mia noted, pleased. She had gotten to him after all.

  “Jake, sit.” Charlie, annoyed, pointed at the chair Jake had just vacated. “Now you’re just being a jerkoff. Sit.”

  Jake hesitated a moment before taking his seat.

  “You both say rude things, you both make insult, now you both make truce,” Mr. Masseria said firmly.

  “Sure,” Mia said. “The truce is, I never see him or hear about his product in this neighborhood again.”

  “That ain’t no truce,” Jake said. “What happened to fifty percent?”

  “Off the table.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since you decided to bring my brother into this,” she replied.

  “That ain’t how you do business, sweetie,” he said menacingly. “Besides, you can’t enforce where I sell my product. You need men for that. Just like you need men for your little war.” He waved a dismissive hand to the three behind her. “More than them yahoos.”

  “You don’t know what I’ve got,” Mia said, but she was bluffing. He knew it, too, and that meant she needed to work on her poker face. Nick would be disappointed.

  “Just face it—you’re gonna see me around here whether you want to or not. I got protection business around here. I need to make my collections. Make sure everything’s safe.”

  She decided right then and there that protection business would come to an end as soon as she could make it so.

  “This is getting out of hand.” Charlie shook his head and looked at Mia. “I know he insulted Nick, but think business for a second. Put the deal back on the table. Fifty percent of the Madden deal, and he don’t sell heroin here. Right, Morelli?”

  Jake folded his arms. “I want her to offer it to me.”

  Charlie nudged her foot with his under the table.

  Mia swallowed hard. “Fifty percent of my deal with Madden,” she ground out. “Absolutely no heroin in this neighborhood anymore.”

  He glanced down at the table, where it smoldered from his cigarette. Then he looked up, and smiled. “I accept, partner.”

  Mia looked him in the eye. “I’m willing to forget about all your insults toward me this evening, but if you renege on this deal in any way, I promise you I’ll make you answer for each and every one.”

  “It gets me hot when you talk to me like that,” he murmured under his breath so only she could hear.

  She glared at him.

  He grinned and bit his lower lip. “Fine. By the way—speaking of protection.” He made a big show of looking around. “Your uncle’s shop here need protecting? ’Cause the neighborhood’s been a little dangerous lately, you know.”

  “This store already under my protection,” Mr. Masseria cut in, his tone deep and threatening. “Why you think I’m here? It is in your best interest not to overstep what I’ve allowed you to do. Because I do have an army, Jacopo.”

  Jake shrugged and glanced away under Mr. Masseria’s penetrating stare. “I didn’t mean nothing by it. Lookit, in the interest of new partnerships, I got a booze deal now. My own thing. Don’t worry, I ain’t selling in your territories,” he added, glancing at Charlie. “But I could use some warehouse space.” He flicked his head at Mia. “What do you say to selling me some space, partner? I’d pay you a good rate. I just secured fifty percent in a great deal.”

  She fixed him with a stony stare. “You must be joking.”

  He lifted his hands. “Right hand to God Himself, I’m being serious. C’mon, don’t be so selfish with all that space. I’ll pay you. In fact, take six months in advance outta my cut. How do you like that?”

  “I don’t,” she said flatly. “I don’t care if you pay me six years in advance. The answer is no.”

  A storm passed over his face. “Why?”

  “I think it’s fairly obvious why.”

  “What the hell’s a guy supposed to do?” he demanded.

  Go jump off the Empire State Building. “That’s entirely your problem, Mr. Morelli. We have one business transaction, and it doesn’t include warehouse space.”

  “Thought we’re all paesan here.”

  “You thought wrong,” Mia said. Then she shrugged. “I’m told Frankie Yale’s got warehouse space in Brooklyn. Maybe you should try talking to him.”

  He glowered at her. “I conduct my business in Manhattan. I need space here.”

  “Then perhaps you should conduct your business in Brooklyn.”

  “I can’t conduct business in Brooklyn—that’s Frankie’s territory,” he growled.

  Mia smiled. “That’s right. Darn it all.”

  “Mia,” Mr. Masseria said. “Don’t be unreasonable.”

  “I’m not being unreasonable,” she said. “The fact of the matter is simply that it’s my shop. I don’t have the room to accommodate any more product. My brother’s operation comes first. Then, Mr. Masseria, as you have a standing agreement with Mr. Goldberg, and that agreement was written into my contract when I took over the shop. And that’s all.”

  “That’s a load of shit,” Jake said. “You got room. Kindly remember I was the one who unloaded all those crates for Mr. Masseria. I’m intimately acquainted with your storage space, and you got it, especially with how fast rye moves in and out of that place. You can make room for mine.” He hesitated. “Cut my share back to twenty percent, and let me have a corner.” After another long pause, he added, “Please.”

  That word hung over the table in the silence that stretched out, as though it had caught everyone else off guard, as well as Mia.

  She studied him. He was a handsome young man, as handsome as Charlie, with an irreverence she might have once found immensely appealing. He was the kind of man who would stand up to her stubbornness and her smart mouth, and under different circumstances, she might rather have liked that.

  But he was also a man who didn’t care about poisoning people, who didn’t care about loyalty or honor, and who would, she was certain, put a knife in her back the moment she took her eyes off him.

  His dark eyes bored into hers as her ga
ze went over every inch of his face, the humility in the last word he’d spoke still thick and heavy in the air. She knew what that please must have cost him, especially in front of men like Mr. Masseria and Charlie—a good chunk out of his pride. It would have been a hard word to say to another man in front of other men, but he’d said it to her—a woman, in front of one of the most powerful men in New York, if not the most powerful man in New York.

  And now, everyone waited for her answer.

  She thought about what Don Catalano would have done in this situation. She thought about what Nick might have done.

  Both men would likely have weighed the cost of doing business with a man like Jake Morelli against what he was offering—agreeing to her first offer of twenty percent of the Madden deal, and she’d still get her way of him not selling drugs in Little Italy. All she had to do was cough up a corner of her warehouse.

  Her godfather, her brother, and probably every man in this room right now would have made the deal, and then they would have hired extra men they trusted to keep a very close eye on Jake. But they would have made the deal, and profited handsomely from it.

  That was what she should do.

  She lowered her eyes to the still-burning mark in her uncle’s table made by Jake’s cigarette. Made by him, as a sign of disrespect. The same disrespect he’d shown her from the moment he’d sat down at her table.

  Then she looked him in the eye.

  “Thank you for the generous offer. My answer is no. And that no is final.”

  Every pair of eyes swung toward her.

  Jake stared at her, his mouth setting into a tight line. “That’s it, then? That’s how you’re gonna be?”

  “I don’t understand which part of the word ‘no’ you struggle with, Mr. Morelli.” Mia stood up from the table, and Charlie and Mr. Masseria followed suit.

  Jake remained in his chair, glaring up at her.

  She tilted her head. “Mr. Madden will receive his first shipment in a few days. Once I receive payment, I’ll have your fifty percent couriered over to you. In return, you’ll no longer deal heroin here.” She paused, giving him a quick onceover. “Good luck in all your endeavors, as they no longer conflict with mine.” She stuck out her hand.

  Jake looked at her hand, draining his glass of wine.

  “I know I’m just a woman and new to business,” she said softly, “but I believe it’s customary to shake someone’s hand when you make a deal.”

  “Shake her hand, Jacopo.”

  Jake slammed his empty glass on the table and stood to his full height, several inches over her. He slowly grasped her hand in his and held it tight, giving it a couple of hard shakes. Then he jerked her against his chest.

  “I sure hope you’re as smart as you think you are,” he whispered.

  One side of Mia’s mouth curled up into a sneer as she yanked her hand from his. “I do so hope that we can go back to being the best of friends now. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”

  He backed away, nodding slowly. He glanced at Mr. Masseria and Charlie. “Thanks for a pleasant evening, gents. I’ll see myself out.”

  He strode to the coatrack by the door and put on his hat. With a long, backward look at Mia, he strolled out the door, whistling.

  “Charlie,” Mr. Masseria said, snapping his fingers. “Come. We got other business tonight.” He took Mia’s hand and kissed it. “I hope the arrangements tonight are satisfactory. It seems the best we can do with a fellow like that.” He shrugged. “Thank your aunt and uncle for us, please.”

  “I will,” she said.

  She watched with disappointment as Charlie started to follow Mr. Masseria to the door. Was that part of the scar on his palm? Being at Mr. Masseria’s beck and call, answering his every order as though he were still in the military?

  Charlie put on his hat, said a few soft words to Mr. Masseria, who nodded and slipped outside, then doubled back to Mia.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and she wasn’t sure exactly what he was apologizing for. “You’re going to need to watch out for Morelli.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Very closely, now.” He leaned toward her, and her heart ached too much to let her pride push him away. She let him kiss her cheek gently, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing they were alone.

  When he pulled back, he swallowed several times, taking one of her hands in his. “Can we—can we talk? Soon?”

  “I don’t know, Charlie.” His face fell, and her heart tumbled down after. “It’s a busy week. Rehearsals. The load on Friday. Saturday’s opening night, you know.”

  “I’ll be there with bells on,” he promised, then gave her a crooked smile. “Unless you told the bouncer to kick me out if he sees me.”

  “No,” she replied. “Of course not.”

  He sighed and nodded, toyed with her fingers for another moment, then dropped her hand. When he raised his eyes to hers, there was a look of worry in them. “Maybe you should’ve given him warehouse space, Mia. He’s unpredictable. Dangerous.”

  She just gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’ll be all right. When he gets his money, he’ll forget all about that.”

  I hope.

  Part II

  Chapter Twelve

  “Over there,” Mia said on Friday night, pointing to a corner of the warehouse beneath her shop. “Stack them. We got nearly a hundred crates coming in tonight, so make some space.”

  The two young men Charlie had sent over nodded and began pushing crates around and stacking them in the area she’d ordered, grunting from the effort of it. She wrapped her arms around herself from the chill floating in from outside, where a light rain fell.

  The days since her failed meeting with Jake Morelli had seemed to stretch on forever. Between rehearsals, she had upheld her promises to Signora Cancio and the other families who had reached out for help at the funeral reception. She’d spent a great deal of money, giving to them what she could to help lessen the burden of simply trying to live. But helping them made her happy. The money she doled out would, she hoped, improve the quality of their lives, even if that meant they didn’t have to worry about rent or electricity for six months.

  The alley behind the shop was going to be rather crowded shortly. Trucks were arriving from Iowa with crates of pure rye whiskey, and even more trucks belonging to Frankie Yale would arrive to load up a number of them to take over the border. More trucks bearing newly cut batches of Templeton from a still outside Atlantic City would be dropping off a load as well.

  She’d made sure she was early so she could review her ledger and ensure everyone was paid accordingly. Hyman would not be present tonight, as he was seeing to final preparations for the club’s grand opening the following night.

  “Must you be there?” he’d asked her at rehearsals this afternoon, with a wide smile that relayed his severe annoyance. “I can’t stress to you enough how important tomorrow night is. You should be home resting. If you are anything less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow night, I shall be very put out with you. Very put out.”

  “Hyman,” she’d replied, patting his shoulder. “You got nothing to worry about.”

  “If only that were true, Miss Scalisi.”

  She liked to imagine he knew better than to try to tell her to do otherwise.

  The previous night, she’d sent her first official delivery to Owney Madden as his supplier. He was nearly out of the rye from the ten crates she’d gifted him last week, to her surprise, and he’d come back to order eighty more from her. Eighty crates at three hundred dollars apiece—twenty-four grand, just like that.

  The money had been brought back to her by a young driver handpicked by Charlie. Mia had discreetly checked afterward and found not a cent missing. Had there been any money missing, she would have been surprised at his audacity but not at the thievery. Then what would she have to do? It wasn’t a situation she wanted to deal with, though she knew, at some point, theft was to be expected.

 
She’d divvied up the money accordingly, paying first her team of fifteen drivers—a handsome one hundred dollars apiece. They were arguably the most important cogs in the wheel, since they delivered and protected the shipments, and if they were hijacked, how much money she paid them determined whether or not they would fight to keep the load and her loyalty.

  Next, she subtracted Will’s percentage, which included padding for his supply expenditure. She would have put Bobby or Joey on a train to Templeton to make the delivery, since she trusted the mail service not at all, but Will was on his way to New York now for Mia’s debut the following night. He’d insisted on coming to see her, stating in his never-loquacious manner that it had been too long and he wanted to support her. It pleased her that he’d go to all the trouble, and she took pride in being able to hand him his cut in person.

  That left almost eighteen thousand dollars to split four ways between her, Hyman, Charlie, and Moritz. From her share, she’d paid Bobby and Joey each five hundred dollars, then grudgingly divvied her remaining portion in half, which she’d had Joey deliver to Gems this morning.

  All that work, and she had not even two thousand dollars to show for it. Twenty-four grand went fast. At least new orders were coming in from different directions each day, and Owney had promised her he’d buy from her each week. Moreover, she was buying the safety of her neighborhood, and she hoped it would be money well spent.

  She’d met with Signora Cancio on Tuesday, and as promised, had offered her help the best way she knew how. Dollars. Signora Cancio had been so moved by the money Mia had given her to cover her expenses for the next several months, she’d dropped to her knees, pledged her undying loyalty, and kissed Mia’s hands over and over, until Mia, thoroughly embarrassed, begged her to stand. She’d started her new role as Trudy’s assistant at the shop that morning.

  “Mia, look alive.”

  The sharp voice brought her out of her reverie, and she glanced up as Moritz strode toward her from the front of the shop just as the rumble of truck engines met her ears.

  “Mind on other things?” he asked as he passed her to open the back door.