“Help me up,” she said to Paolo, and he pulled her to her feet. Immediately she stepped around him and hurried to the door.
“No, Mia!”
Outside, she swiveled her head in both directions. Whoever that had been was long gone. There weren’t any other cars on the street, not even parked, empty ones.
Behind her, Charlie tugged her elbow. “You can’t just go running around like that,” he said harshly. “What the fuck happened?”
But she couldn’t answer him as her gaze drifted down to the man sprawled on the sidewalk on his back, his eyes still wide and open. Unseeing.
Fred.
He was dead.
She knelt beside him, resting a hand on his forehead as she surveyed the damage. His chest was riddled with bullet holes, and all of them oozed. It reminded her so much of—of—
She knelt next to her brother’s body, then sat down. She pulled his upper body up into her arms and, with a shaking hand, turned his face toward hers. It was still, pale, his eyes half open and glazed over, staring unseeing at something beyond her shoulder. Blood soaked his entire front and most of the lower half of his face. She felt warmth and wetness against her legs where his back was pressed and knew it was his blood, too.
He was gone.
With a hand that shook, Mia gently closed Fred’s eyes as an invisible iron vise closed around her throat. He’d been a good man. A crooked cop on the take, but he hadn’t always been that way. She had corrupted him. He’d been a hardworking man who’d just wanted to provide for himself and his wife the best he could.
And now, another widow had been made.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him, settling her hand on his pale, waxy forehead. “I’m so very sorry.”
Charlie knelt beside her. “Mia,” he said in a gentle voice. “We have to move his body.”
“His wife deserves to bury her husband.”
“We’ll work all that out,” he said, touching her shoulder. “But we gotta move him before we get our people on the police force involved. It’s real bad for business if it gets out he was killed here, in front of your shop.”
She wanted to argue, though she had no idea why or what she’d accomplish. Instead, she just nodded mutely and rose on legs that trembled slightly.
Charlie snapped his fingers and four men came forward. In a matter of minutes, Fred’s body had been carried off and loaded into one of the empty trucks, and one of the men used a tarp and a few bottles of liquor to wash away the blood.
She stared at the spot where Fred had been lying. Where he’d fallen. Where he’d died.
It was as though nothing had happened at all.
“Damage to the storefront’s not so bad, actually,” Moritz said from behind her.
She turned to look at him. She hadn’t even realized he’d come outside. He stood with his hands in his pockets, studying the places where stray bullets had peppered the glass.
“I know someone who can fix this. I’ll send him over first thing in the morning. It’ll be good as new before the shop opens.”
“Thank you,” she said in a dull voice.
“Of course.” He opened the door and gestured her inside. As she passed, he gently caught her wrist. “This…is what you’ve signed up for.” His voice was almost kind, understanding.
And once again, he was right.
She stepped inside the shop. All the warmth had gone out of it. “I want weekly payments set up to be delivered to Fred’s widow. All of their expenses covered plus a little extra.”
“And just where is that money—”
Mia whirled around. “I don’t give a shit where it comes from, Morrie, just make it goddamn happen!”
Without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heel and stalked into the back room. There, she found Charlie talking to Frankie Yale. They turned as she approached, and she hoped she didn’t look nearly as rattled as she felt.
Frankie flicked his chin at her. “You all right?”
“Fine.” She hoped she sounded convincing.
“You oughtta go home,” Charlie said quietly but firmly. “We’re about done here, anyway.”
“Your boys got me loaded up in no time at all,” Frankie added. “Good boys. I just hung around in case things got hot. And Charlie’s right—you need to go home and tend to yourself.”
“Make sure the boys get paid a little extra,” Mia said to Charlie. “I promised them.”
He nodded. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll make sure they know it was you took care of them.”
She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. “Fred— The shop—”
Charlie took her hand. “I got it under control, Mia. I promise. Let Paolo take you home.”
Feeling a little bewildered and heartsick, Mia bid them goodnight and followed Paolo out the back door, down the alley, and across the street to where her black Ford was parked. He helped her inside, then slid behind the wheel.
It occurred to her as they drove toward the Murray Hill Hotel that no one had even questioned who had done the shooting tonight. Perhaps they’d been distracted with more immediate matters. Perhaps, like her, they’d been in shock. Or perhaps, she thought as her shock faded, it was obvious who had done it.
“Apparently, I’ve underestimated Mr. Morelli,” she said to Paolo.
That wouldn’t happen again.
Chapter Thirteen
She didn’t sleep that night.
But when dawn came and she still lay on her side, staring out the window, her mind wasn’t on her debut at The Divine that night. It wasn’t on how tired she felt. She wasn’t worried about finding the energy to make it through the night, nor did she feel even a little trepidation at Hyman seeing her with the bags under her eyes.
She wasn’t dwelling on the fear that someone had very well tried to end her life last night. When she closed her eyes, she saw the snub nose of the revolver pointing at her, over and over. She heard the crack of the shot, and she felt the phantom searing burn of the bullet tearing through the flesh of her body.
Which would have happened, had it not been for Paolo pulling her out of the way.
Yet, she was numb to the realization that she could have been killed. Someone had tried to kill her before. She was well acquainted with that fear, but she could not give herself over to it now.
Her mind was on Fred’s widow.
In the short time she’d known him, he’d referenced his wife, Dolores, many times. Dolores, to whom he’d been married nearly twenty years by now. Dolores, who had surely already been alerted of her husband’s fate. No children to take care of her. Dolores, by herself. Alone.
Mia knew the feeling.
How had Dolores spent her sleepless night? Had she screamed her anguish, or had she mourned silently? Had she known what her husband was up to or what had led him to his death? Had she been prepared for this?
No. This is never something you can prepare for.
Eyes burning with exhaustion, she walked out of her bedroom. Now that she’d moved into a smaller suite by herself, she didn’t have to worry about waking Gloria or Raquel. Gloria’s door was still closed. She picked up the telephone where it rested on a sleek side table and rang Charlie.
“You know what time it is?” he said by way of greeting, his voice harsh and sleepy.
“I don’t care,” she replied.
“Oh, Mia.” His tone changed. “Sorry. Why aren’t you sleeping still?”
“Couldn’t sleep at all,” she said. “Listen, I need you to do something for me. I’d ask Morrie, but…”
“Yeah, I got it. What do you need?”
After she told him and hung up, she shuffled back to her bed. The delivery would not come for another couple of hours yet. And she really should try to sleep.
But each time she closed her eyes, his face was added to the lineup of dead men she saw. Men who had died by her hand or order. She hadn’t killed Fred, but…hadn’t she?
And the thought that loomed over all the others, the one
that kept her mind chugging along like the faithful engine on an old train.
Jake Morelli.
She felt it, a hard pang in her chest, that he was responsible somehow. It had his stink all over it. But she couldn’t prove it. The shooter had left nothing behind, had given no indication for whom he worked, and his car had been a generic black Ford with no license plates. She had no concrete evidence or reason to believe he’d had anything to do with it, yet she believed it, deep in the pit of her stomach.
He’d tried to have her killed.
Perhaps she was naive for thinking he wouldn’t try something like this. Perhaps she was the worst fool to ever exist to think her sex protected her from such things. Men tried to kill one another in this business—they did not try to kill women.
But they do. And they will keep trying.
By the time Charlie arrived and Paolo led him into the suite’s sitting room, Mia was waiting on the sofa with a cup of coffee, dressed and only slightly more refreshed from the one fitful hour of sleep she’d managed to claim.
Charlie sat in an easy chair beside the sofa, holding up a hand to refuse the coffee she offered. He studied her face. “How are you?”
She sipped her coffee. “Didn’t really sleep.”
“That’s gonna hurt later. You got a long night ahead of you.”
Mia lifted her shoulders.
Charlie reached inside his suit coat and withdrew an envelope. “Here.”
She took the unsealed envelope and peered inside. It was stuffed with money. “It’s all here?”
“Every last cent you asked for, all given with extreme prejudice from our pal Morrie,” Charlie said drily. “He asked me to kindly remind you Fred was a member of the police union and they’ll take care of his widow.”
“You can kindly remind him to go jump in a lake,” she said tiredly.
He gave her a quick smile. “We found his place, on the west side. Are you ready?”
She nodded and stood up. Paolo approached her, holding her light spring coat open. She allowed him to slide it over her shoulders. “I need to say goodbye to Gloria and Raquel.”
When Charlie opened the door to the suite, she was surprised to see Bobby and Joey waiting outside. Both men nodded respectfully to her.
She bid them good morning as she walked to Gloria’s door and knocked on it. It opened a moment later, and Gloria looked at her in confusion.
“I thought you were going to have breakfast with us. Where are you going?”
She stepped aside so Mia could walk in. Raquel sat at the small table by the window, laughing with Emilia. She caught sight of Mia and leaped to her feet, then hurried to her and took her hands.
“Cousin Mia,” she said. She spoke splendid English, with only a trace of an accent. She had been studying the language since she’d been a young girl, and when Mia and Gloria were in Sicily, had insisted in conversing exclusively in English.
This morning, she wore one of the fashionable dresses Mia had bought her the previous day, a lovely lavender frock with insets of lace and chiffon. She greeted her cousin with a kiss on each cheek. “Good morning, Raquel. You look beautiful.”
Raquel spun in a circle, the flowy skirt swishing around her legs. “Thank you for the dresses, Cousin Mia. Today we are going to meet Gloria’s aunt and uncle. Then, do some more exploring. I see you’re ready to go.”
Mia put her hand on Raquel’s shoulder. “I have some business to attend to this morning, Raquel.” She pointed out into the hallway, where Charlie, Bobby, and Joey waited politely. Paolo, she was already well acquainted with.
Raquel’s eyes widened. “You have business with…those men?”
“Most of them work for me.”
“They work…for you?”
“I’ll explain it to you soon.” Mia led Raquel a few steps closer to the door. “Boys, this is my cousin. She just arrived from Sicily yesterday. Miss Raquel Scalisi.”
“Miss Scalisi,” Bobby and Joey said with respect.
“Nice to meet you,” Charlie said.
Paolo nodded a greeting to her.
Mia turned back to Raquel. “I came to say good morning to you. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see much of you since you got here. I’m quite busy.”
“It’s all right,” Raquel said, then added carefully in a quieter voice, “I know some things from Carlo. Why Paolo came with you.”
Mia only nodded. There wasn’t time to pull at that thread. “We’ll have fun tonight. I’ll see you later.” She turned to Gloria, who’d been silent during their chat, watching Mia. The question was obvious in her dark eyes.
It was on the tip of Mia’s tongue to default to her old response that told Gloria absolutely nothing. But then she hesitated.
If anyone could understand Dolores’s pain, it would be Gloria.
She stepped around Raquel and paused in front of her sister-in-law. After a beat, Mia said into her ear in a soft voice just above a whisper, “The cop who walked the beat around my shop got killed last night. I’m going to see his widow. Pay my respects.”
Gloria’s brows rushed together.
“You need to be careful,” Mia added, placing a hand on her forearm. “You and Raquel both.”
“Why?” Gloria whispered. “Was it you they were after?”
“I…don’t know. I don’t think so.” The whole truth wouldn’t do for now, so Mia patted her arm and turned away. In the hallway, she turned to Joey and Bobby. “Would you two stay here, please? Just outside the suite. Until we return.”
“Of course, Miss Scalisi.”
She glanced back as Paolo pulled the door shut, catching one last glimpse of Gloria’s face and the despair written on it, and the confusion on Raquel’s.
“Was that smart?” Charlie murmured to her as they walked toward the elevator bank, Paolo following. He dismissed the attendant when the young man tried to enter the car with them and pushed the buttons himself. “Especially in front of your cousin?”
Mia shrugged. “Maybe not, but I can’t keep leaving Gloria in the dark. Besides, you and I both know what was really meant to happen last night, and if I’m in danger, she and Raquel and Emilia are, too. I can’t have that.”
“Gems,” Charlie spat.
“We don’t know that.”
“It don’t take a genius to figure it, Mia,” he said as the elevator descended.
“It doesn’t,” she agreed, “but I won’t make a move until I know for sure.”
“And give him the chance for another try at you?”
“Why else you think I got all yous around?” she cracked, affecting a real wise-guy accent.
Charlie didn’t smile. “This is serious, Mia.”
Paolo turned from where he stood in front of them and made a soft grunt of agreement.
The little smile dropped off her face. “I know it is. And I’m taking it seriously. But I need to know who was responsible for the order before I do anything.” She fixed her stare straight ahead at her reflection in the mirrored doors. “Or I’m no better than he is.”
“You can’t have anyone looking at you, at us, as weak.”
“I also won’t solve my problems with murder,” Mia replied. “Unless I have no other option.”
“One foot in,” he said softly, “one foot out.”
In the mirrored doors, they locked gazes until she couldn’t take the weight of it any longer and glanced away.
Charlie led her to his waiting car. A man she didn’t recognize sat behind the wheel. “He’s one of mine,” he told her before she could ask. “He’s solid.”
They drove to the modest, six-story apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen, where Fred McClarty had lived with Dolores for years. Charlie’s driver kept the car running.
Charlie led her up to the fourth floor and pointed out which door was Dolores’s. She placed a hand on his chest. “You and Paolo wait out here. I’m going in alone.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked the few feet down the
hall and stopped in front of the door. She drew a quick, deep breath, then knocked on the door.
After a long pause, a woman’s voice called out, low, unsure. “Who is it?”
“My name is Mia. I knew your husband,” Mia replied. “I’ve come to pay my respects.”
There was another long pause, then she heard the click of a lock unlatching. The door opened a few inches, the chain still in place. A middle-aged woman peered out at her, her bloodshot eyes narrow and suspicious. She eyed Mia up and down.
“You…knew my husband,” she repeated.
“He worked for me.” Mia cursed her choice of words and hoped she hadn’t caused the woman any additional heartache. There were only so many places a woman’s mind could go when another woman showed up at her door claiming to be acquainted with her husband.
Dolores’s brow creased. “He worked for you? My husband was a police officer.”
“He provided security at my shop.” In a kind voice, she added, “May I come in, please, Mrs. McClarty?”
Dolores studied her again. “I s’pose that’d be all right.” She shut the door, and Mia heard the slide of the chain before it opened again, wider. Dolores gestured her inside.
She was a small woman, shorter even than Mia, and her blonde hair was shot through with gray. It was gathered in a messy knot at her nape, as though she hadn’t wanted to bother much with it. She wore a severe, high-collared black dress and she looked like she hadn’t had much sleep, either.
“I just put some coffee on. May I offer you some, Miss, uh…?”
“Scalisi. And that would be wonderful, thank you.” Mia could use another cup herself, and something told her it would be rude to refuse the woman.
“Please have a seat. It’ll just be a moment.”
While she bustled around the small kitchen, Mia took a seat on a faded sofa that had seen better days at least two generations ago and glanced around as she tugged her gloves off. It was the sort of place Mia envisioned Fred had lived—cramped but cozy, with furniture that was functional only and well-worn. The mantel was crowded with pictures and knick-knacks, and there was a bookshelf in one corner with great, dusty tomes.
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