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

by Meredith Allison

  Across the table, Wolfy watched her with steady, intense dark eyes.

  Jake exchanged a contemptuous glance with the dealer and nodded indulgently at her. “That’s right.”

  “I always loved that last one.” Mia glanced at Jake over her cards, slowly fanning them out. “Royal flush. Scala reale. The sound of it in Italian. It’s like music. And you just knew if you were playing against someone who had a royal flush…it was all over for you.”

  Jake snorted. “Nobody ever gets a royal flush.” He held up a hundred-dollar bill and tossed it into the pot.

  “No one? Ever?” She let her words hang in the air for a moment. Deliberately, she laid her hand facedown, opened her purse, and withdrew a wad of cash that totaled a thousand dollars. She held it up, noting the way Jake’s eyes arrowed to them. “A grand. All in.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed as she tossed the stack on top of the pile of cash in the middle.

  She lifted her brows at Wolfy in silent challenge. You’re out.

  Annette didn’t miss the look, and Mia caught the subtle nudge of her elbow into his side. He glanced at her, then at Mia, then at his cards, then at Jake, before tossing his hand down. “I rather keep the rest of my money where it is—safe in my lady’s pocketbook. I fold.”

  Mia gave him an almost imperceptible nod of appreciation and shifted her gaze to Jake. Never let ’em see you sweat.

  “Have you ever in your poker career had a scala reale? Were you one of the rare ones?” She tilted her head, making a show of scrutinizing him. It struck her how no one else in the room was talking, and she felt the heat of every gaze pinned to the table in that moment. “No, I doubt you were. You don’t strike me as a believer, Mr. Morelli.”

  He sucked a tooth, returning her gaze with dark eyes that grew increasingly tight at the corners.

  “Well, I’m a believer,” she went on. “I don’t play often, but when I do, I just seem to get…real lucky.”

  Jake stared at her for what felt like a year, his eyes so piercing Mia was sure he could see to the back of her brain. But she lifted her chin, keeping her confident smirk in place. The dead silence in the room made no space for even the sound of breathing.

  “Well? Are you ready, Jake?”

  He clenched his jaw, then snatched his glass off the table and gulped a mouthful of whiskey. He stared down at his hand, then slammed them down on the table.

  “Fuck it,” he spat. “I’m out.”

  “You sure?”

  His lip curled. “Well, let’s see your scala reale, then. You’ve been taunting me with it. G’head, show it off.”

  Mia glanced at his discarded hand. A deliciously mean thrill went through her. He’d folded with three of a kind—queen of spades, queen of clubs, queen of diamonds, eight of spades, ace of hearts.

  Her smirk widened into a chilly smile as she looked down at her cards. “You know what the most important thing was my brother taught me about the game, Mr. Morelli?”

  He puffed impatiently on his cigar. “Can’t imagine.”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “The best poker face isn’t one of impassivity, like most people think. It’s the one that makes your opponent believe…whatever you want them to.” With that, she laid her sad little cards down, one by one.

  Three of diamonds. Seven of clubs. Seven of hearts. Ten of spades. Queen of hearts—the card that would have given him four of a kind, had he pulled it.

  How was that, Nick?

  She wished her brother could see it, see how she’d won a poker game with only a pair and the bluffing skills he’d relentlessly taught her to refine.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” Wolfy said, sounding both admiring and irritated. “She made you fold with a three of a kind.”

  “Bullshit,” Jake muttered, leaning over to snatch her cards. “Bull. Shit.”

  Mia stood up. “You can keep the money, Mr. Morelli. I didn’t come here for that, anyway.”

  In a movement so fast she almost missed it, he jerked a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open, then drove it through the center of the nearest card—the ace of hearts from his hand.

  “My,” she remarked. “Aren’t you in a temper?”

  Slowly, he rose and stepped so close to her she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “What’d you come here for? Just to try to show me up?”

  “I came to reason with you,” she replied. “Or try to, anyway.”

  “Yeah? What about?”

  “We had a deal, and you reneged. Not only that, you stole my trucks, and your men murdered and raped two innocent children from my neighborhood. And as if that weren’t bad enough, you sent your detective pal after me, and he tried to kill me.” She clenched her jaws tight for a moment, her nostrils flaring as she met his gaze that grew more smug by the second. “That wasn’t very nice. Thought you wanted to be friends.”

  “Well, I did, see,” he purred. “But I got to thinking about how I didn’t appreciate you strong-arming me at your uncle’s store the other night. And, I guess you could say my feelings are still hurt about you stealing my deal with Owney Madden.”

  “Are we back to that? Was fifty percent not good enough for you?”

  “Not when it was a hundred to start with.”

  “He would’ve wised up and kicked you to the curb soon as he tasted that cat piss you call whiskey,” Wolfy said with a lazy chuckle. “Win some, lose some, Jakie.”

  Jake shot him a murderous look before turning back to Mia. “I guess I ain’t feeling too reasonable.”

  “Surely,” she said, “there’s something we can work out before we resort to uglier means. I want the neighborhood people left alone. You want more money. Perhaps there’s a gesture of goodwill I can make.” Moritz had coached her to say that, and to offer to raise his percentage in the Madden deal to seventy-five. She braced herself.

  Jake made a face, his mouth pulling down at the corners, as he glanced around the room. “Yeah, well. I guess I’ve considered it and decided your goodwill can go fuck itself.”

  In that moment, she understood things between them had just taken an irreparable turn, and unless she was very careful, she was as good as dead.

  “You piece of shit,” Charlie snarled behind her, shoving forward toward Jake.

  “Not here, Charlie,” Moritz hissed, grabbing his arm.

  Mia ignored them both, her attention focused on Jake. “I’m truly sorry you feel that way. I suppose our friendship is over, then.”

  “Mia.” Moritz’s tone was sharp. He had not recommended she say that.

  Jake’s eyes flashed bright, then black. He yanked his knife from the table. The ace of hearts flew up from the momentum, then settled by the edge of the table.

  Mia reached for the card. The jagged tear from his knife was almost perfectly centered. “Think I’ll keep this as a reminder of the night I took you for everything you had just because it was something fun to do. Maybe it’s good luck.”

  His face darkened with fury, and there was no doubt in her mind that if he could have gotten away with slitting her throat in that instant, he would have.

  “That’s enough,” Moritz interjected, waving his hands. “This is not the purpose of this evening. You’re supposed to be reasoning with each other.”

  “You’re outnumbered here, anyway, Morelli,” Charlie said.

  “Oh, so this is how you planned to play it along?” Jake demanded. “You fucking pricks.”

  “This is what you’ve made it,” Charlie replied. “I suggest you take your losses like a man and leave.”

  “Or what?” Jake turned slowly to face Charlie.

  “Or I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been asking for ever since you landed here,” he growled, his hand hovering near his waist where he carried his pistol.

  Wolfy stood up and casually flashed his own pistol tucked at his side under his suit jacket. “You gon’ have a whole room of pissed-off motherfuckers to deal with, Sonny Jim. A whole mess of us against one of little ol’ you.”r />
  “Jake,” Moritz said quietly. “I think it’s best you leave.”

  Jake’s jaw twitched as he clenched it. He stubbed his cigar out violently, then snatched his suit coat from where it was draped over the back of his chair. “You’ve all spit in my face tonight—that’s clear.”

  He paused in front of Mia and spoke in a voice only she could hear. “Things could have been so good between us. But now you’ve ruined it.”

  “Oh, have I?”

  He eyed her up and down, then tapped the side of his nose. “See you around, dollface. I got a bad habit of popping up at the damnedest times, in the damnedest places.” He stepped close to her, his breath tickling her cheek as he leaned in to murmur into her ear. “I hope that ace of hearts card is as lucky as you think it is.”

  The threat lingered in the air as he cast one last sweeping look around the table, then walked out of the room.

  After a long silence, Moritz looked across the table at her.

  “I tried,” he said quietly, “to tell you.”

  As much as the man irked her, Mia had to admit he was correct. He had warned her that a man like Jacopo Morelli had to be handled delicately, and there was nothing delicate about the way she’d treated him.

  What happened after tonight might be as much her fault as his. She gazed at the door Jake had stormed out of, flipping the card between her fingers.

  “Yeah, well. I learn things the hard way.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Early the next morning, Charlie pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder blade.

  “I’ll clear off in a minute,” he murmured into her skin. “You should spend some time with your family today.”

  Mia stretched, enjoying the cool slide of sheets beneath her belly and his warm body at her back. “I won’t have much time today, either. Now that Signora Cancio’s gone, Trudy’s short-staffed at the store. She needs help. Besides, I’ve hardly been there since I’ve been back, and Raquel expressed an interest in working there.”

  “Thought she was going to nanny for Gloria?”

  “I’d like her to decide what she would rather do,” Mia replied. “She might able to do both. But not having daily chores to do is new for her, and I don’t want her to get bored.”

  He trailed a finger down her spine. “We need to talk about how to handle Morelli. He made it pretty clear he’s coming after you now.”

  Mia rolled onto her back and gazed up at him. “What would you do?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Get rid of him,” he said bluntly. “Then I’d claim his men as mine and put them to work. For the right price, loyalty can be bought.”

  She sat up suddenly, holding the sheet to her bare breasts. “His men murdered a child and raped a young girl. You would have men like that working for you?”

  “What they did was terrible, but you gotta think in terms of business, Mia. You can’t recruit everyone off loyalty. You need people who can be bought, to be frank. The more men you have working for you, the more layers there are between you and the law. You and other families.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I know this shit eats you alive, but at some point, if you want to stay in this game, you’re going to have to make hard choices you don’t like.”

  “I’ve done that,” she said quietly.

  “You have. But it doesn’t stop there.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to stay in this game…whatever that means.”

  He sat up next to her, the sheets sliding down his naked chest to pool around his waist. He cupped her chin. “It’s very, very hard to get out once you’re in. Sometimes, impossible. And deny it all you like, but Mia—you’re in. You were in ever since that night you decided you wanted Kiddo Grainger dead.” He pressed his lips tenderly to hers, then slid off the bed to dress.

  She watched him. Perhaps he had a point. Perhaps she ought to suspend some of her loftier values for the sake of success and security. Besides, what values could she stand on with the things she’d done? She’d done murder, too. What separated her from the men who’d destroyed those children? Killing for revenge was still killing.

  “Penny for your thoughts.” Charlie slung his tie around his neck and shrugged into his suit coat.

  “I—it’s nothing.”

  He rested his knuckles on the bed. “You don’t go anywhere alone from now on. I mean it. None of you. Promise me.”

  There was no time for any feminine outrage at being told what to do. The threat Jake had made last night still hung over her—and her friends were as much at risk as she was.

  I got a bad habit of popping up at the damnedest times, in the damnedest places, he’d said.

  She slid her hands over Charlie’s shoulders and gripped his lapel, tugging him close. “I promise,” she replied against his lips. “Bobby, Joey, and Paolo will take good care of us.”

  “It’s Monday. At least you don’t have to work at the club tonight,” Charlie murmured.

  “I’ll have to go back Wednesday,” she reminded him. She stroked his cheek. “You need a shave.”

  He turned his head to kiss her palm. “I’ll shave when I get back to my place. I’ll be around as much as I can. As much as you can stand.” His dark eyes twinkled at her. “Gotta check on some things for Masseria today. I’ll be in touch.” He kissed her again, this one carrying a burst of heat, then walked out the door.

  It was nearly half past seven. Likely, the girls were awake by now. She called down to the front desk to order a lavish breakfast. It was the very least she could do after neglecting them so much, especially since Raquel had arrived.

  She bathed and dressed, and by the time she knocked on Paolo’s door, the breakfast cart arrived. She gave the butler a tip and pushed the cart toward Gloria’s door, smiling over her shoulder at Paolo. “Hungry?”

  He shrugged as though unimpressed, but the gleam in his eye as he surveyed the spread—the entire breakfast menu the hotel offered—told her the food wouldn’t last long.

  Raquel opened the door to answer Mia’s knock, and her face lit up at the sight. “Cousin Mia!” she exclaimed. “What’s all this?”

  “I thought we could have breakfast together.” Mia wheeled the cart in and arranged it by the table at the back of the living room as Raquel hurried over to help her with plates and silverware.

  “It looks wonderful,” she said. The slender young woman had taken to American cuisine with gusto, and despite her small frame, could never seem to get enough of it.

  “What’s all this?”

  Gloria stepped out of her bedroom. She and Emilia were both dressed for the day, but she carried a brush in one hand and a handful of Emilia’s unruly dark curls in the other. Emilia squirmed; getting her hair brushed ranked as high as bedtime and vegetables on her list of hated things.

  “Hungry?” Mia gestured to the spread.

  “Not for a week if we eat all that,” she replied, but she was smiling. “Hold still, Emmy.”

  “Mama,” Emilia whined.

  “Can’t she get her hair brushed after she eats?” Mia wheedled.

  Gloria rolled her eyes. “Fine. Em, go see if Auntie Raquel will fix you a plate. Mia, could I speak to you for a moment?”

  Damn. She’d been trying to avoid the conversation she knew was coming. She followed Gloria into the bedroom.

  Gloria set the brush down on her vanity and glanced at Mia in the mirror. “Are you feeling better? Your…stomachache?”

  “Yes.” Mia felt the flush of guilt at her lie heat her cheeks. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have missed supper.”

  “It’s all right.” Her sister-in-law reached for a small, mirrored silver tray of creams and perfumes and idly began rearranging them. “We’re all concerned about you.”

  If you only knew how much you had to be concerned about. “I’m feeling much better today. Hence the enormous breakfast.”

  Gloria smiled briefly. “Yes. But that’s not quite what I meant.”

  Mia waited, watching her.

  �
��The things you said at church yesterday. About…vengeance. Did you mean it?”

  It would be easy and probably for the best if Mia brushed off her remarks, but something prompted her to entertain Gloria with all seriousness. “If I had, what would you think?”

  Finally, Gloria faced her. “I would be glad.”

  Mia drew her head back. “You…would?”

  “It was jarring to hear,” Gloria said. “In a church. With Aunt Connie and Uncle Joe there. And Raquel. And my daughter…” She bit her lip and shook her head. “Signora Franco’s daughter. She was only a few years older than Emilia. And Signora Cancio’s boy. He wasn’t much older, either. It occurred to me they were doing what we all did when we were children. We all ran errands for our families. Ran the streets. You and Nick were orphans. You had no parents to look after you. Those children did nothing that we did not do. I began thinking about what I would do if…if that had happened to Emilia.”

  “I would never let—” Mia started, her voice suddenly thick with emotion.

  Gloria reached for her hand. “I know you would never. But if it had, I would want those bastards dead. The same way those two women want the bastards who ruined their children dead. I…understand. As a mother. I understand.”

  “What are you saying, exactly?” Mia asked.

  Gloria drew in a breath through her nose and stepped closer, still holding Mia’s hand. “I’m saying I think you should do…what you think is right. No one with the means to do anything to change this neighborhood cares about it as much as you do. Because you understand what it’s meant to us all. For the people who left Sicily and came here, Little Italy is all they know. The community here they’ve worked for a generation to build, to make a safe place. It’s being destroyed, and our children are getting hurt. Raped. Killed. People are afraid to walk the streets by themselves. None of the padroni are doing anything about it.”

  She shook her head and dropped Mia’s hand, pacing toward the vanity and back again. “Uncle Joe told me Don Masseria hasn’t been to the store since that meeting you held. He used to stop by a couple times a week, just to make his presence known on the pretense he was checking on the people of this neighborhood. No more. People have gone to him for help, for justice, and he does nothing. Nothing is changing. And it’s time things changed.”