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

by Meredith Allison

  “So what you saying?” Mr. Masseria said. “I should take him out? He works for Maranzano. I kill him, Maranzano retaliates on me.”

  “Leave Mr. Morelli to me,” Mia said.

  Three pairs of eyes shifted toward her. Charlie wore no expression, but Mr. Masseria and Mr. Luciano both looked mildly surprised.

  “What you gonna do with him?” Mr. Masseria asked.

  Mia glanced down at the dish of blood orange sorbet in front of her. It was starting to melt. She spooned up a little and tasted it—it reminded her exactly of the ripe blood oranges that grew in the grove behind Cousin Carlo’s villa.

  “Whatever I do,” she said, “is it safe to assume you’ll have no hard feelings if some misfortune befalls him…permanently?”

  Luciano chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Not from me.”

  Masseria tilted his head. “You gonna kill him?” he asked bluntly. Fortunately, the owner had quickly cleared the place of any lingering customers once they’d arrived.

  Mia met his gaze. “If he makes me.”

  Mr. Masseria lifted one bushy eyebrow.

  “I still have one more offer I’d like to make him,” she said, ignoring Charlie’s inquisitive glance. “I think it might allow him to see things my way before it comes to what you’ve suggested.”

  “You been pretty generous with him so far,” Luciano said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What else could you possibly have to offer him at this point? He’s destroyed everything you got.”

  “That’s my business,” she replied. “Mr. Luciano.”

  He drew his head back ever so slightly, and she got the impression he was deciding whether or not to be angry. She doubted many people spoke to Charles Luciano like that, but she didn’t care.

  Finally, his hesitation gave way to a smirk. “Good luck with that business, then.”

  “Don’t hesitate too long,” Mr. Masseria advised. “He’s a bomb, waiting to explode.”

  “I’ve set him off once or twice,” Mia said.

  He finished the last bite of his tiramisu with painful slowness, then set down the sterling silver spoon and pushed the china plate away. “Look, you want my help, you got it. You come to Lucky, you come to me, whatever. I just want this mess resolved. No messing around.”

  “Absolutely none,” Mia said. She stood when he did and kissed both his cheeks. “And thank you. If I need your help, I will certainly come to you.”

  Mr. Masseria lightly pinched her cheek, then patted it. “You need a ride home?”

  Mia nodded over her shoulder. “Mr. Scarpa will see me home.”

  He nodded at Luciano and Charlie. “Amunninni.”

  “I’ll catch up,” Charlie told them, hanging back. When they were out of earshot, he looked at her, his brow creased. “What offer?”

  “Something I’ve been thinking of for a few days,” she replied, keeping her face in neutral lines. “I’ve decided Moritz is right. I ought to try reasoning with him instead of siccing our men on him. So, I’ve come up with something I think will show him how serious I am about mending fences. And if he refuses even after this offer, well, then I’ll know where we stand.”

  Charlie cupped her face in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. “What’re you not telling me, Mia?”

  It was no use to be this deliberately obtuse with Charlie, since he knew her well enough to know she was concealing something. But the plan she had been formulating in her mind since the shop burned was too delicate to discuss with him. He would try to talk her out of it, and she wouldn’t be talked out of it. Moreover, if things went sideways, she didn’t want him involved for his own protection.

  She reached up and placed her hands on his wrists and gently removed his hands from her face. “I’m telling you not to worry, Charlie. And I’m asking you to trust me.” She nodded toward the door, where Mr. Masseria and Mr. Luciano impatiently waited. “Now, you should go. They’re waiting for you.”

  He hesitated. “Mia…”

  She sat back down in the seat Mr. Masseria had vacated, her back to the wall and looking out over the whole restaurant. She dragged her dish of melted blood orange sorbet toward her and stirred it with her spoon.

  “It’s all right, Charlie,” she said to the dish. “Things will be different. Soon.”

  He took a deep breath and shook his head, then joined Mr. Masseria and Mr. Luciano at the door.

  Finally by herself in the restaurant, she finished her sorbet and leaned back in the chair, steepling her fingers and losing herself in her thoughts.

  The owner approached her, his hands behind his back as two waiters quickly cleared the table. “May I bring you anything else, Signorina Scalisi?”

  She caught sight of Paolo walking up the sidewalk to the restaurant door, Bobby and Joey in tow, and smiled at the owner.

  “A bottle of your best wine, please,” she said. “And four glasses.”

  The owner dipped his head. “At once.”

  She reached out and touched his elbow before he turned away. “Would you mind keeping the restaurant closed for us? I’ll compensate you for the inconvenience.”

  “Of course,” he said with another bob of his head. “No compensation needed. It is an honor to serve you, Signorina Scalisi.”

  “Thank you, but I insist,” she said as the three men approached the table. “We’ll be here a while, you see. We have much to discuss.”

  On Friday afternoon, Mia leaned on the piano at The Divine, chatting quietly with Gene about the setlist. The musicians were also taking a short break, though there was the occasional trumpet riff and low laugh.

  All week she had left the hotel only to go to rehearsal and, beginning Wednesday evening, performances at the club. In addition to Charlie’s driver from Brooklyn, Mia, Gloria, Emilia, and Raquel never went anywhere without Paolo, Bobby, and Joey. At the hotel, the latter two shared Paolo’s room and they took turns standing guard in the hallway through the night. At the club, Hyman furnished his own security detail as well. One of her team was always stationed outside her dressing room whether she was in it or not, and between their two camps, no door or window into the club remained unguarded.

  Detective Wallace hadn’t shown his face again, though Mia knew better than to relax. She hadn’t seen Morelli, either—now that the shop was gone, it would be much more difficult for him to reach her. Her gut told her he was far from done trying, and was likely plotting something else against her.

  In the meantime, though he seemed to be lying in wait, his men were busy. They had performed a series of coordinated attacks throughout the city, attacking bookies, card halls, and other warehouses operated by Charlie, including those he controlled at the behest of Mr. Masseria. It was a bold declaration of war against anyone associated with Mia.

  And despite it all…she still had a job to do.

  Hyman stepped on stage from where he’d been lingering at a table where Gloria and Raquel were sitting. Mia had forced Hyman and Gloria to make amends since she refused to go anywhere without them unless absolutely necessary. Coming to rehearsal was something they enjoyed, Raquel especially. Due to the circumstances he’d been gracious enough, but had told Mia privately Gloria would not be served alcohol in the club.

  “Mia,” he called. “New song. Just for you from a musician friend of mine. Here.” He handed sheets of music and lyrics to her and Gene.

  Gene glanced over it and shrugged. “I can cook up an arrangement with the boys easy enough. Simple melody.”

  “Think it could be ready by tomorrow night?” Hyman asked. “Sunday?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Hyman looked at Mia. “And you?”

  She scanned the lyrics, shaking her head. “I’m not singing this.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Have you read these lyrics?” she said, holding up the sheet.

  “Of course I have. I had to make sure it was up to Divine standards, friend or no.”

  She shrugged and set the sh
eet on top of the piano. “Then you know how stupid it is. I’ll sound like some simpering fool, singing that.”

  “Men love simpering fools, especially ones who fill out very expensive, bespoke evening gowns.” Hyman folded his arms and fixed her with his famous bland smile, the one that predicated severe annoyance.

  “I can’t sing Bessie Smith, then turn around and sing this.” She picked up the paper and cleared her throat. “‘Every fella I kiss is just good practice for when I’m loving you’,” she sang along the bubbly-sweet melody Gene plinked out on the piano. “‘For there’s no fella around I’d love to love more when I’m loving you.’” She fixed Hyman with a pointed glance and tossed the paper aside.

  “It’s just a song, Mia,” Hyman said, throwing a hand out to the side. “The crowd will eat it up.”

  She frowned at him. “Then you sing it.”

  He glowered at her. “My dear girl, I’d advise against testing me.”

  “As the headlining talent, I think I should have a say in what I sing,” she insisted.

  “You can have a say,” he snapped, “but I make all final decisions. Now stop being difficult and sing the song, Mia!” He stormed off the stage.

  “You know, he can be a real ass sometimes,” Mia grumbled, and snatched the paper up.

  Gene chuckled. “You two could have your own act, you know?” He patted her hand. “Come on, let’s just run through it a few times.”

  During a break where Gene consulted with the band about the music, Paolo walked toward the stage from the back entrance. She met him at the edge of the stage, kneeling down to speak in a low voice to him.

  “Is everything ready for tonight?” she asked.

  He gave her a firm nod.

  “Bobby and Joey know where they need to be and when? And they have all the men they need? Men they can trust?”

  Another firm nod.

  Mia returned it, biting her lip as she stared off into space, her thoughts whirling like a tornado. “You must be very careful. I don’t want anything traced back to us, to me—by the authorities. And if these men can fold—”

  Paolo pointed at her, then tapped the stage. You’ll be here.

  She tightened her jaw. “I keep wondering if we’ve overlooked anything.”

  He waved a hand, shaking his head as decisively as he’d nodded. He pointed at her again, then at the stage, then slashed his hand through the air in a sideways motion. You sing. That’s all.

  His confidence helped ease her mind. Yes, she would sing. She would resume her role tonight of the simple showgirl, as far from a strategist as possible. But as she’d promised Charlie the other day, things would be very different after tonight.

  “Look, Cousin Mia!”

  That evening, Mia turned from her vanity to look at her cousin. Her mouth fell open as she took in the young woman’s appearance. She wore a stunning, pale-yellow dress that sparkled with beadwork and stood out beautifully against her olive skin, but it was her newly shorn hair that took Mia by surprise.

  “Your hair!” she exclaimed, sliding off the stool and walking toward her.

  “It’s like yours,” Raquel said, patting her new bob with a little self-conscious smile. “I just had it done at the beauty parlor down the street.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Mia said admiringly, lightly touching a lock that brushed Raquel’s cheek. “You look like a real American flapper.” A flash of mischief went through her. “I’m sure Mr. Wyatt will like it.”

  “Will?” Raquel said, then blushed. “You think so?”

  “I think so.”

  “He said he has to leave to go back home in a few days,” Raquel said. “He asked if he could take me to dinner.”

  “Oh, did he?” Mia lifted a brow. This was news to her.

  “Should I go?”

  “Only if you want to,” Mia said. “But Will is a very nice man. Not particularly chatty, but nice.”

  “And handsome,” Raquel added, her blush deepening.

  Gloria and Raquel were accompanying her to the club tonight, to make up for Raquel’s disastrous first night out. That was what Mia had told them, but the truth was, she didn’t want them out of her sight tonight. It pained her that Gloria had delivered Emilia to her aunt and uncle earlier that afternoon, but there was nothing else to be done. A nightclub was not an appropriate place for a little girl, and Mia had guards stationed around the grocery for safekeeping.

  “Well, I am your assistant tonight,” Raquel said, straightening. “What shall I do?”

  “You can be in charge of my garment bag,” Mia said, nodding to the large zippered bag that contained all of her costumes. “When we get to the club, just make sure everything’s out of the bag and hanging on the rack in my dressing room. And when I do costume changes, you can help me in and out of them. It’s much easier and faster when I have some help.”

  “What happened to your last garment girl?”

  Mia tipped her head back and laughed. “You’re looking at her, doll.”

  Raquel smiled. “Well, leave it to me. I’ll be the best garment girl you never had.”

  As they giggled, Mia was struck by how young and carefree she felt. It seemed it had been a long time since she’d giggled with a girlfriend.

  Gloria poked her head in through the adjoining door. “Time to go, girls.”

  She hadn’t had so much as a sip of booze that night, and Mia appreciated her for it. She knew Gloria was still embarrassed by what had happened last time, but Mia was determined to make her forget about it. And if she wanted so much as a glass of champagne tonight, she would have it, Hyman be damned.

  At the club, Paolo escorted the three women back to Mia’s dressing room. Before she closed the door, they exchanged glances. She nodded slightly at him, and a chill went through her at the slight smile she got in return.

  Her plan was in motion, and there was no stopping it now, even if she wanted to.

  Friday night at The Divine brought a considerable crowd. The kitchen staff was busy fixing the gourmet meal orders that flowed in from the guests. A member of the waitstaff delivered three covered dishes to Mia’s dressing room, but she was too on edge to eat. She made a big show of pushing her food around and taking miniscule bites while keeping up a steady flow of chitchat to hide the fact that she was hardly eating, something Gloria would surely pick up on.

  She went over the setlist with Raquel so she would know which songs were her cues to meet Mia back in her dressing room, then she sent her cousin and Gloria out to the main room to enjoy themselves.

  She left the dressing room herself to get a drink, peeking into the main room to make sure Charlie and Moritz were there, and they were, with Will and a few other men. Good. If they were here, then they were not out there, where her plan, of which they had no knowledge, was unfolding.

  Mia returned to her dressing room, a New York Sour in hand. Finally alone, she took a deep breath as she sat on the cushioned bench at her vanity. After a moment, she dragged her eyes up to her reflection. Somehow, it got harder and harder to look at herself in the mirror.

  Her plan had been in motion for days now, but as the night crept into the wee hours of the following morning, the true bottom line would be put into action. The days of discussions with the few men she trusted, the hours of careful planning, her specific, clear, and direct orders, would all be carried out tonight. Tomorrow would be a new day, indeed. And she would be a different woman.

  Her plan would, perhaps, not resolve everything. But for her intended recipient, it would send a message, loud and clear.

  How that recipient decided to respond was what made her grip her glass so tight it nearly cracked.

  She bolted the contents of the glass to fortify herself. She had one job tonight—to do her job. To sing, to dance, to give everyone out there a night they’d remember until the next one. None of them should know the tumult she was in right now. None of them should know that she was in any way connected to her plan, which would almost certainly ma
ke headlines tomorrow.

  The St. Christopher medallion on the bracelet around her wrist clanked gently against her glass as she set it down. She fingered it.

  What would you think, dear brother? What would you think of this plan? What would you think of me?

  Nick might have been indescribably proud, if he’d been alive to see it all unfold.

  He might also be indescribably horrified.

  There was a gentle knock on her door. “Mia?”

  She froze. It was Charlie. She’d managed to avoid him since the meeting with Mr. Masseria the other day, but he knew she was in here, and there was no running.

  With a soft sigh, she stood up carefully so as not to upset the delicate netting or beading on her dress, and opened the door.

  “Hi,” he said. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” she said, offering half a smile.

  He leaned down to graze her cheek with his lips. She turned her head at the last moment so that his mouth landed on hers.

  “Came to check on you,” he murmured, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I don’t see your Sicilian pit bull anywhere.”

  Damn. Mia stepped back, waiting to close the door until he entered the room. “I asked him make the rounds outside. There’s enough people in here that would make an attack on me pretty hard.”

  “Not that hard,” Charlie said, spinning to face her. “No guard outside your room, either.”

  Mia shrugged, feigning innocence. “I decided I didn’t want some joe breathing outside my dressing room. Makes a girl uneasy, you know.”

  He frowned. “You know better than that. This is not the time to be lax. He wants you dead, Mia. He’s been coming at us from all sides the past week. I’ve lost four men so far because of him.”

  “I’m sorry about them,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Really.”

  He nodded, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “You need to make a move with him. He’s forcing my hand. I’ve been sitting idle for you.”

  “Just give me a little more time.” She rested her hand on his chest. “I’ll be approaching him soon. I promise. Your men won’t have died in vain.”