“That was rather an unfortunate situation.” Hyman sighed. “I’m glad we were able to move past it, and that Mr. Morelli decided the climate of New York was bad for his health.”
“I got all the trucks he stole back but one,” Mia said. “But he sent money to cover what was lost between that truck and the booze on board.” Her lips twisted into a wry smirk. “Most of that money ended up going to Frankie Yale to rent warehouse space until we find a new location in Manhattan.”
“He is an enterprising young man, indeed, that Mr. Yale,” Hyman said, sarcasm coating his words like honey.
They walked outside. The sun blazed high in the sky, and the warmth of it made her suspect the unseasonable coolness would be pushed out soon by normal warm summer temperatures.
Paolo stood outside her vehicle, nodding to Hyman before sweeping the block with his narrowed gaze. He waved her forward impatiently; he did not like it, she’d come to realize, when she lingered on the sidewalk.
“I’ll be a little late to rehearsal this afternoon,” she said to Hyman. “I have some business in the Lower East Side.”
The only sign of his displeasure was a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth, but by now he knew better than to fuss at her about when she visited the old neighborhood. Moreover, she’d proven herself to him as an entertainer. In the last month, The Divine’s business had tripled each weekend. Often, a cap had to be put on the number of people who tried to get into the club as there simply wasn’t space to accommodate them.
Though their original agreement had stated her wages would be evaluated for an increase six months into her employment, he’d already doubled them. She’d been working on getting him to let her write her own song lyrics, but he seemed much more eager to pay her more money than to allow her that creative freedom.
Paolo drove her to Little Italy. The sight of it on a late Saturday morning in the summer made her smile. Mulberry Street was full of vendors selling a variety of fruits, vegetables, baked goods, and wares. People milled up and down the road, haggling, laughing, chatting. It was altogether a different place than it had been this spring, and her heart soared at the sight of it.
She had Paolo pull over to the curb, wishing to walk through the market. She’d heard of one vendor who sold blood oranges from Sicily and wanted to see how they compared to the ones from Carlo’s grove.
People called out cheerful hellos to her, which she returned in kind. Some stepped from behind their carts or put down their produce to shake her hand and inquire about her health and happiness. She knew most of their names, their children’s names, and asked questions to ensure they were not in need of anything, to see where she could be of use or help to them.
Inevitably, no matter how much she protested, vendors offered gifts at nearly every stop—fine, spicy salami, bottles of homemade wine, fresh fruit, beautiful flowers. It would be rude to refuse, but she always felt a bit guilty taking from them what they could sell. They often tried to pay cash tributes as well, but she staunchly refused those. She would not be like the other gangsters in the city, taking the money of the people she’d vowed to protect.
After she’d located the blood orange vendor, whose oranges were indeed juicy and headily sweet, she and Paolo walked to Most Precious Blood.
Father Alessio was near the front, chatting with a group of women who made up the women’s Bible study. They had spent the last few weeks campaigning for Mia’s presence in their group, which she had always demurred her way out of. That was made doubly hard by the fact that the group was led by Signora Cancio, who, after learning of the mass murder Mia had ordered on Morelli’s men, had practically prostrated herself at Mia’s feet, weeping with gratitude.
Now, it seemed, she was on a mission to save Mia’s soul.
“Signorina Scalisi!” the signora called, spotting her. Several heads turned her way, including Father Alessio’s. Smiling, the older woman strode to meet Mia, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek. “Have you come to join us this afternoon?”
“Oh, you’re very kind, Signora Cancio.” Mia patted her hand. “Sadly, I won’t be able to join you ladies today. I have some business with Father Alessio, and then I have to go to rehearsal.”
“Ah.” The signora frowned. “You must make time to hear His Word.”
“I know I do,” Mia replied politely. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Please come next time. I’ll let you know at Mass tomorrow when the next meeting is.”
Mia hid a smile. It was the signora’s indirect way of ensuring Mia would, in fact, be attending Mass in the morning. “Thank you, Signora Cancio. I appreciate your concern for my immortal soul.”
She’d meant it in a teasing way, but the signora’s face grew serious, and she put a hand on Mia’s arm and leaned toward her.
“The women and I,” she murmured, “we each say a rosary for you, send up prayers, and light candles. Every morning. For your soul. For…the sacrifice you made for us.”
Mia swallowed. Her relationship with God made her deeply uncomfortable. It was a smudge in her mind that she couldn’t wipe away, a deep-rooted fear that manifested in her dreams—the unbearable heat of hellfire and eternal torture for the lives she’d taken. Twenty-one lives now, by her count.
“Grazie,” she said.
The signora gave her a gentle, understanding smile. She patted Mia’s cheek. “You have nothing to fear. God cannot punish someone who cares so deeply for others as you do. Who cared for the death of my son so deeply. I will never forget that, Signorina Scalisi.” She took Mia’s arm and led her down the aisle. “I have kept Father Alessio long enough. We’ll see you all tomorrow. Good day.”
The women all bid her farewell. She waved at them in return.
“Well,” Father Alessio said with a smile. “How may we help one of our most wonderful benefactors?”
For the past month, Mia had given the priest a handsome sum of money—hand-delivered to him from her, not added to the offering plates, each week without fail. It wasn’t done out of the kindness of her heart. She and the priest had an arrangement.
“I’ve come to give you my weekly offering.” She handed him a thick envelope stuffed with cash. This week, it was double her usual amount.
His eyes bugged out. “May God’s blessings be upon you, my child. Your generosity is not missed by our Lord and—”
“Just tell me what I need to know.”
Father Alessio cleared his throat. “He has still not been to confession. As I tell you every week, Signor Morelli has not been here since the wedding.”
“A week is a long time.” Mia folded her arms. “Things can change fast. You haven’t seen him at all? Not in the back of church, not in the neighborhood?”
The priest bowed his head. “With all due respect, I do not go many places. If you have not located him, I certainly would not be the one to do so.”
She tapped an impatient finger on her arm. “What else?”
“No one has confessed to the use of any illicit substances. I have had no confessions of even drunkenness.”
“No one’s said anything about drugs? Using or selling?”
He shook his head, his gaze on the floor.
Mia felt a flash of pity for him. When she’d first approached him with a healthy sum of money a month ago and requested he answer her questions about the content of the confessions he heard, and if Jake Morelli still attended church or came just to make confession, he’d balked. Understandably, since he’d taken a vow to protect those confessions.
It seemed that Father Alessio, like most people she knew, would do anything for a price. The difference with him was that he was aware of his own corruption and greed and, strangely, it bothered him.
“I’ll remind you that if that changes, you’re to let me know immediately.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I have another favor to ask, Father.”
“Yes, my child?”
“My brother, Domenico, was killed almost
two years ago in Chicago. Murdered.”
Father Alessio lowered his eyes but nodded. “I have heard.”
“He’s buried in Chicago, but he belongs here in New York with our parents. They’re buried in Calvary Cemetery in Queens.”
“Yes,” the priest said. “I’ve done many funerals for our Catholic brethren who were laid to rest there.”
“I’m going to bring him home, and when I do, I’d like you to perform the burial ceremony for him. And have a Mass here in his honor.”
Father Alessio blanched. “B-but, my child… Your brother, he was—he was—”
“He was a murderer,” she said evenly. “Yes. He was.”
“I—I—”
“He killed a great many men, Father,” Mia went on. “I’m not sure myself of how many. But I do know he also killed to protect his loved ones. He did things to ensure our survival. Did he make mistakes? Of course. He made more than his share. But he was a good man.”
“I have no doubt,” the priest said, swallowing. “But his actions—his sins. They’re grave. I don’t think—”
“His wife wants his sins forgiven,” Mia said. “Absolved. She wants a Mass said for his soul. She wants him to have proper burial rites, and I want him to be laid to rest next to our parents.”
Father Alessio lowered his voice to an urgent whisper, though Paolo was the only other person in the church. “The things he has done makes that impossible, my child. He never confessed his sins to me. Therefore I cannot absolve anything, and certainly not murder. Moreover, his sins are grounds for excommunication.”
“I’ve done things that should surely get me excommunicated,” Mia said, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the envelope the priest still held. “I think you know that. And so have you.”
Father Alessio reddened as he followed her gaze down to the envelope.
“You’re the only priest I know who would do this,” she went on. “Any other priest in the city would refuse. And it’s important to my sister-in-law. That the father of her child is absolved by God. Whatever you are, you are still a man of the cloth and you can perform the rites. The strength of his widow’s prayers and the generous women of this congregation will take care of the rest.”
He hesitated. “This…is a considerable request.”
Mia narrowed her eyes. “What do we need to do so I get what I’ve asked for? And so you can continue to get a pretty chunk of money each week?”
The priest raised scandalized eyes to her. “I haven’t asked—”
“No, but you’ve taken.” A hard edge crept into her voice. “Each and every time. With a blessing on your lips. Haven’t you? How much of the money I’ve given you has made it into the church fund, Father?”
His mouth parted but no words came out.
She held his gaze for several long, silent seconds. Then she said quietly, “How much more do you want to do me this favor?”
“You cannot buy absolution. You must confess your sins and seek forgiveness, seek absolution.”
“My brother,” she snapped, “is dead. He can’t very well make confession, can he, Father?”
“You can,” he whispered. “You can confess. To your own sins, since…they are likely to be great. Confess your sins, seek forgiveness, do your penances. Then I will grant your favor.”
“You do know how absurd that is coming from you, don’t you?”
Father Alessio reddened. With shame coloring his voice, he said, “Yes. I, too, am a sinner. But that does not mean that I do not fear God. That I do not believe in His Word. And though you offer money, there are still requirements that must be fulfilled before I…” He hesitated, as though seeking his courage. “Before I absolve a murderer.”
She glared at him.
He handed her the envelope. “Ease your soul and your mind, my child. Make confession. For yourself, and for your brother. It is the only way.”
She stared at the envelope. “Is this supposed to make me think you’re a changed man all of a sudden?”
“When a man’s soul is on the line, even I cannot accept money.”
A few moments later, she entered the confessional and knelt. Through the latticed opening, she could make out Father Alessio, who crossed himself. She did the same.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” she said woodenly. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…” She blinked. She could not remember when her last confession was. “It has been many years since my last confession.”
“Go on, my child,” came the soft reply. “Tell me your sins. Unburden yourself.”
Where should she start? “I have lied and stolen, when I was a child. I stole to survive. To eat. To stay warm. I’ve lied to get my way. I’ve lied to my brother’s wife about his adultery. Many times. Lied to mislead others into having a good opinion of me.” She glanced up at him. “I’ve bribed people.”
He cleared his throat. “Go on, my child.”
“I’ve turned a blind eye to the misdeeds of others,” she said. She thought of the old days in Chicago. Thought of their friends still there. “I’ve knowingly broken the law. Many laws. The Prohibition law.”
“Go on, my child.”
She thought back to the night of Sal’s birthday party. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it had hardly been two years. “I watched my brother murder a man in front of me,” she said. “A man who tried to assault me. I watched my brother beat his face in until he was dead because he had dared to touch me. And I was glad for it.”
“Go on, my child.”
Suddenly, it was hard to speak, as though the words expanded and congealed in her throat. “I sought vengeance when my brother was murdered. I hunted down and executed the men responsible for his death. One of them…I killed with my own hand. I felt no remorse. And I still don’t.”
There was a brief pause. Then, “Go on.”
Mia tightened her jaw. She drew in a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I ordered the executions of the eighteen men found on Mulberry Street last month. I had them all killed.”
It was the first time she’d spoken those words out loud. Strange, the way they made her feel. It was one thing to know she’d done it, to have planned it all so meticulously. But it was another to utter them aloud in no uncertain terms.
The small voice in her mind, the one that represented the innocent girl she’d once been, screamed at the horror of it. How could you how could you how could how could—
“Those are indeed grave sins,” Father Alessio said finally. His voice was steady and gave nothing away. “And it is right that you make confession to seek forgiveness from our Blessed Lord. Your penance is that you must say a rosary for each of the lives you have taken and pray for their salvation, as well as your own, and your brother’s.”
That’s it?
“I…will do that.”
“And,” he added, “you must never commit murder again.”
The next silence stretched on so long, the priest’s head turned toward her behind the screen, as if checking to see if she were still awake.
“I won’t,” she said quietly.
“By our Lord Jesus Christ, I absolve you from every bond of excommunication so far as my power allows.” He made the sign of the cross, and she did the same. “I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
How should she feel, now that she’d been absolved? Not merely forgiven. Absolved. Should she feel lighter? More at ease? Peaceful?
She felt nothing at all.
Father Alessio emerged from the booth. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a kind smile. “I will see to it your brother is buried with proper rites and a Mass is said for his soul now that he is absolved of his sins.”
“Thank you, Father,” she said. “I’ll see to it you continue to receive my offerings each week.”
His smile dropped off his face. “Yes. The…church is most appreciative.”
&nbs
p; “I’m certain it is.”
“You may receive Holy Communion tomorrow,” Father Alessio added hastily. “You’ve been receiving only blessings since you’ve been attending with your family, but now that you’ve confessed to your sins and been forgiven, you may partake of the Eucharist.”
“Thank you,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say to that. “Well, I’ve kept you long enough, Father. I should be going.” She turned to leave, then stopped.
“My child?”
Mia faced him. “I have one more sin to confess.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Of course, my child.”
She gestured to the confessional. “It’s just us. We don’t have to go back in there, do we?”
Father Alessio spread his hands and smiled. “We are in the sight and hearing of God. Please, unburden yourself.”
She glanced down for a moment, then met his gaze. “I lied to a priest,” she said softly.
He blinked.
She didn’t wait to hear his suggestion for penance. Didn’t wait to hear him offer his absolution.
Mia strode out of the church.
Saturday night at The Divine brought its normal large crowd. Mia’s habit was to sing a few lowkey numbers while people ate their meals. Afterward, she’d step it up—literally, with a few dance numbers featuring The Divine Angels. Then there’d be a short intermission, where she’d get to sit in her dressing room and ease her feet out of her constricting heels, talk with Raquel as she touched up her face, and find a few moments of peace. When that was done—always too quickly—she’d wrap up her set with a handful of popular songs with a couple of originals thrown in.
It was a strange thing, to have two personas she could shut off and turn on as seamlessly as throwing a switch.
Her popularity now seemed to have exceeded the popularity she’d had in Chicago. No matter where she went in the city, she was recognized. People flocked to meet her and shake her hand. It made Paolo dreadfully uneasy, but in those moments, she threw her switch and became the Mia Scalisi who filled one of the classiest clubs in town, that performed at high-class social gatherings, who attended dinners and parties with Hyman Goldberg.
Princes of the Lower East Side: A 1920s Mafia Thriller (A Scalisi Family Novel) Page 36