The Long Path Home

by Ellen Lindseth

  The trick would be finding a way to hide the bottle somewhere on her person until she was ready for it.

  She eyed her garment rack, assessing and discarding dresses in rapid succession. The jade green silk had a lovely low neckline that would make it easy to stash the bottle between her breasts but would also draw Tony’s eyes to her cleavage, which would be problematic if the bottle left a bump.

  The black satin, on the other hand . . . was a backless sheath that would guarantee his attention stayed firmly on her derriere. The problem was the bodice was a single piece of fabric from neck to waist, leaving no easy way to access the bottle once hidden, since the whole dress was held up by the thin strap around her neck. But if she tied a sash around her waist, she could discreetly tuck the bottle in it. Or perhaps it would be safer in her clutch.

  Hurriedly, she ripped the fabric patches off her nipples. The sharp sting as the glue let go made her eyes water as always. Blinking to clear her vision, she slipped the black dress off its hanger and threw it over her head. She didn’t bother with a foundation garment, her stomach sufficiently flat from a persistent lack of food. Nor did she even take time to exchange her G-string for regular panties. The risk of Tony coming to collect her before she was ready pulsed like acid through her veins.

  She quickly tied a red silk sash around her waist, though it honestly ruined the lines of the dress, slipped on a pair of black wedges, and tucked the amber bottle along with a tube of lipstick into her gold sequined clutch. With thirty seconds to spare, she whirled to the mirror and checked her appearance. She tucked a platinum-blonde curl back in place and inspected her bright-red lipstick as she worked to slow her panicked breathing. Thank the stars she hadn’t had a chance to remove her false eyelashes. Even though they made her eyes itch and were often the first thing she took off after a performance, men seemed utterly enchanted by them. And she was all about enchanting Tony into downing his doctored drink without complaint.

  The dressing curtain jerked open, and she jumped. Pasting a smile on her lips, she smoothed her dress as Tony gave her a thorough once-over, her heart ready to beat right out of her chest.

  He scowled. “Lose the sash.”

  Praying she wasn’t signing her death warrant, she straightened her spine like a queen and looked him right in the eye. “No.”

  Chapter 2

  “It’s all the rage now, and I either keep it or the date is off,” Vi continued into the shocked silence that had followed her small act of rebellion.

  For a long moment he stared at her as the muffled music of the show continued on the other side of the curtain. She hardly dared breathe, terrified that each passing second might prove her last. Then, as she had hoped, his libido won out over his offended sartorial senses, and the tension left his shoulders.

  “Fine, but for the record, I don’t like mouthy dolls who tell me no.”

  Her pulse skittered at the warning, but she managed to keep her expression smooth as she stepped forward. “Then we’re in agreement, because I don’t like being told no, either.”

  He was still scowling as he gestured for her to lead the way, but at least her death no longer seemed imminent. She batted her eyelashes at him as she passed, hoping to further ease the tension between them. Behind her she heard him chuckle, and her spirits dared to lift a little.

  “God, I love bold women.” His fingers grabbed her right butt cheek and gave it a hard squeeze. She bit back on a tart response even as her eyes watered. Her plan would work best if he didn’t expect any resistance on her part. As long as she could play it cool for the first part of the night, she would be home free.

  And cool was exactly how she played it for the next thirty minutes, right up to when Tony escorted her through a tidy, fenced-in yard to the freshly painted door of an attractive if small brick house. While he unlocked it, Vi looked around at the shadowy environs. Illuminated by only moonlight, with the crickets in full song, the quiet residential street seemed an unlikely place for a Mob hit man. But then again, maybe not. She supposed even the worst of humanity longed for a bit of peace now and then. Just as he might long to show off his ill-gotten wealth through nice clothes or a shiny black sedan like the one currently parked by the curb.

  “After you, sweetheart.” Tony held the screen door out of the way.

  Trying not to feel like she was being invited to her execution, Vi glided past him and into the dark house. Behind her, Tony flicked on a switch, and light filled the living room. Surprise nicked her again. Somebody with obvious taste had decorated the room in cocoa brown and reddish orange with soft ivory accents. White lilies, artfully arranged in a Lalique-style vase, filled the room with their exotic fragrance. She somehow doubted Tony had put them there.

  “If you don’t like the furniture, I can return it,” Tony said, coming to stand behind her. “I just had it delivered yesterday, but I’m sure the store won’t mind taking it back if I tell ’em to.”

  “Pardon?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “All this.” He gestured toward the interior. “It’s yours, Lily. I’ve wanted to buy it for you since the first moment I saw you onstage six months ago, and Sal warned me you wouldn’t come cheap. But to my mind, a doll as fine as you is worth the expense.”

  She was already shaking her head before he even had a chance to finish. “No, wait . . . you’ve got me all wrong. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy—”

  “You live in a rented room on the South Side, Lil, whereas this whole house could be yours, rent-free. Which you’re gonna need, unless you’ve got a stash of dough squirreled away somewhere that I don’t know about. Because I’ve looked into your finances and you won’t last long on your own after the show closes—”

  “After it what?” Her ears buzzed slightly, as if she might faint. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

  “The show, Lil. It’s closing next week, when the month is up. The bosses want to stage something more family friendly so as to bring in more revenue. And to take some of the heat off the club, too.”

  “Who told you this?”

  He stripped off his suit coat and tossed it over a cream-and-brown-striped armchair. “Frank. I talked to him yesterday, and he said it’s a done deal.”

  And Frank, being the head of the Outfit’s accounting and finances, would know.

  Violet sank onto the floral couch, her thoughts spinning. “That’s fine. Shows open and close all the time. There’s always somebody hiring.” Though the venues likely wouldn’t be as nice as the Palace. “I can check with Bobby Lee over at the Heights. He likes my work.”

  Tony crossed to the polished walnut sideboard and started to pour himself a drink. “You’re assuming I’ll let you continue working. Which I won’t.”

  She jerked her head up. “I wasn’t aware I had given you a say in what I do.”

  He glanced at her, his expression smooth. “That’s what we’re here to discuss tonight.”

  “Excuse me? I thought I was here for a drink and maybe a discussion about future get-togethers. Because the only person who gets to run my life is me, and only me.”

  He dismissed her words with a wave. “You and I both know if I say you don’t work, there’s not a venue in town that’ll dare hire you. Not even if you decide to go legit.”

  “Then I’ll get a job doing something else. I can waitress or sell perfume.”

  “The family doesn’t only handle entertainment, Lil. You know that. Its reach is wide.”

  “Not that wide. Not all of Chicago is in the Outfit’s hands,” she said hotly, even as she wondered if that were true. “And there are still other cities where I could work.”

  He snorted derisively. “Sure. You and I both know you won’t leave. Your son is here. And yeah, I know all about little Jimmy, so don’t bother denying it.”

  Shock stole her breath. It was her deepest fear come true. She had worked so hard to keep the Tonys of the world away from Jimmy, hoping the taint of her sins would never tou
ch him. She had never breathed a word of his existence to anyone but Sal, who had helped her during those dark months. But never to the other dancers, nor to her landlady, nor to even her family . . .

  Except she had told the bank, where she had set up a savings account in his name. Her heart sank at her unwitting mistake.

  “You won’t hurt him?” she asked finally.

  “Don’t worry. He’s fine and he’ll stay that way, assuming we reach an acceptable agreement.”

  She closed her eyes, despair bitter on her tongue. “Which is?”

  “I should think it would be obvious to a bright doll like you.”

  She opened her eyes to find him standing right in front of her. “You want me to marry you?”

  “Lily,” he said disapprovingly. “You know better than to think I’d marry a showgirl.”

  “Right. Silly me.” She huffed a pained laugh. Oh, the irony of being considered too sullied to make a suitable wife to a Mob hit man. It was like spoiled icing on the cake ruins of her life. “I forgot I’m not the sort of girl a fellow takes home to Mama.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said, not unkindly, as he caressed her cheek. She barely repressed her flinch. “You are the kind of girl that makes wise men foolish. The kind every fellow dreams of having in his bed all day and all night. Ready and willing to do whatever he asks, things no wife would dream of doing.”

  Nausea twisted her gut. “Gee, I’m flattered you think so highly of me.”

  “You have no idea,” he said, totally missing her sarcasm. “The fact that other men stare at you night after night makes my blood boil. You were meant to be mine, Lil. Mine and mine alone.”

  She shuddered and leaned away, rubbing her arms. “Yes, well . . . mind if I make myself a drink?”

  He blinked. “Forgive me. Where are my manners? Let me fix you one so we can toast our future.”

  She jumped to her feet as he turned toward the sideboard. “No! No, let me. Please. I’m very . . . particular about my spirits.”

  His gaze burned on her skin as she brushed past him.

  “I didn’t know you were a booze connoisseur,” he said, surprise clear in his voice.

  “Oh yes. I learned as a little girl at my father’s knee,” she said, keeping her back to him. A cold sweat prickled between her shoulder blades as she turned over one of the clean glasses. Her heart beat so hard and fast she was sure he must hear it. “How ’bout I make you one, too? I’m told I make a swell drink. Just the kind of libation a big, strong man like you might appreciate.”

  “Your dad some kind of bootlegger?”

  “Not exactly.” She reached for a crystal decanter and removed the stopper. A delicate sniff revealed it contained gin. Gin that was as dry as the desert. Perfect.

  “Then what was he?” His husky voice was laced with suspicion, something she needed to allay as fast as possible.

  She tossed a careless smile over her shoulder and winked. “A banker who knew how to keep his best customers happy even as they lost money. Now am I making you that drink or not?”

  Her father would have been horrified if he’d heard her. He was one of the most honest, caring, generous people she knew. And a teetotaler. Or at least he had been last time she’d been home. With her luck, her disappearance may have led him to abuse the bottle. Another sin on a long list of them for which she would someday have to atone.

  Tony relaxed and drained his glass. He chuckled as he placed his now empty glass on the sideboard next to her. “Your papà sounds like my kinda guy. Tell me, what does he think of his little girl stripping for a living?”

  “Oh, he doesn’t know,” she said as airily as she could as she moved the glass closer. And with any luck he never will, she added silently. Just like he would never learn she’d gotten knocked up by her sister’s boyfriend. If she hadn’t been able to face his disappointment over that, there was no way she’d be able to tell him she now strutted buck naked onstage.

  That development would die with her and never sully her father’s ears.

  She poured each of them two generous shots of gin and then a splash of dry vermouth. Now for the finishing touch . . .

  “Do you have any ice, Tony? On a hot night like this, it would be just the thing.”

  “Absolutely, sweetheart. Anything you want.” He pinched her ass, and she jumped, almost spilling vermouth onto the polished wood. He made an approving sound. “So responsive. Sure you want that drink?”

  “Do bees like honey?” she said sweetly, despite the revulsion clogging her throat. “Ice, please.”

  She held her breath as he slunk off toward what she assumed was the kitchen. The second he disappeared, she opened her clutch and pulled out the amber bottle. Experience had taught her it was a fine line between adding enough to knock someone out and making the drink unpalatable. Unfortunately, Tony was larger than most, which meant she might have to increase the dosage more than she liked. But it was either take the risk of having him taste the drug or else face the prospect of having to have sex with the man. Bile crawled up her throat in horror at the thought of having such a soulless killer inside her body.

  She would rather throw herself in front of a train.

  Leather soles squeaked nearby. Out of time, Vi hurriedly added what she hoped was the correct number of drops, then stuffed the vial into her sash. Thank goodness she had thought to wear it, as he had given her no time to return the bottle to her clutch.

  “Here you are, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks.” She swizzled the ice thoroughly into each glass, letting the cold further dampen the taste. She took care to do Tony’s drink last, so as not to cross-contaminate. No use blurring her senses when she needed them most. Picking up the now-sweating glasses, she turned to offer one to Tony. A smile curved her lips. “To us.”

  He lifted his glass to hers in silent toast. “Bottoms up. The night isn’t getting any younger, and I, unfortunately, have an appointment early tomorrow.”

  Her fingers tightened on the delicate crystal glass as her stomach twisted in distress for whomever was on the other end of that appointment. It likely wasn’t going to go well for them. She took a large sip of her drink. The icy bite of the cocktail soothed and refreshed her, and it took a real effort not to gulp it down, which wouldn’t help matters at all.

  If she wanted to survive the night, she was going to need a clear head.

  Tony, following her lead, took a large swallow of his own drink and then grimaced. “What the hell did you put in this?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I make it too strong?” she asked, rounding her eyes in mock concern. As she’d hoped, his fragile male ego defended itself immediately.

  “No. I just prefer my drinks to be like my women: sweet, not bitter.” He laughed at his joke, and Vi tried to do the same. Then her smile became genuine as he proceeded to down the rest of the drink in a single go. He smacked his lips. “Ah, not so bad after all.”

  “It’s an acquired taste,” she agreed, her mood steadily improving. Combined with the effects of his first drink, the knockout drops would overtake him any minute now. She was almost free. There was still tomorrow for her to worry about, but that was tomorrow.

  After taking a healthy swallow of her own drink for courage, she set the glass aside and gazed at her target with sultry intent. She sauntered over, exaggerating the swish of her hips to capture his attention. The heat and the alcohol swirled in her stomach uneasily as she ran her fingers lightly down his shirtfront, but she didn’t retreat. She had a job to do. A stage to set.

  “Shall we sit? I feel like there’s so much we should discuss.”

  He caught her hand. “How ’bout we save the talk for later?”

  “Tsk, tsk.” She forced herself to smile. “Business before pleasure. After all, a gal has to look out for her best interests. Same as you.”

  “Fine. But let’s skip the niceties. Anything you want, within reason, is yours in exchange for me getting what I want.”

  “Except no r
ing,” she said sarcastically, even though there was no way in hell she would marry someone like Tony Vecchione. She would rather die a shriveled-up old maid.

  “If it comes with a leg shackle, no. Otherwise, you can have all the rings you want. Hell, put rings on your toes. I don’t care.” He dropped his head and nuzzled her neck. “Jesus, Lily—you smell so good.”

  “That’s nice.” She wedged her arm between them. “There’s still something else I want to discuss.”

  “You talk.” He licked her skin, leaving a damp, slimy trail. Vi’s stomach lurched. “I’ll listen.”

  “I’m serious,” she said, giving him a little push. To her surprise, he stumbled slightly. Her mood skyrocketed. Hallelujah—the drug was starting to take effect.

  Tony lifted his head, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who had noticed his rapidly eroding coordination. “What’s going on?”

  She widened her eyes. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I mean I wasn’t this damn exhausted when I got here. What did you do to me?”

  “Nothing. I swear,” she answered, alarmed and concerned. Or she hoped that’s how he would read her act. Lord above, let him buy it, she prayed, holding her breath. Because if he didn’t, she was dead.

  He shook his head as if to clear it and swayed.

  She looped his arm around her shoulders to support him and then nearly staggered under his weight as he leaned into her. “Couch, Tony. Now.”

  The fear in her voice now wasn’t faked. If he fell onto the floor, there was no way she would be able to move him. And Tony waking up on the floor tomorrow morning would severely diminish any chance of him believing they had spent a passionate night together.

  “Damn you, Lily. I’ll get you for thish,” he said, his words slurring. “Don’t think I won’t.”

  “It wasn’t me. It’s the heat, like you said. You sit here, and I’ll go get a cool cloth. You’ll be fine in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Just wait and see.” She did her best to angle him correctly as he collapsed like a sack of wet cement onto the sofa cushions. Not a moment too soon, either.