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

by Meredith Allison

  “From whom, if you don’t mind me asking?” Mia asked.

  All three men turned toward her.

  Owney looked slightly surprised at the question. He shrugged. “I got a deal.”

  “That’s not what I asked you,” Mia said.

  Wolfy chuckled.

  She pointed at the glass he’d abandoned. “May I?”

  He drew his head back, then lifted a shoulder and reached for the glass. He handed it to her. “I wouldn’t, if I was you, but it’s your funeral.”

  She sniffed the contents. It looked like a regular neat whiskey, but the smell was off. And familiar. And when she took a tiny sip, the potent, vile flavor that had the same familiarity in the taste as it did the scent flowed over her tongue as it all burned down her throat.

  This time, she managed to not spit it all out like she had the first time she’d tasted it in the alley behind her shop, but let it stream out of her mouth and back into the glass. She might have been horrified at her lack of manners but for the anger she felt.

  Nonetheless, her eyes watered as she coughed. Wolfy gave her a handkerchief from his pocket and took the glass from her.

  Hyman watched her, his face expressionless.

  Owney tilted his head. “Now you, too.”

  Mia dabbed the corners of her mouth with the hanky. “Have you actually tasted your own product, Mr. Madden?”

  “Not this batch,” he admitted.

  “What exactly did you think you were purchasing?”

  “Rye whiskey,” he replied, clearly mystified and annoyed.

  Mia met Hyman’s gaze. He lowered his eyes. “Again, I’ll ask, from whom did you buy this crap?”

  “Some Italian fella,” Owney said. “Gems, he called himself.”

  Mia heaved a sigh and shook her head. So that was who Moritz had sold the load to after she’d banished it from the shop. And based on Hyman’s somewhat sheepish expression, he knew it.

  “If I might offer you a bit of advice, Mr. Madden,” Mia said, “don’t serve this to your customers tonight.”

  His brow creased. “I’m flush with what I bought from that fella. I haven’t enough stock of everything else at the moment.”

  “Then get ready to lose a whole lot of business when people start walking out of here,” Mia said. “This club has a reputation in the city. A high-class place. Some of the best entertainment around. Good food. Great booze. Serve them that swill, and that reputation goes into the garbage.”

  “She know what she talking about,” Wolfy said.

  “Miss Scalisi,” Hyman said, his lips stretched into a tight smile, “I think it’s best we let Mr. Madden tend to his own affairs, don’t you?”

  Mia offered her own insincere smile in return. “Sure. Are we done here for today?”

  “Wait.” Owney held out his hand for Wolfy’s abandoned drink. “Give me that.”

  He handled his sip with a great deal more control than either Wolfy or Mia, but the tightening around his eyes told her he noticed the horrible taste.

  “There’s not enough soda or simple syrup in the world to mix with that and make it drinkable, Mr. Madden,” Mia said.

  “Goddammit,” he cursed, and set the glass down. “That bastard assured me it was the finest rye.”

  “It was the finest rye,” Mia said. “Once.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The details aren’t important,” Mia said. “How many crates of this stuff did you buy from him?”

  “Ten.”

  “How about this.” Mia took a step closer to Owney. He wasn’t a tall man, so they stood nearly nose-to-nose. She didn’t even have to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “I happen to have ten crates of the real good stuff. Rye straight from Templeton, Iowa. As a thank-you for offering me rehearsal space today, and to help out a pal in need, I’d be happy to send those crates to you before you open tonight. And if you like what you taste…maybe there’s a deal to be worked out.”

  Owney’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a cheeky little bird, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a businesswoman,” she said, allowing a hint of her own steel to creep into her voice.

  “Is this the part where we shake?” he said.

  “I’m offering a favor,” Mia said. “You don’t have to shake on a favor.”

  Behind her, Wolfy said, “You ain’t got many choices, Owney. I’d take the lady up on her kind offer. Her shit’s the good shit.”

  “And what am I to do about the Gems man?” Owney asked. “He seems a bit…unpredictable.”

  Mia shrugged. “That’s entirely up to you. I’d never dream of meddling in your affairs.”

  “Hmph.” He looked amused, then sighed. “Well, I haven’t much choice, have I? Send the crates, if you wouldn’t mind. As long as it’s better than this goat piss, it’ll do.”

  “I think you’ll find it far superior to anything you’ve ever tasted,” Mia said. “And you’re an Irishman. You know your whiskey.”

  “That I do.” He eyed her up and down. “If I like what I taste, you’ll be hearing from me again.”

  Mia smiled. “I would consider it an honor to be the Cotton Club’s supplier of rye whiskey. Until then, have a lovely night.”

  He tapped the side of his forehead. “Yeah. You come back any time as my special guest.”

  Hyman took her arm and they strolled toward the entrance, where Paolo lounged in a chair beside the door, reading a small, leather-bound book. He glanced up as they approached, then rose and went outside.

  The doorman held the door for them as they stepped beneath the awning to wait for Paolo to bring the car. The sky had darkened with the onset of twilight, and though spring had officially come to New York, the evening air clung stubbornly to the chill of winter. Mia wrapped her arms around herself, wishing for a heavier coat.

  “Well,” Hyman said, facing her. “That was quite a performance.”

  Mia lifted a shoulder. “Thanks. Overall, I think it went well, though I know I flubbed some of the lines in that new song the boys worked up. Don’t worry, though, I’ll get them straightened out. Opening night will be perfect.”

  “What a relief,” Hyman said. “I do so appreciate perfection. However, that’s not the performance I’m referring to.”

  She knew that. She cocked her head and braced herself for the scolding. “Oh?”

  Instead, to her complete shock, a slow smile tugged across Hyman’s face. “The way you handled yourself back there was truly impressive, Mia. Owney Madden is not a man to be trifled with, and though he’s still somewhat of a young man, he comes from a less progressive time, where men did not conduct business with women in any capacity—outside the boudoir. And certainly not in delicate matters of illegal operations such as this.”

  “I…thought you’d be irritated,” Mia said. “Since I said I’d send him the crates for free.”

  “Oh, I certainly am,” Hyman said drily. “Do you believe I’m truly happy about seeing two thousand dollars just float away from me? Of course not. On the other hand, I didn’t get to where I am by making bad business choices. Nor did I get to where I am by ignoring the simple tenet that it takes money to make money. You’re familiar with that expression, Miss Scalisi? Moreover…” His gaze became distant as it traveled somewhere beyond her shoulder. “Moreover, I have been ruminating on that unpleasant scene that took place outside your shop the night we had the unloading. I fear I had begun to rely too heavily on Moritz and Charlie to run the operation. There was too much emphasis on shrewd practicality rather than quality—both are equally important. And I believe you understand that in a way those ambitious young men don’t.”

  “It’s what Nick always said.”

  Hyman nodded slowly. “Yes. I daresay he’d be quite proud of what you just did in there. Not many men would have even attempted that without some lengthy preamble.”

  “I’ve never been particularly interested in preamble of any length.” Mia flashed a cheeky smile.

  He met it wi
th a reluctant one. “That much has always been abundantly clear. Anyway, well done. I believe you’ve just earned yourself a new customer.”

  “I’ve earned myself a new customer?”

  “Does that require explanation?”

  “I just…” She shook her head. “It almost sounds as though you’re putting me in charge.”

  “I’m going to have the boys step back and focus on other things and see how you do in a position of leadership,” Hyman said. “After all, I invited you to take a more active role when I transitioned the shop to you. And you’ve very likely just secured the business of one of the most important men in the city. That’s not going to be an easy task. If you can pull this off with grace, then that only excites me for what we may be able to accomplish together at The Divine.”

  “I don’t see Morrie being agreeable to me in a position of leadership.”

  “Morrie has other endeavors that keep him rather busy,” he said in a tone that gave away nothing. “And I’m sure Charlie has his hands full working with Mr. Masseria, as well.”

  A cloud passed through her mind. Yes, she was sure Charlie was quite busy, too.

  “One more thing, and perhaps the most important of all.” His voice was low and serious, and he dipped his head to look her in the eye. “In addition to pulling off a risky and brilliant business move in there, you’ve also just inadvertently made yourself an enemy.”

  “You said he was a customer.”

  “I am referring to his previous dealer,” Hyman said. “Mr. Morelli. Gems, as he’s so colorfully known. He purchased for himself the liquor you so politely refused with the intent of kicking off his own bootlegging business.”

  “Then he’s a moron for ever thinking that garbage was the thing to sell to the Cotton Club,” Mia replied, folding her arms.

  “I won’t argue with you on that point. However, he did have an agreement with Mr. Madden, and now you’ve very likely ended that.”

  “That’s presumptuous, isn’t it?” Mia said. “Owney hasn’t agreed to anything.”

  “He would be a foolish man not to capitalize on quality liquor for one of the finest and most popular establishments in town, as would any man in the same business. As I would be. No, he hasn’t agreed to anything. You’re correct. But I can read people, I daresay better than even you, Miss Scalisi. And I can tell you it’s likely a matter of time. And when that time comes, you’d better be prepared for some rather strong feelings from Mr. Morelli.”

  “So what do you think I should do?”

  He tilted his head. “What do you think your brother would have done?”

  Mia lowered her eyes as she considered the question. What would Nick have done? A mirthless smile tugged up one side of her mouth.

  Nick would have murdered Jake Morelli and eliminated any problems before they could arise.

  Don Catalano, on the other hand, had frequently advised her to avoid bloodshed except in the direst of circumstances, when her back was to the wall and she was left with no choice.

  Blood is expensive, he’d told her time and again. You are here to make money, not lose it all on a war.

  Would there be a war?

  “I know what Nick would have done,” she said softly. “But that’s not what I’m going to do.” She lifted her gaze to Hyman’s. “I won’t murder a man preemptively.”

  His eyes gleamed with approval, but he said, “Just understand, whether you intended to or not, you’ve struck the first blow. Preemptively.”

  “I’m not trying to strike any blow,” she protested. “I’m simply…being a businessman. Woman.”

  “Come,” he said softly. “You’re much too intelligent for that sort of naivete. You know what you’ve just done. And you know you can’t undo it.”

  Damn him for being able to read her so well, he was practically clairvoyant. “Perhaps I can speak with Mr. Morelli. Reason with him.”

  “Can a matador reason with a bull once he’s flashed his red and set the beast to charging him?” Hyman shrugged. “Perhaps it’s not impossible, but what would suit the matador the most is to learn to move deftly, anticipate the bull’s next move, and…get out of the way.”

  For a moment, a feeling of deep regret took root in her heart. She hadn’t even considered any of this when she’d opened her big mouth to Owney. She’d dismissed Jake as easily as she would a fly, but the impact of her choice carried the promise of consequences she hadn’t taken into account.

  She’d wanted to play in a man’s world, and now, she might be due a man’s repercussions.

  “Why didn’t you intervene, then?” she asked. “And don’t tell me you’re shy.”

  “Because I didn’t disagree with you.” He lifted a shoulder. “Moritz purchased a quantity of our booze from me. He did with it what he did. You rejected that batch. So, he did what any enterprising person would have done—he marked it up and sold it all off to someone who was desperate for it. I just never thought it would wind up in the hands of a man like Owney Madden. He must have been desperate for it if he didn’t bother to sample it first. That, or Mr. Morelli is quite the silver-tongued, snake oil salesman.” Hyman slid his hands into his pockets, a casual stance Mia rarely saw him take. “I got paid for the rejected batch either way. And I’ll make my very handsome cut from any future sales with Mr. Madden. It benefits me no matter what.”

  “And leave me out to dry?”

  He withdrew his hands and placed them on her shoulders. “Not at all. Should you need my help, you’ll have it.”

  She wasn’t sure what the full breadth of his “help” would look like, but she took some comfort in knowing she wouldn’t have to fight alone. Perhaps Mr. Madden will keep our arrangement quiet, if there is one.

  “Ah,” Hyman said, gesturing to something behind her. “Your chariot has arrived.” Graciously, he opened the back passenger door for her.

  “Can I offer you a ride somewhere?” Mia said.

  Hyman checked his pocket watch. “No, but thank you. One of my men will be along shortly. I have some business to take care of at The Divine.” He tucked the watch back into his waistcoat. “I’ll expect to see you back here tomorrow at three. The choreographer will be here to work with you through the numbers, and the chorines will be here as well. Consider today a rehearsal for your rehearsals. I’ll also expect you to know all your lyrics, yes?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  He gave her as kind a smile as he was capable of. “Go on, then. You’ll have a busy evening preparing that little favor to Owney, so make sure you get a good meal and some rest.”

  “Yes, of course, Papa,” she said sarcastically.

  “I would never presume, Miss Scalisi,” he replied, then shut the door once she was seated inside.

  Paolo turned to her from the front seat and mimed eating.

  She shook her head. “Later. Take me to the shop, please. We got some work to do.”

  Chapter Ten

  Late Tuesday morning, Mia walked into Most Precious Blood with her family to pay her last respects to the daughter of Signor Bruno.

  It was the third time she’d been to the cathedral since returning home. Aunt Connie had accepted her first visit to Sunday Mass with them as acknowledgment that she should expect Mia every single Sunday now. Mia understood Aunt Connie didn’t give two slaps how late her Saturday nights kept her out. She was expected with Gloria and Emilia in her Sunday black.

  The past Saturday night, she’d spent several long, frustrating hours in a meeting with Hyman, Charlie, Moritz, and later, Frankie Yale at Hyman’s penthouse. He’d made it clear Mia was to be placed in charge of the Scalisi operation, given her successful new deal with Owney Madden, who had thanked her for the crates she’d sent over and wanted to discuss the details of their new partnership very soon. Mia’s triumph was short-lived when Moritz had, predictably, protested Hyman’s suggestion, but Hyman had gently reminded him of his other business ventures.

  It had been his exquisitely polite way of telling
Moritz to go chase himself, she had noted with amusement.

  “Give Mia a chance,” he’d added. “You didn’t see her tête-à-tête with Mr. Madden, but suffice it to say, it would appear the mademoiselle knows what she’s doing. Besides, she brokered this deal, not you, Moritz.”

  The doubt that had clouded her mind outside the Cotton Club had crept back in that moment, but she would rather have died than let anyone—certainly Moritz—see it.

  Charlie had advised her to hold a meeting with Jake. The man was a loose cannon, Charlie had told her, and she needed to prepare for the fallout of her impetuousness. It would be held at the grocery, and Masseria would act as mediator.

  “Be patient,” Charlie had said. “Make him an attractive offer. Cut him in at a good percentage. Just remember you can’t take back what you did. So you better push forward.”

  It was risky, but with Jake’s obvious interest in her, combined with the pretty numbers she’d put before him, she was confident she could work something out to her advantage and avoid making an enemy.

  Besides, there was something else she wanted from him. Something she would demand of him tonight at their meeting. Something she was reminded of now as she followed her family into the somber atmosphere of the cathedral.

  She wanted him to stop his heroin business in the neighborhood. Immediately.

  She had paid for the funeral—every last dime. The service, the reception at a local hall, supplies for the meal to be served, the burial itself, and money for Signor Bruno.

  Word seemed to travel fast over the weekend, because by the time she and the family arrived at Most Precious Blood, heads turned in their direction—in her direction.

  Signor Bruno met them at the back of the church. “I wish to offer you a place behind my family, up front,” he said, shaking Uncle Joe’s hand and accepting Aunt Connie’s embrace. He seemed to have aged twenty years since Mia last saw him. His face was drawn and pale, and he had lost some weight. “Come. Let me lead you.”

  “No,” Uncle Joe said, slipping an arm around his shoulders. “We will walk with you.”