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

by Meredith Allison

  “Go on,” Mia said, waving a hand at the loveseat. “Sit down. I’ll fix you a drink.”

  She poured a couple fingers of bourbon into two short tumblers and joined Annette on the loveseat. “So you got the night off.”

  Annette smirked. “Helps that Wolfy and Owney have a good working relationship.” She sipped her drink. “So, you nervous?”

  Mia swallowed all her bourbon in one go. “Not really.” She set the empty glass down.

  Annette lifted a brow. “Suppose that helps, don’t it?”

  “My first one for the night,” Mia replied with a shrug.

  “Hmm. Well, it’s good you ain’t nervous. It’s a full house out there, and let me tell you, they ain’t the kinda crowd we had at Stems.”

  “No?”

  Annette shook her head. “A highfalutin group, that’s for sure. Even the waiters are wearing tuxes. I saw a few fellas Wolfy told me were political types. And it seems you can’t be a lady here if you ain’t dripping diamonds.” Her gaze drifted down to Mia’s neck. “Though I see you got that part covered already.”

  Her fingers flew to the necklace. “It was a gift.”

  “From who?”

  “Mr. Goldberg.”

  “Oh,” Annette said with a knowing lilt. “I see.”

  Mia gave her a look. “It’s not like that.”

  “I ain’t no judge.”

  “Just…yet another reminder he’s the boss.” Mia shrugged.

  “Well, it is gorgeous.” Annette leaned close to examine it. “Looks like that cost a pretty penny.”

  “I’m sure it was hardly a drop in the bucket for him. He has the means to hand out jewelry like it’s candy.” She smiled at Annette. “Want a new job?”

  The other woman chuckled, finishing off her drink. “Nah. I’m happy where I’m at. The Cotton Club’s bigger than this place, honey.”

  She hadn’t meant it as a jab, but Mia couldn’t ignore the words’ barbs. “Can’t argue that.”

  “Give this place time, though,” Annette said quickly. “Plus with you on the marquee, why, we’ll lose business left and right.”

  “If Owney doesn’t treat you right…I’ll get it straightened out.”

  Annette smirked. “Oh, will you?”

  “One way or another,” Mia said, her tone wiping the smile off Annette’s face.

  “Well, I guess I better find my man. We have supper coming.” She got to her feet, and Mia stood with her. “Break a leg, girl. I’ll see you after.”

  “Thanks, Annie.”

  When she was alone, Mia sighed deeply and contemplated another drink. The bourbon she’d downed a few minutes ago warmed her, and she wanted to stay warm. Without it, she feared her performance would be cold and lifeless. Mechanical.

  Because that was how she felt—like a machine.

  Another knock sounded on her door.

  “It ain’t ten yet,” she called. “Go away.”

  “It’s Charlie.”

  She turned away from the decanter on a side table and opened the door. Charlie loomed in the doorway, handsome in his tux. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were rubbing elbows.”

  “Schmoozing gets old for some of us,” he said, stepping inside. “Morrie’s still at it.”

  “What a shock. Did Will make it?”

  Charlie nodded and smiled. “Said the trip was long, but he seems to be having a good time. You know, for him.”

  Mia chuckled. Will Wyatt, manufacturer of their rye, was straitlaced and sarcastic, and if he’d ever kicked his heels up, she’d eat her hat. But she hadn’t seen him since Nick’s funeral, and was looking forward to catching up with him.

  “He’s been getting chummy with Raquel,” Charlie added.

  Mia frowned, protectiveness surging through her. “Tell him she’s not that kinda girl.”

  “He knows. He’s just trying to figure out how to get the words ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ out.” His dark eyes fell on the necklace. “That’s a pretty bauble.”

  “A gift from Hyman.”

  “Generous.”

  “Calculated,” Mia corrected.

  “Well, it looks beautiful on you.” His lips curved up on one side. “And you look gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.” Her cheeks heated as she turned away. Yes, time for another drink. “You know me. Just the pretty little show pony.”

  “You’re a lot more than that,” he objected.

  “No. I’m not.” She poured out two more bourbons and handed him one.

  “That’s a pretty bleak way of looking at things.” He took a sip.

  Mia tossed back her drink in one gulp again. What was the point of sipping it? She uttered a dark laugh. “I’m a bleak gal these days.”

  He looked like he wanted to protest, then relented. “I guess I can’t blame you. A lot’s happened since you’ve been home.”

  “Including watching a man die from the bullet meant for me.” A third drink? No. It wouldn’t do to wobble through her steps or slur song lyrics.

  Charlie sighed and set his glass down. He reached into his suit coat and withdrew a small jewelry box. “It ain’t expensive diamonds, but maybe this’ll cheer you up.”

  He handed her the box and she took it, her head tilting with curiosity. It was smaller than the box Hyman had given her, and it was larger than a ring box. She opened the lid and froze.

  A small, round pendant attached to a delicate silver chain gleamed up at her. One side of the pendant was engraved with the image of a bearded man with a staff, a small child on his back.

  “It’s…” Her throat tightened, squeezing off the words.

  “Nick’s St. Christopher medal.”

  It had once belonged to their father. She’d given it to Charlie from the personal effects recovered from Nick’s body after his death. She’d insisted he have it.

  Mia stared up at him, speechless.

  “I knew you’d want it back one day,” Charlie said. “It’s yours. Nick was your brother, and it was your pop’s before that.”

  She swallowed. “But I gave it to you.”

  “Let it stay in your family. Give it to Emilia one day.” His lips twisted into a small, teasing smile. “What do I need a medal for? I got you to protect me now, tough girl.” He reached into the box and pulled it out. “I had it made into a bracelet for you. I don’t think it complements your ensemble for tonight, but—”

  Fighting through the tightness in her throat, Mia held out her arm. She wanted her brother with her tonight, in whatever way that could be managed. “Please.”

  He gently fastened the bracelet around her wrist, then lifted her hand to his lips.

  “Thank you, Charlie,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.”

  They held each other’s gazes, and Mia couldn’t stop herself from falling into his arms. In many ways, he was the same Charlie she’d always known him to be. He was, perhaps, one of the very few people in her life who had stayed consistent, scar on his palm or not.

  Her door swung open, and she and Charlie both started. Gloria stood in the doorway, her eyes going wide at the sight of them. “Oh. I—sorry.” But she didn’t leave. She folded her arms and stared at Charlie.

  He cleared his throat, his arms dropping away from Mia. “I’ll clear off. Break a leg, Mia.” He stepped around Gloria and disappeared.

  Gloria shifted her attention to Mia. She looked beautiful in the burgundy dress she’d tried on at Hyman’s. A matching headband wrapped around her forehead, and Mia had applied dark, smoky eye makeup to enhance Gloria’s big brown eyes. She’d insisted she was only coming tonight for moral support and to assist Mia and look after Raquel, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. She was thrilled to be out at a real nightclub in the city. Emilia was spending the night with Aunt Connie and Uncle Joe, and had been none too pleased to hear her mother was leaving her behind for the night. Earlier that evening, she’d pitched a tremendous fit in front of the store, and only Paolo, who scooped her into his arms and
hummed some nameless tune deep in his throat, could pacify her.

  “Who’d have thought he could be so gentle,” Gloria had mused when they’d left the store and were on the way to the club. “Perhaps I ought to have him look after her permanently.”

  Though Paolo was clearly fond of the little girl, and she him, Mia had blanched at the thought. “But then, who would look after me?” She’d been only half kidding.

  “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Gloria said with a pointed smirk, shutting the door.

  Mia flushed. She was still warm from Charlie’s embrace. “Where’s Raquel?”

  “Will’s keeping her company until I get back. She seems quite taken with him. He’s polite enough, for all he’s a bootlegger. She even made him smile once or twice.”

  “Smile? Will?”

  Gloria chuckled and nodded. “So what was Charlie doing here?”

  Mia cleared her throat and glanced at his abandoned glass. He’d only had a sip of his drink, and one sip remained. She snatched the glass and polished it off. “He came to give me a gift and wish me luck.”

  Gloria tilted her head with real interest. “What’d he give you?” She gasped softly, a hand going to her chest. “That necklace? Jesus Christ, Mia. That had to have cost a fortune. What’d he do, propose?”

  “What? No.” Mia held up her wrist. “He gave me this bracelet. It was—it was Nick’s St. Christopher medal, the one our father used to wear. Nick wore it after Papa died. Went to war wearing it.”

  Gloria grazed the medallion with her fingertips. “How lovely.”

  “One day, it’ll be Emilia’s,” Mia said softly.

  Her sister-in-law gave her a watery smile. “She’ll love it. But her aunt needs to wear it for a long time, first.” Then she cleared her throat. “So, where’d that necklace come from, then? Are those real diamonds? A real ruby?”

  “Yes, it’s all real,” Mia said. “It was a gift from Mr. Goldberg. That’s all—just a gift.”

  “Oh, really, now? Some boss you got there.”

  “Don’t you start, too,” Mia groaned. “Annette already—” She snapped her mouth shut as fire erupted in Gloria’s eyes.

  Shit, Mia!

  Annette had been a sore spot between Nick and Gloria, as he’d been catting with the leggy dancer before he died and Gloria had found out about it, despite Nick and Mia’s combined efforts to lie to her and tell her otherwise. Their affair had swayed Kiddo Grainger to accepting the job to murder Nick.

  Things were far from forgiven as far as her sister-in-law went.

  “She’s here?” Gloria hissed.

  Mia hesitated, helpless.

  Gloria stalked toward her until they were nose-to-nose. “Don’t even think about lying to me, Mia Angela Scalisi. That goddamn tramp is here?”

  “She’s not a tramp, Gloria.”

  “You’re defending her?” Her eyes went huge, full of betrayal and hurt. “After what she did? After she stole Nick from me?”

  “Hold your horses,” Mia said quickly. “Listen—what she and Nick did was wrong. And it will always be wrong. But it was never about you, Glo. And she’s moved on now. She’s with—”

  “She’s moved on because my husband is dead,” Gloria snapped. “If he were still alive, she’d still be trying to take him.”

  “You can’t take a man who doesn’t want to be taken,” Mia said, then immediately regretted it. She sucked in a sharp breath that hurt her throat. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Your meaning is plain,” Gloria said, stepping back from her.

  “Gloria, don’t leave,” Mia begged, stepping toward her. “Please—just sit down for a moment and hear me out.”

  “That’s quite all right, dear,” Gloria said with an angry sneer. “Because, you see, I’ve got a handsome gentleman waiting on me with a bottle of champagne that I intend to drink. In fact, I intend to get very drunk tonight. And perhaps, I’ll let him do with me as he pleases.”

  “What?” Mia exclaimed. “Who? Frankie Yale?”

  “Perhaps it’s best not to wait up for me tonight. Good luck, Mia.” Gloria whirled around and slammed the door shut behind her.

  Never let ’em see you sweat.

  The bourbon, however, had other ideas. She’d wanted to be warm—well, she was absolutely glowing now. Two and a half drinks were child’s play on most nights, but her heightened nerves—ah, there they are—and the unpleasant scene with Gloria had given the alcohol a boost she hadn’t counted on.

  Nonetheless, she was a professional. Had been since age eleven, and one of the old vaudeville starlets told her that a bee could fly into her bloomers and sting her where the sun didn’t shine, and not a single person in that audience should ever know something was amiss.

  The first three songs of her set went smoothly enough. They opened with the mid-tempo “I’m Goin’ South,” then slid right into “I’m Nobody’s Baby,” which rolled into “I Ain’t Got Nobody.”

  Mia’s voice carried nicely through the large room, as though it had been built with that in mind. The ceiling had a dome shape to it, allowing her voice to slide along the curves and shower down over the crowd.

  The club had been designed with meticulous care. The floor was the same dark marble as in her dressing room, the tables made of glossy cherrywood as dark as could be found, and draped with crisp, white linens. Roman columns lined either side of the room, and she knew from closely examining them that they were made of pure ivory.

  The walls had been painted with murals to resemble those found on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, but instead of featuring God, they showed scenes involving each of the Greek gods and goddesses in their most divine moments.

  And Annette had not lied—the club was absolutely packed.

  A cursory glance from side to side as she’d sung the first few numbers had shown her quite a few famous and familiar faces—Lucky Luciano and his business partner, Meyer Lansky, were in the crowd, sitting with Frankie Yale at a large table. Charlie and Moritz had joined them, with Will Wyatt in tow. Gloria and Raquel sat with them, Gloria beside Frankie and Raquel seated beside Will.

  Mia also spotted Governor Smith and his crony Senator Robinson in the crowd with very young women on their arms that could not possibly have been their wives.

  Now it was time to change into her dance number and bring out The Divine Angels. The chorus line was made up of seasoned dancers, some of whom had danced with Ziegfeld, though why they’d left his troupe for Hyman’s was a mystery. They were polite with Mia, but not friendly.

  Mia’s dance costume was certainly beautiful—a short, snug silver dress with crystal fringe, with a bodice of netting and more crystals coating the straps and down the front to catch the light—but it scratched her terribly all over where it touched her skin. The dancers’ costumes were similar but much scantier, though elegant. None of them seemed to be struggling against the urge to scratch violently at themselves.

  Hyman had hired a choreographer from Broadway to work up some special routines. He was an arrogant, impatient man, and since Mia did not have the technical skill of the other dancers—despite her oft-repeated lie about the lengthy ballet tutelage she’d received at the hands of good, old “Madame du la Boviette”—she’d had to spend long hours alone with him, marking out the steps and listening to him berate her until she longed to beat his teeth out with Nick’s blackjack.

  After the first dance number, they launched into the second, “Everybody Loves My Baby.” The tune would forever tug a taut string of pain in her heart, since it had always been one of Nick’s favorites. Focusing on her steps kept her from wallowing in the grief that threatened to rise to the surface. She’d once loved the song, too, but she could not bear it now.

  Movement near the middle of the room caught her eye. A dark-haired woman in a burgundy-colored dress lurched to her feet from where she sat at the same table as the gangsters Mia had spotted earlier, flinging out her arm. The drink she was holding sloshed onto the coup
le at the table in front of her. Her mouth opened and she sang loudly along with Mia.

  Her Charleston faltered slightly.

  Gloria.

  A stocky man shot up beside her, wrapping his arms around her and speaking rapidly into her ear as he pulled her down into her seat.

  Though Mia was grateful for the intervention, her hackles still rose at the possessive way Frankie Yale clung to Gloria, as if she were little more than a drunken flapper he’d conned into a date.

  They finished the song to raucous applause. Mia pasted on her brightest smile as she curtsied gracefully, then led the dancers off the raised stage. The band remained to continue playing through the intermission.

  She’d hardly disappeared behind the curtains that fell on either side of the stage when she practically stumbled right into Hyman’s arms.

  His face was taut with irritation. “Your sister-in-law appears to be in her cups,” he said sharply. “This isn’t that kind of establishment, Mia. I must say, I’m rather surprised by her behavior.”

  “She’s just…having a hard night,” Mia said. “She doesn’t normally act this way. I’ll speak with her later.”

  “See that you do,” he said, then grabbed her elbow. “Come. The governor and the senator wish to congratulate you.”

  She really just wanted a few moments of peace in her dressing room to catch her breath and scratch herself. “Can’t it wait?”

  Hyman gazed down at her. His bland face fell into its normal, polite smile, but his eyes gleamed with menace at her. “No. It cannot.”

  He practically dragged her out into the side hallway the talent used to get from their dressing rooms to the stage and led her down to a door at the end, which opened to the main room. As soon as they stepped out of the hallway, his grip on her arm relaxed and he looped her arm through his, as though they were the dearest of friends, and his gait slowed to a leisurely stroll.

  As he led her to the center of the room where the senator and the governor were seated, people reached out to compliment her on her performance. She responded in kind, staying in character of the Saturday Night Special, flashing her dazzling smile, making sure her dimple popped in her cheek, offering saucy compliments to the women to make them laugh and blush, and almost-but-not-quite flirting with their male companions. She winked so many times, she was sure her eyelid had permanently acquired a tic.