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

by Meredith Allison

  “It’s not unnecessary,” Charlie said shortly. “He tried to kill you, Mia. You don’t let something like that go. Because he’s gonna keep coming at you until he gets lucky.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” She shook her head. “I learned today a young boy I helped, whose mother I helped, was murdered last night. I learned another woman’s girl was raped. By the men who work for Jacopo Morelli. These are children. If they’d do that to kids, of course I know I’m fair game.”

  “All the more reason to take him out.”

  “Maybe not,” Moritz said. “His men, sure. But Jake is motivated by one thing—money. Maybe there’s a deal to be struck with him.”

  Charlie scoffed in disbelief. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “I’m not.” He straightened his glasses and looked at Mia. “Your last meeting with him went poorly. Maybe it’s time to really reason with him.”

  She sighed, folding her arms. “Do you truly believe he’s someone who can be reasoned with?”

  “To avoid unnecessary bloodshed, I’d say it’s worth a try.” Moritz held up his hands. “Listen. Morelli’s a regular guest at a card game I operate. Why not have a meeting with him and try to hash things out? On neutral territory. We’ll all be there to help mediate things. Come to an agreement. You’re not Nick, Mia. You don’t have to resort to murder.”

  She glanced at Charlie, whose mouth was pressed in a tight line. He didn’t like the idea much more than she did.

  “One last try,” Moritz added. “No one could say you didn’t make the effort.”

  Her jaw clenched. The thought of sharing a table with Jake Morelli now was abhorrent. But Don Catalano had warned her against the price of bloodshed.

  And you never wanted to become a murderer. Remember?

  “Fine,” she muttered. “Tonight, after the club.” She stared hard at Moritz. “But this is the final time I’m willing to sit down and try to reason with Mr. Morelli.”

  It was easy to stay out of Hyman’s way that night at The Divine, as he was obviously still angry with her. He spoke to her with cold politeness during her rehearsal, and after ensuring she had what she needed to prepare herself for the show in her dressing room, made himself scarce. She spoke to him only once more when her performance concluded shortly after one in the morning. The band was contracted until the club closed at three.

  At the end of her set, Mia changed out of her cream and gold gown into a black number with a plunging neckline, elaborate silver beading, and plenty of sheer, diaphanous chiffon that floated about her shins and wisped along behind her. She touched up her lips with her favorite bloodred shade and blotted them together, then tossed the lip rouge into her clutch. Then she locked her dressing room door behind her and walked through the service hallway to the back door.

  It was time for her sit-down—her last sit-down—with Mr. Morelli.

  “Mia.”

  She froze at the sound of Hyman’s voice. What does he want? Slowly, she turned to face him. “Yes, Mr. Goldberg?”

  He frowned as he walked toward her. “Are you all right?”

  She stiffened. “Was there a problem with my performance tonight?”

  “Not at all.” He spread his hands. “You are, as I always say, a consummate professional. Not a missed lyric, not a forgotten dance step, and your smile was as bright and charming as ever.”

  She shifted her weight, uncomfortable that he’d been watching her so closely. “Then why would you ask if I was all right?”

  He tilted his head. “You didn’t really think news of your attack after church this morning wouldn’t reach me, did you?”

  “I—”

  “I was deeply concerned when I received a call from Moritz this afternoon. So much so, I was surprised to see you walk through the doors this afternoon. Why did you not tell me of your troubles?”

  She briefly shut her eyes. Morrie. Bastard. “I’m a consummate professional, as you said. I didn’t want to worry you or allow you to think what happened this morning would somehow affect my work here.”

  “Still, it’s not like you to not share such things with me. We are partners, in more ways than one.”

  “After last night, I believed it best we give each other a wide berth,” she said.

  He sighed heavily through his nose. “Yes. We said some unpleasant things last night, didn’t we? I insulted your sister-in-law, and you tried to attack me.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Cooler heads prevailed, though, did they not?”

  “For the time being.”

  To her surprise, he grinned a little, but it faded quickly. “Moritz also informed me of the other issue that arose last night, which you also failed to mention to me. And this one is an issue that leaves no option of informing me or not. The hijacked truck.”

  Morrie’s a goddamn snitch, she thought. “We’re working on that.”

  “Just the same,” he said, his voice sharpening, “these are things I need to know. I remain an investor, Mia, and you don’t get to choose what you decide to tell me when my money is involved.”

  She swallowed her own sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “I think you did not want to be lectured. And yet, here we are. I am very worried. Because you see, our friends in the north were expecting quite a lot of fine alcohol. Alcohol they paid handsomely for. Ninety thousand dollars, in fact. And that alcohol they paid so much money for never reached them, because someone who has it out for you all decided it would be fortuitous to steal your trucks. Why in the world, Mia, would anyone feel that acceptable?”

  “One of the answers I’m seeking.”

  “And when you find that answer,” he said, angling his head slightly to look her in the eye, “what do you intend to do about it?”

  She hesitated. “Nick—”

  “No.” Hyman reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m not asking Nick Scalisi. I’m asking you what to do about the people responsible for attacking you this morning, for hijacking your trucks, for shooting your police officer friend—by the way, I assume that bullet was meant for you. What does Mia Scalisi intend to do?”

  She studied him. He was not mocking her. He was not goading her, or jeering at her, or teasing her. He was asking a real question.

  “I intend to make it very clear to that person they made the last mistake they’ll ever make,” she said.

  Hyman’s eyes gleamed. His hands dropped away from her shoulders. “When you come to a satisfactory arrangement with our Canadian pals, do let me know. I won’t keep you. We seem to understand each other, and you appear to have a pressing social engagement just now.”

  She nodded, then stepped around him for the door.

  “Mia.”

  She paused without turning around. “Yes?”

  “Do try not to get killed anymore,” he said wryly. “You are a very expensive employee, and I’d hate to have to start from scratch.”

  He had a unique way of showing concern. She smirked and opened the door. “I’ll do my best, Mr. Goldberg.”

  Paolo was waiting outside the Lincoln idling in the alleyway, leaning against the door. When he saw her, he opened the back door for her, then immediately slid behind the wheel. She did not have to tell him where to go.

  Half an hour later, they arrived at a nondescript brick building in the Lower East Side. Paolo parked the car in another alley as Moritz had instructed. After helping Mia out of the back seat, he knocked on the heavy steel door. A moment later it opened, and a tall, burly man with a cloud of light-brown curls peered out at them.

  “Mia Scalisi,” she offered.

  He nodded and waved her in. He and Paolo exchanged wary looks. “They’re in a room at the back. I’ll show you the way.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced around as she followed him down a dim hallway. The walls were brick, and the wooden floor had seen better days—a century ago. As she passed various rooms, full of smoke and men, she heard raucous cries—some exuberant, some agonized. Men
were winning fortunes or losing them here tonight, and more than likely, there’d be at least a handful of shootings.

  “Poker is a passionate game,” her host said with a slick smile over the din. “Hope the noise don’t frighten you too much.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I know my way around a card hall.”

  It was possible she and Nick had haunted this very same place once upon a time, a dozen years ago. They’d been in and out of so many places like these, hustling poker games, they blurred in her memory.

  “You play?” the man asked with keen interest. “Don’t see too many broads.”

  Paolo grunted.

  “Er, pardon me. Ladies.”

  Mia gave him an innocent smile. “I’ve played once or twice. I always get the suits mixed up, though.”

  “Hands, you mean,” he corrected with a chuckle. “A suit is like diamonds, spades. Hearts.”

  “That’s my favorite,” she said, pitching her voice just a tiny bit higher. “The hearts.”

  “They’ll eat you alive,” the man mumbled under his breath. He stopped at a pocked red door with chipped paint. “All right. In here.”

  He knocked sharply three times, then pushed the door open. The small room was full of people. At a large, round table, she spotted Charlie, Moritz, and Will clustered on one side, with Jake, Wolfy Harold, and Annette Elliott around the other. Bobby, Joey, and a few other men she didn’t recognize stood close to the walls, watching the game in progress. The sconces fitted on the walls cast the room in a dim, yellow glow, and the air smelled of a mixture of cigarette and the richer cigar smoke, fine whiskey, and masculine ego.

  She studied Jake, loudly guffawing as he slapped his hand of cards down onto the table. It was clear from the grin on his face he’d been having quite the grand evening. His suit coat hung on the back of his chair, his waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his collar was off. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone and his thick, dark hair was mussed.

  His face froze mid-laugh as he caught sight of her in the doorway.

  She tilted her head. “Boo.”

  A hush fell over the room, but Annette smirked at her as she rose out of her chair and sauntered over to where a small bar had been set up.

  Jake snapped his mouth shut with a pop. “What’re you doing here?” He glanced around the table. “What’s she doing here?”

  Mia pouted as she stepped into the room. She shrugged off her light jacket and handed it to Paolo, who folded it over his arm. “What, I can’t come play some cards, Mr. Morelli?”

  Moritz patted the air. “I invited her here. I know there’s been some…tension between the two of you lately. I thought it best for you to meet on neutral ground, in a relaxed environment, and try to come to an understanding.”

  “And knock off the bullshit,” Charlie added.

  “You couldn’t have told me she was coming?” Jake demanded. “You fucking planned it, and couldn’t give me advanced warning?”

  Mia approached the table. Wolfy flicked his head at one of the players, who immediately relinquished his chair and offered it to her. She nodded her thanks and sat down, then peeled off her gloves. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “I—”

  “Considering the fact that you’re responsible for two attempts on my life now, I’d say you at least owe me a conversation.” Her words sliced through the air between them like a knife.

  “I told you, I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that,” he said.

  “No? Then how about siccing your detective friend on me. Abner Wallace?”

  Jake wrinkled his nose as he slugged some whiskey. “Don’t know the guy. So I guess our chat’s gonna be a short one. I told you the other night, we’re partners. I don’t make money unless you make money.”

  “Let’s not be naive,” Mia said. “I’m probably worth more to you dead.”

  Annette tapped her on the shoulder and handed her a short tumbler with just a finger of whiskey. “Drink, honey?”

  “Thanks.” Mia took a sip. It was a coin toss as to whether or not it would stoke the angry fire already crackling in her veins, or calm her, like tossing cool water on embers.

  Jake cleared his throat loudly. “Look, I came here to play cards. Apparently, so did you. There’s a lot of money on the table. We playing, or what?”

  “I’m out.” Charlie got up from the table.

  “I’m in,” Wolfy said. “Love to take some of your money, Sonny Jim.”

  “You’re not getting a dollar, you bastard,” Jake said. “Who else? Morrie?”

  “I think I’ll sit this one out.”

  One of Wolfy’s men agreed to sit in as well, but Jake wasn’t satisfied.

  “We need one more,” he said, looking from Charlie to Moritz to Will. “Come on.”

  “What am I, chopped liver?” Mia spread her palms. “I’ll play.”

  The men at the table regarded her with doubt.

  Jake laughed aloud. “You? Come on, sweetie. You don’t have to keep bluffing for me. This ain’t Old Maid, after all.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Come on,” he said again. “You can really play?”

  “A little. My brother taught me. A long time ago.”

  Jake’s smile grew. “Fine. But, Mia, baby, you know I ain’t gonna go easy on you.”

  “I don’t like it when fellas go easy on me.” Jake’s eyes, she noted with satisfaction, flashed with heat. “But I’ll let you make an exception just this once, if you want.”

  Jake chuckled. “Fine. Deal the lady in. Minimum bet’s fifty bucks. Pot’s at about…” He trailed off, eyeing the stack of cash in the middle of the table. “Eight grand, thanks to Morrie’s losing streak.”

  “Yummy.” Mia glanced sharply at the dealer. “New deck, please.”

  Jake frowned. “What gives?”

  Wolfy let out a quiet chuckle. “She thinks you got greasy fingers.”

  “Fresh start.” She batted her lashes just a little. “What do you say? Humor me.”

  Jake sighed, then flicked his head at the dealer, who retrieved from under the table a brand-new deck of cards. He opened the box and passed them to Mia for her inspection. She quickly flipped through them, then nodded and handed them back. He dealt the cards with quick flicks of his wrist.

  Mia gathered her cards, arranging her face into a neutral expression as she shuffled through them with dismay. It was the saddest hand of cards she’d ever been dealt. Terrific. Not even a pair.

  Jake lit a fresh cigar. “So your brother was a good player, huh?”

  “He was the best,” Mia said. “Even when he was barely out of boyhood. Won almost every game. Played with the Gallucci boys before the big gang war of ’fifteen. Took their money, but they didn’t get mad—they respected him.”

  “Ain’t that something,” Jake said. “And he taught you?”

  “A little. He said I oughtta know something useful in case I ever needed cash in a jiff.”

  Wolfy’s man, sitting to Mia’s left, discarded his hand with a shrug and followed it up with a bolt of whiskey. “Out.”

  Jake got rid of two cards and picked up two new ones. His expression, she noted as she studied him closely beneath her lashes, was smug.

  She resisted the urge to smile. Mr. Morelli, it seemed, did not have a good poker face. Apparently, he had quite the hand—and she didn’t.

  That was okay, she thought. Nick had taught her how to win a card game even with the crummiest of hands. She hoped she could still pull it off.

  Showtime.

  “You know,” Mia began, shuffling her cards around again for effect, “Nick had a secret to that winning streak of his.”

  Jake puffed his cigar as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh yeah? What was that? Clairvoyance?”

  “Nope.” She flashed him her dimple. “Me.”

  He tilted his head. “How’s that?”

  Mia glanced at Wolfy as he rifled through his hand. “What none of the men he played again
st knew was that every single night, Nick would make me stay up and learn everything there was to know about poker. I’d go with him to the games and peek at everyone’s cards. I’d use hand signals to tell him what they were.”

  The men at the table turned to stare at her.

  “You mean to tell me,” Wolfy said slowly, “your brother was cheating the whole time?”

  “Not the whole time.” Mia smirked at him over her cards. “Just until he got good on his own.”

  Jake gaped at her, then tipped his head back and roared with laughter. “Nick took Gallucci’s men for everything they had—because of a little girl?”

  Mia shrugged. “I just helped.”

  He shook his head. “Well. You say your brother was so good? He never got to go up against me. I’ve been playing cards since I was old enough to count.”

  You lousy, arrogant shit. “So, just for the past year or so, then?”

  A chorus of low chuckles rose up around the room. Annette coughed to cover up her giggle.

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Ain’t you a scream. At least I didn’t have to resort to cheating to win. But I’m sure I oughtta be nervous right now sitting here with you, huh, doll?”

  “Oh, no. Those days were so long ago.” Mia discarded three cards one at a time with leisurely snaps of her wrist before picking up three new cards. They were as lousy as the ones she’d discarded. She refrained from wincing as she made a show of rearranging them in order, card by card. “Now I’m lucky if I remember anything above a straight.”

  Jake gave her a predatory smile.

  He’d taken her bait, the same way a shark would if she dangled a thick, fat, raw steak in front of him.

  “Truly, I can barely remember what comes after that,” she went on. She trailed her fingers over the edge of her cards, staring down at them. “There’s…flush. Full house. Four of a kind?”

  “You’re doing fine, honey,” Jake said with a mocking, encouraging wink. “Keep going. What else? Straight…”

  “Straight flush, sure,” Mia exclaimed, as if it had just come to her with his help. “And then a… A royal flush, right?”