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

by Meredith Allison

  Both Mr. Masseria and Mr. Luciano glanced at her, brows raised, as if expecting her to respond in kind to that.

  A memory of Jake striking her, of him ordering Abner to beat Raquel and Gloria, of him threatening to kill her niece, flashed through her mind. She said nothing.

  “Perhaps you might try exercising a little respect in matters of business, Jacopo,” Mr. Masseria said in a lofty tone. “Especially when dealing with women.”

  “You know as well as I do women don’t belong in business, Joe,” Jake replied. “They’re good for two things. Cooking and fucking.” He flashed Mia a bright smile. “Right, sweetie?”

  She simply sipped her wine. It burned an acidic path down her throat to her stomach, where it soured.

  He cocked his head. “I’m disappointed. You usually have so much to say. Is it because your bodyguard isn’t here to protect you?”

  “Do I need protecting from you?” she asked.

  “Not as long as you play by my rules,” he said. “And stay out of everything.”

  “What exactly does everything mean?” Mr. Luciano asked.

  “What it sounds like,” Jake replied. “She gives up her stake in the liquor business. She gives me full control of the Madden deal at the Cotton Club. She keeps her nose out of my territories, as well as my heroin business. I sell all over the city, wherever I want.”

  “Unless where you’re selling is already claimed by another business,” Luciano said, his voice low and deadly. “You might not be aware of this, pal, but you ain’t the only one selling heroin in the city.”

  “Ah, forgive me,” Jake said with an insincere smile. “Sometimes I get a little excited.”

  “Let’s be clear about something.” Luciano leaned forward. “If you sell liquor or drugs in my territories or Joe’s, you won’t be doing it for free. And we require very high percentages.”

  “Perhaps it’s worth it to you to stick to your own territories,” Mr. Masseria added calmly.

  For once, Jake seemed to take the thinly veiled threat for what it was and sat back. “Right, sure,” he said. “I’m open to talking percentages.”

  Of course, in his mind, he’d tell them whatever they wanted to hear, since he planned to kill them both anyway. Then their territories would become his.

  “And another thing we need to be clear on,” Mr. Masseria said. “Little Italy doesn’t belong to you exclusively. I provide protection for several businesses in the area. You want to deal there, you do so at my percentages. You want to be a big boss, but you have the brain of a child.” He flicked a hand toward Mia. “She’s smarter than you.”

  Jake went red.

  Before he could say anything, Mr. Masseria turned to her. “You agree to those terms?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “What choice do I have? He’s threatened the lives of my cousin, my sister-in-law, and my niece. Nothing’s more important to me than my family. If I have his guarantee that he’ll leave them alone…fine. He can have what he wants.”

  “You have my word,” he said smoothly, winking at her. “Hold up your end, I’ll hold up mine.”

  “All right, now you got things settled with her,” Luciano said. “Let’s revisit this territory discussion. I’m hearing in the streets you think Staten Island’s yours, but you’re mistaken.”

  Jake lifted his brows. “Am I? My apologies.”

  “Fuck your apologies. Get your dealers out of Staten Island or you’re going to have a whole new problem.”

  “I’ll talk to them and see what I can do.” Jake seemed completely unfazed as he leaned back in his seat and smiled.

  “This clown,” Luciano muttered. He looked at Masseria and shook his head. “You think you can reason with him, go ahead. I’m done here.” He stood abruptly and glanced at Mia. “At least you don’t have to deal with his shit anymore.”

  She blinked up at him.

  “Where you going?” Jake said, spreading his palms. “We’re just having a friendly conversation, me and you. Ain’t we?”

  “Yeah, real friendly. I’m gonna get some air.” Luciano stalked to the front of the restaurant. A moment later, the little bell over the doorway jingled.

  Jake glanced at Masseria. “He’s very emotional, isn’t he?”

  Masseria sighed. “I’ll go talk to him. Don’t go anywhere. Lucky, he’s hotheaded.” He tossed his napkin on the table and raised an eyebrow at Jake. “Not unlike you.”

  Jake shrugged. When the door closed behind Mr. Masseria, he gave Mia an appraising look. “You’re doing real good. I thought for sure you’d let that temper get the best of you, but you’re a real pro.”

  “Sure,” she said drily, folding her arms. “I’m a real pro at being belittled in front of men who used to respect me.”

  “Soon, they won’t be a problem, eh?” He chuckled and glanced at his two cronies, who sat slightly behind him. They both nodded and smiled. Jake turned back to her and leaned forward. “Listen, while we have a minute. Before they come back and things get crazy. You know I didn’t really mean that shit I said about you in front of them, right?”

  “Oh no?” she said sarcastically. “Which part? The part where I’m only good for cooking and fucking, or the part where you called me a little bitch?”

  “Any of it.” He shrugged. “I’m playing a part. Like you.”

  “What’s the point of it all?” she said. “You’re wasting time. Or are you just trying to see if you can get a better deal from them, better than what your…other boss offers you?”

  “You can say it,” he said. “Maranzano. Yeah, they work for him on paper, but they’re my guys now. Right, fellas?”

  “That’s right, Mr. Morelli,” the one on the right said.

  Mia glanced at him, found him staring back at her, and looked away. “No loyalty among anyone anymore, is there?”

  “Only to number one,” Jake said, pointing at himself. “That’s something you should never forget, by the way. I’m surprised your precious brother never taught you that.”

  Her fury rose inside her, swift as a panther with its claws out. “Never speak of my brother. Ever.”

  Jake smirked. “Ah, touchy-touchy. Forgive me. And you were right—I am feeling him out to see if there’s something in it for me. Number one, remember. If I think I can get a better deal, then I’ll wait to kill him until I can take what he’s amassed for myself.”

  “You’re a goddamn vulture,” she said.

  “You’re goddamn right,” Jake said. “Or did you think men in this life get what they want by asking nicely?”

  “Even crooks have a little bit of honor.”

  Jake tossed his head back and roared with laughter. He looked at his compatriots. “Did you hear that shit?”

  They chuckled. “Sure did,” the one on the left said.

  Jake reached out and patted her hand. “Boy, you really are a kid, aren’t you? Crooks? Honor? Where’d you go to school?” He shook his head. “Lookit, I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just that you never fail to surprise me. You know, I thought I had you pegged for a real smart broad, smarter than your famous brother ever was. And don’t jump down my throat—I ain’t talking bad about him. Truly, I would’ve liked to have met him. I’ve heard a lot about the infamous Domenico Scalisi. Meeting you was almost as good.”

  Mia drew a deep breath through her nose.

  “Come on. Don’t be sore.” Jake ran his fingertips lightly up and down her forearm. “I’m paying you a compliment. You know, once we get this shit figured out with the liquor deal and the territories…you should really think about becoming my partner again.”

  Mia looked at him as though he’d just sprouted a second nose. “You off your nut?”

  He studied her closely, a seductive smile on his lips. “Why not? You and me. We could run this town. Turn it upside down. New York would be our kingdom. You’d be my queen. You could have everything you want. Even after all you’ve done to hurt me, I can’t stay mad at you. I’m crazy about you.”

 
; “A week ago, you kidnapped my family, beat them, beat me, and threatened to kill my niece,” she growled. “You took everything I had in exchange for sparing their lives. Now you want me to be your partner?”

  “I said, no hard feelings about that other shit,” he said with an impatient shrug. “And what’s the alternative? You got nothing but the club. Yeah, you might make a pretty penny there, but you know good and goddamn well it’s nothing compared to what booze and drugs bring in. And even though I’ve thought about killing you a million times, I can never seem to do it. I gotta believe…it’s because I don’t really want to.”

  Mia tightened her jaw. “You’re insane.”

  “Maybe I am,” he said. “But I’m also a man who knows what he wants. I heard about what you did to Wallace. I wish I could’ve been there to see you unload an entire cylinder into his face. Just thinking about it makes me hard. I think I’m in love with you.”

  She drew back in disgust, but he only leaned closer, sliding his hand around her wrist. “And at that wedding. Even though I could’ve killed you for what you did, seeing you in that moment, issuing orders like you were waving your hanky around—it got me so very hot.”

  Mia glared at him. “Then go drown yourself in an ice bath.”

  “Aw, come on. What’s Lazzari got that I ain’t?”

  “A heart.” She yanked her wrist from his grasp.

  “That hurts,” he complained, then chuckled, placing a hand over his chest. “See? I got feelings, too.”

  “Now, if only you could find your sanity.”

  “Listen. All bullshit aside,” he said. “I mean it. Maybe we reconsider the original plan for today. Let’s finish hearing these idiots out. Then, we figure out how to take what’s theirs, make it ours, and get rid of ’em all.”

  “I don’t know how many different ways to say no to you.”

  “I thought you were a smart girl,” he said sharply. “I thought you knew how this game really works. Maybe I was wrong.”

  “Or maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, but instead of retorting, he glanced impatiently over his shoulder. “Where the fuck did they go for fresh air, the Bronx?”

  “Nah,” one of Maranzano’s men said with a chuckle. “Definitely not the Bronx.”

  “My guess,” Mia said coolly, crossing her legs and leaning her chin on her knuckles, “is that they went back to Manhattan. They’re both busy men, after all.”

  “Huh?” Jake swiveled in his seat and stared at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Mr. Masseria and Mr. Luciano,” she said, tendrils of quiet delight unfurling low in her belly. “They’re not here. They left.”

  His eyes blazed. “And how the fuck would you know?”

  The bell over the door jingled again, but it wasn’t Mr. Masseria or Lucky Luciano walking through the door. Instead, Charlie Lazzari walked in, flanked by Bobby and Joey. They all held pistols.

  “Hiya, Morelli,” Charlie said, his tone full of dangerous cheer. “How’s tricks?”

  Jake was on his feet in a flash, drawing his own gun. “That’s far enough, boyo,” he snapped. He swung the pistol on Mia. “Or she’s dead.”

  Mia remained in her seat, chin propped on her hand, and glanced up at him with a raised brow.

  The three men froze.

  “Get your hands up,” Jake added. “Now.”

  They raised their hands in the air.

  “Take it easy,” Charlie said.

  Jake barked a laugh. “That’s hilarious. You three fucking bastards walk in here pointing guns at me, and now you tell me to take it easy. That’s rich, Lazzari.”

  “Don’t make any fast moves,” Charlie said.

  “Who are you to tell me what to do?” Jake reached out and grabbed Mia by the arm, jerked her up and out of her chair, swiveled her around, and pinned her tight to his chest, her back to his front. He looped an arm around her neck and pressed the barrel of the gun to her right temple. “Maybe you didn’t take me seriously. That’s a big mistake, Charlie.”

  Mia gritted her teeth.

  “Now,” Jake continued. “You bastards drop your guns and keep your hands up. You’re gonna stand over there by the wall, and you’re not gonna move while I walk outta here with my pals. Let me do that, Mia lives. You try some funny shit, I’ll splatter her brains all over you and that wall.”

  “I don’t think you will,” Charlie said.

  “Stand down,” came the low, harsh voice of one of Maranzano’s men.

  Charlie lifted his pistol again. Bobby and Joey immediately followed suit.

  Jake shoved the gun against her head harder. “You deaf, Charles? He told you to back the fuck off.”

  “I heard him just fine.” Charlie took a step toward them. “Are you deaf?”

  “What the fu—”

  Mia felt Jake’s body freeze.

  “Mia.” Charlie beckoned her. “It’s all right.”

  The pressure of the barrel against her temple eased. She threw off Jake’s arm and walked toward Charlie. When she reached him, she pivoted on the balls of her feet like a dancer and folded her arms.

  Jake stared at her, his mouth agape as Maranzano’s man, the one who’d issued the order to stand down, shoved the barrel of his gun to the back of his head. The other man trained his gun on the side of Jake’s head.

  “Don’t move,” the man said. “Don’t even breathe. Drop your gun.”

  “What is this?” Jake looked at Mia, something like a plea for help in his eyes.

  She raised her chin. “The Scalisi family—my sister-in-law, my cousin, and my little niece—all wanted me to send you their love. Oh, and Don Masseria and Don Maranzano send their regards, as well.”

  His eyes went wide. “Bullshit.”

  “Me?” she went on. “I don’t have any regards or love to send you.”

  “You fucking bitch.”

  “That’s the last time you’ll ever call me that,” she said softly, and lifted her hand to motion the shooters with her fingers.

  In an instant, Jake swung his pistol up. It was centered with such deadly precision on the middle of her face, she could practically see down the barrel, see the gunpowder igniting, see the bullet exploding out toward her faster than she could blink.

  For half an instant, the room was silent. Then the deafening roar of multiple guns firing filled the room, filled the street, perhaps all of Staten Island.

  The bullet that had been meant for her stayed trapped inside Jake’s gun before he ever had the chance to pull the trigger.

  Dozens of bullets flew past her on either side and caught Jake in the chest, stomach, back, head, neck, and face.

  Jake had collapsed to his knees after the first few shots, then slumped over before Maranzano’s two men, Charlie, Bobby, and Joey walked toward him and kept shooting, over and over, letting up only when they reached the click of empty revolvers.

  Mia walked toward Jake’s body. He lay in a spreading pool of blood. His fading eyes rolled slowly, and his mouth opened and closed once, as if he were still trying to get the last word in.

  She reached into the neckline of her dress with her index and middle fingers and withdrew his ace of hearts card from the only poker game they’d ever played, torn in the middle where his knife had gone through and smudged red with the kiss of her lips.

  She flicked it onto his body with a snap of her wrist.

  “Hope you have better luck in hell,” she told him.

  His half-lidded eyes shifted to her—and stayed there as his final breath departed his body.

  She lingered for another moment, watching the light in his eyes dim, then turned on her heel and strode out of the restaurant to where Paolo waited to take her home.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  October, 1926

  Chicago, written by Tribune reporter Maurine Dallas Watkins, opened at the Chicago Theatre on the second Friday night in October for an unofficial, pre-debut
sneak peek the marquee only announced as a “limited special engagement.”

  The official premiere date was set for December, but in fine-tuning the play, the director had decided to get preliminary opinions. Of course, most of the city already knew about the play, since it was based on two rather notable murders that had taken place two years prior, where a couple of well-to-do ladies had killed their husbands and been acquitted after media-circus trials. Maurine’s coverage of those trials had garnered her a large fanbase, so a single, sneak-peek performance was a great way to gauge reception—and stir up anticipation.

  Men and women dressed to the nines filled the lobby and the entrance area, forming a large crowd outside on the sidewalk as show-goers waited to be admitted and claim their seats.

  Across the street, Mia exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke, surveying the scene. She took in the vertical, bright red sign of the theater and remembered how she’d felt the day she’d shown up for her audition—so terribly excited and full of anticipation that all her dreams were coming true. All she’d needed was her brother to watch her from the front row, to pass on his confidence in her so she could pull off the audition of a lifetime.

  Inside that theater, she’d had one night of triumph. One night where all of Chicago had learned just who Mia Angela Scalisi was. She could still feel the beading on the beautiful white dress she’d worn. Could still feel the heat of the stage lights as they illuminated her. Still hear the music pounding in her ears as she and her partner, D.C. London, had whirled and leaped and Charlestoned across the vast stage. She saw the smiling faces, enthralled with their performance.

  She’d brought the house down that night, and had been so sure it would be the first of many doing so.

  Then her gaze roved the sidewalk. Mia pictured it empty, dark except for the lights over the entrance and the lights from the sign, illuminating a single body lying on the cold concrete as icy rain sluiced down. She couldn’t help flinching, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to ignore the assault of the memories, the echo of shouts and gunfire and breaking glass from the most horrible night of her life that had set her destiny on its course.