The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,13

see my face again, and you won’t go to jail tonight or land in the workhouse…under one condition.”

The four leaned in slightly, eyes wide.

“I want the man in charge of this crew in my office.”

“What for?” one asked.

Carmine narrowed his eyes. “You want to spend a month in the workhouse or not?”

It didn’t seem possible, but those four Irish boys turned even whiter.

“I see your man in charge within the next three days,” Carmine said in a low voice, “or I personally deliver all four of you to the workhouse and make sure it’s a long stay. Am I clear?”

All four boys nodded mutely.

Carmine opened the door and beckoned the uniformed officer back in. “Get them out of here.” He clapped the officer’s shoulder. “Once they’re out of sight of all these nice people, uncuff them and let them go.” He looked right at the four boys. “And remind them that Carmine Battaglia does not play games.”

From the wide eyes staring back at him, he didn’t imagine they’d need reminding.

“All right, boys,” the officer said. “Everybody up.”

Cuffs clinked and shoes scuffed as the four young Irishmen rose. Carmine gave them one last look, then left the office.

The lobby had mostly cleared out. Agosto il Sacchi was nowhere in sight; he’d probably gone up to see his nephew before the body was taken away.

Carmine shuddered. The death of a high-ranking member of any family could mean war, even between the smaller families like Agosto’s or the family to which Carmine belonged, the Pulvirentis. He hoped the blood spilled tonight wasn’t first blood in a new war.

Stomach in knots, Carmine started across the lobby.

Giulia fell into step beside him. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.” Carmine tugged at the cuff of his tuxedo sleeve. He’d decide that once he met the man in charge of the Irish thieves.

But for tonight, he had a New Year’s Eve party to attend.

Chapter 3

Danny was numb as he climbed the tenement’s darkened staircase to his third-floor apartment.

The overcoat Mathew had given him hadn’t done much to keep him warm, but it was better than nothing. It also didn’t draw the attention that his stolen gold-trimmed red-and-black uniform would have.

And the bitter January wind wasn’t what had him cold all the way down to his bones anyhow.

At the top of the stairs, he felt around for the lock on his door, slipped in the key, and let himself in. Immediately he was greeted by the gentle warmth of the stove and the faint smells of cigarettes and coffee. The heat itself was a relief, but so was the realization that his apartment wasn’t empty. Sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn’t, and he always preferred the nights he didn’t have to spend alone.

Peering into the parlor, he found James sitting in a chair by the fireplace, a thick quilt pulled tight around his shoulders. The quilt didn’t completely cover his familiar black cassock and stiff white collar, but even if they had, it was still impossible to look at him and not see the priest. Though they’d known each other since they were boys, long before James had been ordained, he simply was a priest now. Most of the time, anyhow.

Or maybe that was Danny’s conscience talking.

Hands wrapped around a mug of what was probably coffee, James watched him in the warm glow of the lamp and the fire. “You look cold.”

“Aye. I’m freezing.” Danny took off the heavy jacket.

James stiffened. “What in the…” He looked Danny up and down, and when their eyes met, James inclined his head, looking every inch Father Carroll just now. “Got a new job you didn’t mention?”

Danny looked down at the uniform he was wearing, and his cheeks burned. “I’ll tell you all about it next time I come to confession.”

James pursed his lips, but he didn’t push. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the things Danny and his crew got up to, and it wasn’t as if Danny didn’t know James disapproved. Whether he approved or not, he kept his mouth shut most of the time; after all, it was no secret that if not for the money Danny and his boys stole—not to mention the work James did on the side—this cramped, ramshackle apartment would be a great deal colder and with far less bread in its kitchen.

“There’s coffee left.” James gestured toward the kitchen behind Danny. “Have some if you like.”

Danny considered it, then nodded. After he’d poured himself some, he took the chair opposite