The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,22
another during a late night run a month ago, and not long after, two others had been arrested and promptly deported. Carmine still had several crews working for him, mostly bringing in liquor from Canada or smuggling it into New York from illegal distilleries and other port cities, but his inventory was beginning to show the effects of losing some of his best men and his Long Island connection to Rum Row.
He desperately needed rum runners, and now he’d met this crew of Irish thieves who wouldn’t leave his mind. They were ambitious and reckless enough to infiltrate and (theoretically) escape the most expensive suites of the Plaza Hotel on New Year’s Eve, and they were careful and methodical enough to pull it off.
Which was precisely why Carmine wanted to meet with their man in charge.
If you’re smart, boys, I have a feeling we can make each other a lot of money.
“You want us to come work for you.” Daniel Moore glared at Carmine under the dim lights of the underground office. “For gangsters. For Sicilian gangsters.”
Carmine inclined his head. “You would hardly be the first Irishmen on my payroll.”
Daniel’s glare hardened. “Your kind put two of my brothers in the ground. I’d sooner work at Tammany Hall than with the likes of you.”
Fury and frustration made Carmine want to backhand this kid back to street level, but he forced his voice to stay calm. “And you don’t think plenty of my kind are in the ground thanks to Irishmen?”
“With any luck, they’re in hell.”
Carmine raised an eyebrow.
For a long, long time, they stood there, locked in a silent standoff as hatred and disdain rolled off Daniel in waves.
Carmine’s mind whirred. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of this young Irishman, but the instant the bag had been pulled off the kid’s face, Carmine’s teeth had snapped together. Almost audibly. The low lights had darkened his red hair and blue eyes, nearly hiding the freckles scattered across his fair skin, but he was—even now, with his lips pulled into a hate-filled snarl—stunning.
Carmine had never thought much of Irishmen this way. There’d been a few whose company he’d discreetly enjoyed in bathhouses and subway washrooms, but that had been more a result of mutual willingness and availability than any particular attraction. He’d certainly never felt compelled to pursue an Irishman, particularly knowing how most of them felt about men like him.
But Daniel, even with his features taut with contempt, would’ve drawn Carmine’s attention anywhere. Not just through the steam in a bathhouse or the shadows of an alley, but on the street. Out in the open. His head would have turned, and he’d have caught himself wishing for some sign that this man had the same hunger he did.
There was no mistaking the answer this time—Daniel wanted to be as far away from him as possible, and attraction aside, that feeling was growing more mutual by the second.
“You saved my sister,” Carmine said evenly.
Daniel stiffened slightly. “Your sister?”
Carmine nodded. “Yes. Giulia. She was the woman attacked by Ricky il Sacchi.”
The Irishman blinked. “Oh.”
“So, in return, I want to—”
“I wasn’t doing you no favors that night,” Daniel spat. “I saw a man getting violent with a lady, and I thought he might hurt her, so I did something. I didn’t know who she was.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think for a minute that I was trying to earn favor from you or anybody else.”
Carmine glared right back. “Well, whether you like it or not, you’re very high on a list of people the il Sacchis want to kill, and I can’t promise they want to kill you quickly.”
Though Daniel’s face stayed fiercely stoic, he didn’t quite hide the shudder.
Satisfied he had the kid where he wanted him, Carmine said, “I can offer you something you need right now.”
“Aye?” Daniel was nervous now, but he was still stubborn. “And what’s that?”
“Protection. You work for the Pulvirenti family, the il Sacchis will think twice before they touch you.”
Daniel laughed humorlessly. “I wouldn’t be a made man. I couldn’t be even if I wanted to be, and I don’t, but the point is that your boys kill men who work for other gangs all the time. Everybody knows that.”
Carmine shrugged tightly. “I didn’t say you’d be untouchable. I said they’ll think twice. You can either be a man who works for the Pulvirenti family, or you can be some petty thief with the blood of a very powerful man on your very unprotected hands.”