grimace, he said, “And what if they’re trusting me, and I lead them into something—”
“They trust you,” she insisted, “and they’re also men who know the risks when they go into things like this.” She gave his arm a firm squeeze. “And it’s half past nine, so about time for you to be…?” She nodded toward the back.
“Aye.” Danny reluctantly got up. “Don’t know when they’ll be along, but—”
“I’ll send them your way when they get here.” She waved a hand. “Go.”
“Thanks, doll.”
She just smiled as she reached under the bar. “Door’s open. There’s a bottle in the usual place.”
He gave her a quick smile, then headed toward the back room. Gladys had released the latch on the secret door. It was invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there, but opened to reveal the smaller private room behind the speakeasy. He’d heard most speakeasies had something like it. Daisy’s even had a second such room that was slightly more visible but never used. That way the police had something to “find” during a raid.
As promised, Gladys or one of the other girls had left a bottle of Canadian whisky in the compartment inside one of the armchairs. Danny put it on the table beside some teacups that had been left out, and then he sat back and waited.
He wasn’t usually so nervous meeting his crew. On the other hand, he wasn’t usually meeting them with a proposition that could send all of them out the door, never to speak to him again. These were Irish boys who’d either grown up in or emigrated into the never-ending battle with the Italians for control of Lower Manhattan, not to mention the rest of New York. There wasn’t one among them who hadn’t lost someone—a brother, a friend, a father, a cousin—to violence between the two factions. Especially in recent years as the gangs had started gaining power.
He’d committed himself. He hadn’t signed a thing or made a blood oath or any such nonsense, but a handshake with a gangster was enough that Danny couldn’t dare think of reneging. The question now was if he was going in alone, or if he’d be bringing with him the whole crew Carmine had asked for.
And never mind agreeing to work for the Pulvirentis, could his crew forgive him for even mentioning such a thing? Could they ever look him in the eye after he suggested they go to work for the gangs that had wreaked such bloody havoc on their lives and families?
But he had no choice. He just prayed they’d forgive him and that they’d join him, and then he threw in another prayer for forgiveness because what kind of man asked for the Lord’s blessing to sell his soul?
Francis and Mathew arrived first, and the others weren’t far behind. Within an hour, everyone was there and the secret door was locked behind them.
They sat on couches and chairs surrounding the table, the bottle between them as they sipped their drinks and smoked.
“All right, Danny.” Bernard pressed his elbows into his knees and eyed him. “What’s this about?”
Danny glanced warily at the secure door sealing them in here, then shifted his gaze back to his seven friends. “I met with Carmine Battaglia. About what happened at the Plaza.”
His crew watched him with puzzled expressions.
“We know you did.” Francis shrugged. “That was days ago.”
“It was. But I…went and saw him again.” Danny swallowed. “Today.”
Eyes widened and backs straightened.
“Yeah?” Tommy said. “And?”
“He said I did him a favor, offing Ricky il Sacchi like that. And the girl—that was his sister.” Danny exhaled. “When he told you boys to send me to see him, it was…” He hesitated, eyes flicking from one lad to the next. “He wants to hire us.”
Everyone stared at him, disbelief written all over their faces.
“Hire us?” Bernard shook his head. “No, no. I ain’t working for the bloody Sicilians.”
“Not a chance,” Liam snapped. “Are you mad?”
Paddy glanced at Bernard and Liam, then turned to Danny. “What’s the job?”
“Paddy.” Bernard smacked his arm. “What are you—”
“You need money as much as I do,” Paddy threw back. “I don’t think Danny would even suggest it if it was something like tossing men in the river.” He turned to Danny. “Right?”
“That’s right.” Danny shifted beneath the scrutiny of his friends. “It ain’t bad work, and it’ll be good money. And…” He sighed. “And we’ll have the protection of the Pulvirenti gang.”
Francis snorted. “Who needs protection from those—”’
“The man who bashed in Ricky il