The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,43

as flustered and tongue-tied as Carmine.

It was all in his mind. It had to be.

What other explanation was there for knowing how much this man hated what he was, and still being so foolishly eager to see him again?

Chapter 9

“To becoming rich bastards!” Bernard raised his teacup.

“Cheers!” the crew said, and they all smiled as they clinked the cups together.

The whiskey burned enough to make Danny’s eyes water, but he could clearly see the cash divvied up eight ways on the table before them in the back room of Daisy’s. He still couldn’t believe how much he’d taken with him on the way out of Carmine’s office, and he’d been terrified all the way here that he’d be robbed at any moment. Lads like him didn’t have that kind of money. Surely it was only a matter of time before someone knocked him to the ground and took it from him, even if they couldn’t have known by looking at him that he had it.

But they hadn’t. He’d made it to Daisy’s, used some of the money to buy a bottle to celebrate, and then divided it up between himself and his boys. And… And there it was. Fourteen dollars apiece. Enough for a couple of months’ rent, and all for a single night’s work.

There’d been whole months where the crew hadn’t made that much. It wasn’t the kind of riches they could live off for the rest of their days, but it was more than they’d ever scored on a single job before. Hell, each man was taking home more tonight than the entire crew made from most jobs. If they kept working for Carmine and making this kind of money, night after night, their entire worlds would change.

As they drank and carried on, Gladys sauntered into the back room with more whiskey. She quirked a brow as she put the bottle down beside the open one. “You lads are in good spirits tonight. Good score?”

“Aye, you could say that.” Mathew lifted his cup. “Another night or two like this, and we’ll be living like kings!”

Bernard smacked him and glared at him. Mathew shrugged. Bernard rolled his eyes.

“Bluenose,” Mathew muttered into his cup, earning him a swift kick in the shin from Bernard.

Gladys eyed them, but she just shrugged. “Long as you keep paying your tab, it ain’t my place to judge where it’s coming from.” She gave the group a saucy wink. “But I hope you naughty boys are all going to confession.”

The lads laughed uproariously, and Gladys flashed Danny a quick smile before she strolled back out to the main lounge.

Once the door was shut behind her, the lads resumed their conversation. As they talked about the wild ways they’d spend their money when they were rich as kings, Danny sat back and lit a cigarette. Normally, he’d be right there with them, grinning and imagining all the fancy cars and fine suits they might one day afford, but his heart wasn’t in it tonight.

It wasn’t his conscience. He’d made peace long ago with being a thief, even if he wasn’t so sure about being one for gangsters. If his conscience needed to berate him for this, it wasn’t going to be tonight, because his thoughts were too preoccupied with something else.

Someone else.

Danny took in a long drag off his cigarette, then blew out the smoke. It was strange how much he had to fight to keep Carmine off his mind, and how the man was never gone from his thoughts for very long. He supposed it wasn’t that strange—he was wary of the gangster, and at the same time, cautiously grateful for work that promised to bring in the kind of money he’d never seen before. Not to mention keeping him safe from the il Sacchis.

But it wasn’t fear or gratitude that kept Danny’s thoughts drifting to the man people called the Venetian. No, there was something else there. Something that relentlessly tugged Carmine Battaglia to the forefront of Danny’s mind. Something that made Danny’s chest flutter in ways it hadn’t since a couple of weeks’ worth of exchanged glances had eventually drawn him into the bed of an office clerk living a few buildings over last spring. Perhaps since long before that.

From the moment he’d set foot on that boat to America, Danny had been told to hate, distrust, and avoid the Italians. That they were violent criminals. Thugs, every one of them. That while Irishmen had made America their home, the Italians intended to