As the Liquor Flows Read online

  “At least the weather is beautiful today,” Max finally broke the silence. “The sun’s shinning, but the temperature isn’t too hot or too cold.”

  I nodded, but stared at my shoes.

  “You don’t have much to say, do you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You just don’t like to talk a lot, do you?”

  “I suppose I don’t really have much to say.”

  I finally met his gaze and for a second, the confused glimmer in his eyes changed into an understanding. What would a lady in my situation have to say? A lone girl surrounded by strange, powerful men she couldn’t trust, a hostage in her own life, and unable to make any choices for herself.

  “I suppose I get it,” he muttered. “You’re here to help your brother.”

  “And, yet, I can’t even do that. I can’t see him, can’t talk to him. I can’t even find out about his case or speak to anyone that could help him.”

  “I know that must be hard for you, but you’ve got to understand why.”

  “How do you know Vincent won’t let me see him? He’s done so much for me and has been fairly kind.”

  “Because I know.”

  Tension tightened in his shoulders and an internal war waged in his eyes as he clenched his teeth, tightening his jaw line.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to call you a liar.”

  “No, it’s not that.” He gave a subtle nod, motioning behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  Vincent approached us in the distance with fire hot anger flickering in his eyes. He had gruffness to his gate that wasn’t there when we arrived. Dom followed behind him, swinging a baton in his hand while puffs of smoke billowed from his lips.

  “Everything all right, Vinny?” Max asked.

  “Just another business deal I had to take care of and nothing that needs to be discussed in front of a lady.” Vincent’s Sicilian accent rolled the letter ‘r’. His tone crawled through my skin.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Hamilton just needed a reminder of the terms of his loan.”

  “Vinny, the man’s eighty-five years old.”

  “I don’t believe I asked for your opinion on the matter, Catalano.” With his dismissive tone, he held out his arm for me to take. “Shall we enjoy the afternoon, Miss Ford?”

  Reluctance whispered through my movement. A pause he noticed and he stepped closer to me, slightly reaching his arm out further. A gnawing disgust churned in my stomach as I slid my arm around his.

  As Vincent led me away, he brushed against Max. The subtle aggressiveness vibrated through the thump of the two bodies colliding, ever-so-slightly. Boss against employee, superior against worker, their battle implicit.

  “Have you eaten?” Vincent asked me as he glanced at the businesses around.

  “Huh? Oh, ye . . . yes.”

  “Well, then, I suppose I shall enjoy some of the delicious Coney Island delicacies on my own.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind if I ate.”

  “No, no. It’s all right.”

  Vincent stopped along the pier across from the same food stand Max visited at earlier. The meaty smell wasn’t quite as appealing this time.

  “I’ll just be a moment.”

  His fingers brushed against the bare skin of my neck and my body recoiled. Confusion etched through his sea blue eyes and as he sauntered off, I leaned against the railing, wishing I could be anywhere else in the world.

  My gaze drew upward to the seagulls flying high in the air, squawking their beckoning calls as they rode the wind and scoured the sandy beaches for any scraps of food they could find. Lucky birds with wings to carry them far away if they desired.

  Max stood mere feet from me. He shifted his weight from one foot to another and with his hands in his pockets, his body fidgeted as though he wanted to say something or do something, but couldn’t because of Dom’s presence with us.

  Although, I wanted nothing more than to look at him, I ignored him. The less I paid him attention the better I could fight the urge to ask him to help me escape. I wrapped my arms around my waist and leaned further over the railing as I closed my eyes, listing to the sound of the crashing waves.

  Vincent strode up behind me. His hand grazed along my lower back.

  I flinched and the satin sleeve of my dress caught on a splinter of wood on the railing, tearing a few stitches from the seam.

  “Is something troubling you?” he asked. “You seem quite distracted here.”

  I shook my head, but didn’t meet his gaze.

  “That’s not a very convincing answer.” He ripped off a bite of his already half-eaten frankfurter and chewed with as much gusto as he did with everything else. It was as though he did the bread and meat a favor just by being him.

  My fingers fidgeted with the button on my sleeve.

  Although, Max warned me not to broach the subject, the thought of doing so toyed with my mind. Vincent had never been unkind or disagreeable with me.

  Perhaps Max was wrong.

  “I suppose being here today just reminds me of Frank.”

  “I see.” Without finishing the last couple of bites, he tossed the frankfurter into the sand for the birds.

  “I’m just worried about him,” I continued. “I don’t know anything regarding the case against him. I don’t know his trial date or if he even has a lawyer.”

  I waited for Vincent to respond, but he said nothing. The crease in his furrowed brow deepened. His eyes hardened and the deep blue hue darkened into near black. He yanked his pack of cigarettes from the inside of his blazer and lit one, drawing in a long puff, before he blew the smoke out slowly.

  “I thought, maybe I could visit with his arresting officer to see about his case and trial.”

  “No.” Vincent flicked the barely smoked cigarette onto the ground and stepped on the butt, extinguishing the embers. His dominant stance intimidated me, though I pretended to ignore it.

  “But Frank will need a lawyer to represent him.”

  “State law requires him access to a court appointed lawyer. They will take care of his criminal case from there.”

  “But what about his trial?”

  “And I should care of that because?”

  “You don’t have to care, but I care. I want to attend—”

  “You are to stay away from the whole mess. You are not to visit him and you, certainly, won’t inquire anyone about his case.” The fire in his eyes flared.

  “I don’t understand. Why?”

  “The subject is closed.” With the conversation over in his eyes, Vincent leaned in close to me. “Do you understand, Miss Ford?”

  The emotions of today felt like a raw wound that had been ripped open. Another second in Vincent’s company and I surely would lose my mind. Like the crazy old man, Mr. Howard, in the apartment above us when I was ten years old.

  Woken up by his perpetuate noise, I remember watching from my window the night they hauled him off to an asylum. With his body wrapped tight in a straight jacket, he mumbled words no one could understand and stared at the sky as though he thought something would fall upon him.

  I spun on my heel and strode away from Vincent. Footsteps thumped the dock behind me. After only a few feet, a hand grabbed my arm and Vincent whipped me around to face him, his grip tight.

  “Vinny,” Max growled. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  “Stay out of it, Catalano.” Vincent twisted my arm tighter as he ignored his hired man.

  I glanced at Max half expecting him to attack his boss from the furious look in his face. The desire to protect me over obeying Vincent’s orders heightened the tension in his shoulders.

  “You’re hurting me,” I whispered.

  “You will never walk away from me again.”

  A gunshot fired through the air, the sound pounded in my chest and knocked the breath from my lungs. My shrill scream echoed as the bullet whizzed by my head.

/>   Several young men marched toward us with revolvers in their hands. While some approached from the front a few more strode from behind a couple of vendors along the pier.

  “You messed with the wrong family, Mr. Giovanni,” one of them shouted. “We don’t care who you are or how much he owes you. You won’t ever touch my grandfather again.”

  Max lunged for me. He yanked me around behind him. With one hand wrapped around me, he withdrew his gun from his shoulder holster just as Vincent and Dom reached for theirs.

  Shots fired in all directions.

  Bystanders around us screeched and scattered as they fled for their lives and covered their ears.

  The boy who had spoken and fired first collapsed to the ground. Blood splattered his clothes and face. His eyes grew lifeless.

  A few of the young men retreated, while others ducked behind trash barrels or vendor signs for protection.

  Hard bangs deafened my ears.

  I buried my face into Max’s shoulder, pressing my body close to his. The sound of his own gun vibrated through me.

  He spun around, wrapping both of his arms around me tight and shoving me backwards.

  Down through a couple of buildings, he weaved through the crowd and pushed past people until we reached the Rolls Royce. He jerked the door open and heaved me into the seat before he followed in after me.

  “Are you hurt?” His question shouted at a volume that, surely, someone on the street curb could hear, and yet, the ringing in my head drowned out his words.

  “They killed him. They killed him.” My body trembled through my shrieks.

  He drew me into a tight embrace. His lips brushed against my forehead. “Shhh, shhh, it’s all right, Evelyn. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. Nothing is going to happen to you. Nothing.”

  Dom and Vincent leapt in the driver and passenger seats, slamming the doors shut behind them.

  “Why the hell did you leave?” Vincent shouted at Max.

  “I had to get her out of there before someone shot her.”

  Dom turned the key, the engine roared to life and he stomped on the gas pedal.

  As the Rolls Royce sped down the street, Vincent whipped around and shoved his finger in Max’s face.

  “Your job is to protect me, not her.”

  TEN

  SOUNDS BUSTLED FROM the main floor of the mansion. Voices billowed, footsteps thumped against the marble floors, pots and pans banged from the kitchen, and a never ending stream of slammed doors echoed through the hallway.

  Each loud noise drew my curiosity, and yet, my indifference as I nestled into the pillows of my window seat and gazed down upon the garden.

  Flowers, rich in bright colors, bloomed in the spring afternoon sun. Emerald shrubs calmed and soothed with their green hue, along with the perfectly manicured lawns and tall trees whose branches swayed in the gentle breeze of the day.

  No matter how pretty the view, though, I’d grown rather tired of it, as it all now grew tarnished with the reality around me. While Frank would serve his time behind bars for his crime, I would spend my days behind my own version of prison.

  Of course, the accommodations did not match his. A comfortable bed to sleep in, elegant clothes to wear, expensive jewelry to adorn my neck, wrists, and earlobes, delicious food to fill my belly, and the luck of not having to pay a dime for anything.

  To me, however, it was still a prison.

  And one that almost got me killed yesterday.

  Coldness shivered through my bones. Not only did the gunshots still echo in my memory, but the boy’s lifeless eyes staring at me stole my breath and haunted my dreams.

  I glanced over at the dress hanging from the closet door. The material of sequins and lace mimicked a dress I’d tried on several days ago in the backroom of a burlesque theater.

  In Vincent’s favorite color, the dark red mocked me along with the notion I’d have to slip within the confining stitches in a matter of moments to attend the party downstairs.

  A party I couldn’t miss.

  At least not according to Vincent’s letter lying on my bed. The handwriting rather elegant for a man’s with the swooping slanted letters and perfectly, straight sentences, his words were more of a command for my attendance this evening.

  Apparently, he’d grown tired of my silent treatment toward him since returning from Coney Island.

  A gentle rap knocked against the door and I flinched.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Max.”

  I crossed the bedroom to the door, opening it slowly and only enough to peek through. With his hands clasped behind his back, he smiled at me from the other side.

  “May I speak to you for a moment?” he asked.

  My hand gripped the door tight.

  Trust him, Eve, trust him.

  “I guess so.”

  He slipped through the door and as I closed it softly behind him, his fingertips gently tugged on the material of the back of my blouse.

  “You missed one of the buttons,” he whispered as he flipped the pearl through the loop.

  A jolt struck through every pore of my skin. “Thank you.”

  His body was inches behind mine, so close his breath tickled across my neck. “You’re welcome.”

  I slowly faced him. Our eyes locked for a brief moment.

  An obvious thought burdened his mind, plaguing him in a depth that drenched concern through his whole body, afflicting him in a way I hadn’t seen anything do to him before.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, shaking his head slightly and turned away from me.

  “I see Mr. Phelps brought up your dress for the evening,” he said.

  “Yes, he delivered it about an hour ago.”

  “Vinny sent me up to bring you this. He thought you would like to wear it tonight.” He outstretched his hand, handing me a velvet jewelry case that weighed heavier than expected.

  “Don’t you mean he demands that I wear it?”

  With a deep sigh, I walked away from Max and threw the box onto the bed next to the letter. It bounced a couple of times upon the fluffy bedspread.

  “You might want to be a little more careful with that.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. The contents meant nothing but more money Vincent could hold over my head when the time came for him to collect. Like a living doll for him to command and dress for his own amusement.

  “Is that all you came up here for?” I asked.

  “No, not all. I wanted to see how you were. If you were doing all right after what happened?”

  Max rubbed the back of his neck as he stepped toward me and then retreated with fervor in his movement as though standing close to me affected him just as much as me, an attraction that nagged at us both.

  “Does it matter if I am doing all right or not?”

  “It matters to me.”

  Nervous energy itched through my skin.

  It mattered to him?

  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to stay here,” I said, ignoring his admission. “Any one of those bullets could have hit me by accident and a . . . a young man lost his . . . the three of you murdered him.”

  “I never hit him. I never hit any of them. I shot in his direction, but it wasn’t my bullet that killed him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I know. I’m trained to know.”

  “Well, I don’t care. All I care about is getting out of here. I’ve to get out of here. I’ve got to get away from Vincent and this house and whatever business that all of you are involved in.”

  I shoved past him and his arms wrapped around my waist. His shoulders towered over mine with an intense strength, and yet, a concerned passion.

  The honesty in his eyes left me gasping for breath, drawing me into him. My heart thumped hard. My body trembled in his arms.

  “You know you can’t leave.”

  “How am I supposed to just pretend that nothing is wrong?”

  “You pretend for Frank�
�s sake. You pretend to keep him alive and to keep you alive.”

  Two truths I already knew, and yet, didn’t want to admit to myself.

  I wanted Vincent to pay for what he’d done to my family. I wanted him to sit in a prison cell behind iron bars like Frank, whose crime wasn’t even one-tenth as horrific as the crime he committed yesterday. I wanted him to squirm as he sat in a courtroom and listened as a judge sentenced him for murder.

  Yet, no matter how much I wanted it, I knew the Kingpin, the boss of bosses, the powerful Vincent Giovanni would never see one ounce of punishment.

  Tears stung my eyes. “I don’t know how I can.”

  Without any ounce of hesitation, his hands slid up my neck, cradling my cheeks. His body so close to mine, he pressed into me, weakening my knees. His lips brushed against my forehead for a moment, giving me a soft kiss before they traced down the side of my temple. His hot breath warmed my skin.

  I closed my eyes and held my breath.

  He jerked away from me, shaking his head as though someone had slapped him.

  “I’m sorry, Evelyn. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “It’s all right,” I whispered, fighting my disappointment.

  A fist rapped on the bedroom door once again. Soft at first, by the third thump the hard knock echoed through the room.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Mr. Phelps.”

  Max strode to the door, twisting the doorknob to allow the bald butler inside the room.

  “Oh, good evening, Mr. Catalano.” Mr. Phelps snickered. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “No, no. I just had to drop something off for Evelyn.”

  “Ah, yes, of course.”

  The two men exchanged glances as Max remained by the opened door with his hand on the knob.

  “Miss Ford,” Mr. Phelps stepped forward. “Your hair dresser is here, as well as Miss Sophia Moreau to help you with your dress for the evening. Shall I send them up?”

  “Um . . .” I glanced at Max, hoping he could read the unspoken words simmering in my eyes.

  Please stay. Please, please, please stay.

  “Actually, I have a few errands to run before I return for tonight, so I’ll see you later.”

  “You will be here for the party?”