This is an excerpt from BLACKMAIL AT THE GALLIANO CLUB,
coming
February 2023.
The casket was carried through the double doors. The crowd streamed out and filled
the wide steps of the church to watch the pallbearers load it into the hearse for the ride to Saint Rocco’s cemetery. There would be no internment. It was early November and the ground in upstate New York was already frozen. Jimmy would rest in the mausoleum until spring.
The mayor and the owner of Lido Premium
murmured their sympathies to Jimmy's widow before leaving in their fancy automobiles. Karol and the other pallbearers spoke to Carmella next as she stood next to Sonny. The contingent from the Galliano Club clustered on the steps near the family.
Vito’s soup-strainer mustache trembled with emotion as he turned to
Luca. “Jimmy can rest in peace now.”
“That’s right, boss,” Luca said. “It’s over.”
“We’ll drink a toast, no?”
Luca nodded. The boss was looking for reassurance. “We all will.”
A members-only outfit, normally the Galliano Club was closed on Sunday.
Tonight all the rules were out the window. Even women were invited.
A ripple of unease went through the crowd. A space opened in the middle. Carmella stiffened. Vito said something that Luca didn’t catch.
Maria Teresa Procopio was on the sidewalk in front of the church, chin held high. The widow of the man who’d killed Jimmy had a reputation as a loud, bossy woman who matched her late husband in size and strength.
The sky
was the color of raw iron as day faded to night, but enough light spilled from the open church door for Luca to see red eyes and lines of grief aging her face. Her dusky hair was scraped into a bun and a long black dress showed below the hem of her knee-length coat. Her hands were jammed into the coat pockets.
“On
behalf of my children and myself,” she said to Carmella, loud enough for everyone on the church steps to hear. “I offer condolences for your loss. Your Jimmy, may his soul rest in peace, was a good man.”
“Thank you.” Carmella’s voice was surprisingly strong.
“That’s all I come to say.”
“I understand.”
Maria Teresa’s gaze slid to Luca.
He touched the brim of his fedora in acknowledgment.
“Lucky Lombardo,” Maria Teresa said with ice in her voice.
Luca hated the nickname. The newspapers had gleefully dubbed him "Lucky" for his narrow escape from Nick Procopio’s copper wire garrote. Only a last-minute intervention by Officer Sean O’Malley had saved
him.
“Everybody’s hero now.” Maria Teresa spat hard.
The gobbet landed on the step below Luca. He didn’t
move.
