Over the years, Paulie and I had developed a method of communication. If we were talking about stuff relating to the shadier side of his family, we used pay phones. I picked random locations and never the same ones, and definitely never one that was near the pub or where I lived. The FBI was notorious for wiretapping, and I didn’t want to get my friend in trouble.
Surprisingly enough, the Commission Trial of the eighties had set the mafia up in some kind of antihero worship. They also had to thank “The Godfather” films for that kind of myth.
I trekked down Ninth, made a turn onto Fiftieth until I came to a pay phone beside the bodega three blocks up. I plunked in my twenty-five cents. Paulie had a mobile phone in his car, but he rarely used it. One of these days when the mobile’s antennas didn’t stick out, when it didn’t weigh like a brick in my purse, and when the cost per minute wasn’t three times the quarter needed for a single pay phone use, I’d spring for one.
“De Lucci Investments, how may I help you?”
“Paulo De Lucci please,” I said and told her who was calling.
There was a long pause, and I thought I’d lost her, but she sighed and told me to wait a moment. That moment turned into minutes, and I started to get annoyed. I was also ornery when I was hungry and probably should have eaten before I headed out on these errands.
“Ava?”
“Paulie.” Took you long enough.
“Long time no hear. What’s up?”
“Call me from the outside. Do you have a pen?”
He chuckled. “Uh-oh. Do you need me to fix something?”
“Paulie. Pen. Paper. Now.”
“Damn, you’re still bossy.”
“As if you’re not.” I rattled off the number. “Got it?”
“Got it. You know—“
I hung up. That was probably rude. But Paulie was so happy-go-lucky sometimes, and I worried that his big mouth would get him into trouble. Add to that my face was about to get fried under the midday sun, leaving my freckles to have a field day. I should’ve worn a cap.
The phone finally rang, and I answered on its first ring.
“What’s got you so snippy, girl?” he asked.
“Have you been trying to book Eamonn’s for catering?”
“Yes. We’ve been having parties left and right, and we’re getting tired of Italian food. We had Japanese the other night. Also Greek, but Cesar said he wanted that Irish Cheesecake and Shepherd’s Pie your dad used to bring.”
I stilled. “Your brother is in the States?”
“Yup. He arrived last month.”
“The prodigal son returns.” My brain grasped at whatever memory I had of Paulie’s brother. He’d always been in a suit—blue, black, or gray. Granted the last time I saw him, it was at their mother’s funeral, but it was the first time I laid eyes on Cesar De Lucci that set the tone for my opinion of him.
I had been cross-legged on the sunroom floor with a pile of entertainment magazines scattered before me. I was clipping news articles and pictures to put in a scrapbook that exhibited my obsession for Bon Jovi. That year I turned twelve, their eponymous album came out, and I had the song Runaway on repeat so much that Mom thought I needed more quality time with Dad. Paulie was lying on the couch reading a book when his brother walked in.
Cesar’s disdainful eyes landed on me and then on the mess I had lying on the floor. “Who’s she?”
“Ava is Cillian’s daughter,” Paulie answered. “What, no ‘hey, bro’? How’s Harvard?”
Instead of answering his brother’s questions, Cesar scoffed, “Are we babysitters now?”
“Don’t be an ass, Cesar.”
Paulie’s brother didn’t look apologetic. In fact, I’d become invisible as he asked, “Where’s Lorenzo?”
“In the study with Pop.”
Without another word, he pivoted on his right foot and left the room.
“Don’t mind Cesar, he’s got a stick up his ass. I think Harvard does that to you.”
“Hey, did I lose you?” Paulie’s voice broke through my trip down Cesar memory lane.
“No. I just remembered that time he walked in on us in the sunroom, and I had all these clippings and magazines on the floor.” I found out later Cesar was a bit OCD. But first impressions were first impressions. “Does he still have a stick up his ass?”
Paulie burst out laughing. “He appeared stuck up because you were into rock bands then.”
“Hey, your words, not mine,” I replied. Though I still enjoyed Bon Jovi, I’d had enough of rockers for boyfriends.
As if reading my mind, Paulie said, “I’m glad you got rid of Brian.”
“Brad,” I corrected. “And he was the one who left me.”
“Whatever.” I imagined him waving his hand. Like most Italians, he liked gesturing while speaking. He asked about my classes and I asked about his work, but I needed to cut through the chit chat. “My brain is frying under this heat, and I need to go to the bank, but I was wondering if you still have a catering gig open.”
“Perfect timing. Cesar’s been threatening to cancel Sunday’s party if we went with O’Toole’s.”
“You called our rivals?” I yelled.
“Hey, your mother kept turning us down, and my poor secretary had to find an alternative.”
“They’re not even Irish,” I grumbled. “I heard their main investor is Russian.”
“You heard right. Anyway, Cesar said to find another caterer, otherwise he was going to order pizza,” Paulie groaned. “I invited a few of my high-value clients. They wanted to meet him.”
“Your brother is a bigger deal than you?”
“For international investments, yes.”
“Why is he in the U.S.?”
“He wants to grow his American market. He’s a partner at a couple casinos in Vegas,” he mumbled something under his breath. “Look, I need to get back to the office. I can’t drop and run to take your call anytime you please. So there must be something else you need from me.”
“You know who Gorski is, right?”
“Sounds familiar.”
“One of the families is shaking him, and we’re turning up short with our meat and seafood.”
He sighed. “You want me to find out who it is? Ask my uncle?”
“Well, if you want your catered dinner this Sunday, you’ll fix this.”
“Are you blackmailing me, Miss McGrath?” Paulie teased.
“Not at all,” I said seriously. “This has to stop, Paulie.”
“I’m not involved with that shit.”
“How can you turn a blind eye to this?”
His silence indicated all amusement had fled from our conversation. I also suspected his nonchalant ways were a shield and hid a more sensitive side.
“What the hell am I saying?” I muttered, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you should have seen Gorski this morning.”
“If he decided to borrow from the mob instead of the bank like a regular business owner then he wouldn’t be fucked up. Many people blame the mafia for the shit they’re in. I admit protection money is extortion, but loan sharking is a different beast and came about because there was a demand for it. The mafia merely provided the supply.”
“I understand, but with the way Gorski is being squeezed, it’s impacting our business.”
“You sure I can’t turn you on to a different supplier?”
Probably one that was mobbed up as well, but I didn’t say that. “No. It’s Gorski or nothing.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Also, what’s the ballpark of the number of guests?”
“Fifty.”
“And I have carte blanche on the menu besides the cheesecake and the Shepherd’s Pie?”
“You got it.” The smile was back in his voice, and all was right again between us.
By the time I returned to Eamonn’s, the lunch rush was over. Friday’s business was one of our best which was why we were depending on those fish and chips to sell. Being short on that hurts our bottom line. I winced when I saw the board that said the menu item was sold out and we hadn’t even gotten to dinner service yet.
Only Sheila was at the bar. “Where’s Charles?”
The waitress shook her head at me. “In the kitchen. And you better get your ass in there.”
Uh-oh.
I slid her the envelope with Carol’s money. “Carol’s going to send someone to pick this up. Make sure to ask for identification before you hand over the money.”
Sheila nodded and gave me a mock salute.
I threw my leather jacket over the bar and barged into the kitchen with a swagger like I’d conquered the day. Both Charles and Tommy’s heads whipped my way, their laser-gazes compelling my steps to falter along with my bravado. Off to the side stood a sheepish Gorski.
“What the hell did you do?” Charles thundered.
“Hunt for business, that’s what,” I retorted. “It’s honest business.” Paulie knew how I felt about blood money. “We got a gig this Sunday for fifty people.”
“I also brought more haddock, already filleted, same price as whole,” Gorski said.
“Don’t do us no favors, Gorski,” Tommy snarled.
“No, but this tornado of a woman did me a solid,” Gorski shot back and walked up to me. “Told you to stay out of it. But the crew from De Lucci sorted everything out with the Rossi soldiers.”
My brows shot to my hairline. “So it was the Rossis who were squeezing you?”
“You didn’t hear it from me.” Then he looked around nervously. “Your brother don’t have a bug in this place, does he?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Charles said, looking at me. “So, you just called Paulie and suddenly Gorski’s got all the goods?”
I shrugged. “He told me he’d see what he could do. But it’s his brother’s party this Sunday. And from what I’ve heard, he’s very influential.”
“Is he made?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t think so.” Paulie would have told me if his brother was a made man, a fully initiated member of the mafia.
“You know Robert is going to shit a brick when he catches wind of this, right?” Charles asked.
“That’s why we’re going to plan the menu now and order the stuff for Sunday before anyone else finds out.”
All three men stared at me as if I’d signed my own death warrant.
I probably had.
My other two brothers and Mom were going to skin me alive.
Well, and Charles.
“You know they’re going to blame me for this, right?” my brother told me in a resigned voice.
“But I’ll back you up,” I said cheekily.
Charles and I managed to evade the family until Saturday evening. But when I left Tommy in the kitchen and stopped by the bar, my brother informed me to prepare for tarring and feathering when I got home. Apparently, Robert had already ripped him a new one over the phone.
When I arrived at the brownstone, I still thought I could sneak past Robert’s floor, but their door opened just when I took one step past their landing.
“Where do you think you’re going, missy?” his voice boomed. “Get in here.”
Shoulders dropping, I dawdled on the stairs before entering their apartment. As soon as I moved past him, he closed the door and leaned against it.
I spotted Sean standing behind the couch with his hands spread across its back, a stony expression on his face.
I gulped.
Except for their dark hair, my brothers couldn’t be more different from each other. Sean was the tallest at six-three. He was thirty-two, leanly muscled with scholarly features punctuated by glasses. In contrast, Robert was stockier, had the shoulders of a linebacker, and exuded the focus of a Rottweiler. He was thirty, and three years older than Charles.
Madelyn, also called Mads, was Robert’s wife. She was sitting on the couch where she had five-year old Kelly on her lap. The expression on her face only underscored the shit I was in with my brothers.
Kelly was Charles’ kid whose mother was the daughter of Giovanni Rossi—the boss of the Rossi Crime Family. The daughter who was married off to the Chicago Outfit boss. Our family’s ties to the Italian mafia were forever bound by the blood running through little Kelly.
“Hi, Aunt Ava,” six-year-old Callum yelled from the hallway. “Dad said you were in deep crap.”
“Cal, go to your room,” Mads told her son.
“Uncle Charles said she was only trying to help Nana, right?” Ronan, who was eight, piped up beside his brother.
“Kids, you heard your mom,” I said. “No need to witness your aunt’s interrogation.”
Both boys pealed with laughter and fell back into their room, slamming the door.
Sean walked over to the phone. “Mom said to call her when we have you.”
“Is she feeling better?”
“She is,” Robert said. He hadn’t budged from his position at the door. Was he blocking my exit, expecting me to bolt? A ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth before he continued, “And I quote: ‘Who knew that my reckless daughter’s hare-brained idea would be a spontaneous cure to this flu?’ I think when she found out what you did, her temperature shot so high, it killed the virus.”
“Ha, ha,” I muttered.
“Ava’s here,” Sean said, pressing the speaker.
“Two days,” my mother fumed. “I couldn’t leave you alone in the pub for two days and you do this.”
“We needed the money,” I said.
“Oh, and you think getting close to the De Luccis again is the answer?”
“It’s just business.”
“You know nothing is just business with those people. Soon they’ll be asking to store dead bodies in our freezer.”
“Oh my God, have you been watching mob movies again?” My mother loved cinema. She’d watched “The Godfather” and “Scarface” countless times. It was also probably why her imagination ran wild. Not that I could blame her given that Dad and Charles turned out to be real-life gangsters. But still. “And it’s Paulie … and well, they’d been celebrating Cesar’s return.” Then I added for good measure, “He loves our Irish cheesecake.”
“Cesar is in New York?” Robert asked.
“Since last month. I’m surprised the feds didn’t tell you,” I derided.
Robert let my sarcasm slide and murmured, “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting about this, Robert? I’m not letting my daughter step into that mansion again.”
“Well Charles can’t,” I said. “That wouldn’t go over well if any of the Rossis are there.”
“And you think you being there will be any better?” Mom challenged.
“Better than Charles. And Paulie’s there. He won’t let anything happen to me.”
“Who else is going to be at the party?” Robert asked.
“Robert!” Mom’s voice cried over the phone. “We’re supposed to be reprimanding her over this. Not encouraging her.”
I turned to Sean, and my lips tipped up. “Paulie mentioned that a few of his top clients are eager to talk to Cesar.”
“Motherfucker,” Sean mumbled. “I don’t have the numbers, but I hear the older De Lucci brother is—”
“Sean!” Irritation was evident in Mom’s voice, and I was having a hard time keeping my laughter contained, so I compressed my lips together. She could be dramatic at times.
“It seems,” Mads said. “The food is already getting prepped by Tommy as we speak. The whole purpose of this meeting is to remind Ava that decisions like this should be discussed with family.”
“I couldn’t help it, okay?” I fretted. “You all should have seen Gorski yesterday morning.”
“Gorski? What does Gorski have to do with all this?” Robert asked.
Obviously, neither Charles nor Tommy told the rest of the McGraths the whole story.
“I’m not really sure.” I wasn’t comfortable discussing our purveyor’s problem in his absence, and especially not in front of Robert. “All you need to know is our orders came up short, and we ran out of fish by lunchtime yesterday. And.” I split a look between my two brothers. “In case you don’t remember since you both haven’t been running things in Eamonn’s for a while, you never run out of fish on a Friday.”
“Jesus,” Sean said. “When did you start being this sarcastic?”
“I’ve always been like this.”
“She inherited it from your father,” Mom said. There was no bite in her tone, I could even say there was some fondness. My chest clenched tight. Ah … Mom. She missed Dad.
“If I’m reading between the lines here, the mob could be involved,” Robert speculated. “The Fulton Fish Market and the Seafood Workers Union are currently under investigation from the mayor’s office.”
“And I hope I’m reading between the lines wrong,” Mads told her husband. “You’re not about to ask your sister to wear a wire, right?”
My brother threw an irritated glance at his wife. “I’m appalled you would think I’d suggest that.”
“I’m not betraying my friend anyway so that’s a moot point,” I added.
“You’re picking him over family?” Robert asked.
“No. I’m picking him over the SDNY.”
I never played the ‘I’m exhausted’ card unless it was true, but with the excitement of the day before plus the work done tonight, not to mention how the next day was shaping up, there was no playing. With all this going on, I still needed to study for my test on Tuesday. At least I had Monday to prep for it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t involve all of you, but what happened yesterday was a perfect storm. Gorski, and then Carol.”
“I told Charles to pay you back on that,” Mom sighed. “He’ll have the money for you tomorrow. It was really an oversight on my part. We’re really managing.”
I flicked my gaze to my siblings and Mads. They shook their heads, allowing Mom to think we accepted her explanation about the pub’s financial situation.
“No rush. I don’t need it yet,” I said. “Hey, treat that as me chipping in for the free rent I’m getting in this house.”
“Just be careful tomorrow,” my mother said.
“Tommy is coming with me. He can be a scary dude,” I assured her. That seemed to satisfy Mom enough.
After Sean ended the call, he asked, “How bad is Eamonn’s in the red?”
“I did a cursory check,” I said. “It looks like Mom is waiting until last minute to pay our suppliers. We have a few that are due in thirty days, but many of them are small shops themselves, so it’s COD.”
Sean blew out a breath. “Why doesn’t she ask me for help? I can release funds from our rental corporation. Eamonn’s is our legacy. She needn’t manage this on her own.”
“Mom has an independent streak,” Robert told him, even if it was a rhetorical question because we all knew exactly why our mother was this way. “She took over the reins of Eamonn’s when she was in her twenties. Dad helped, but he found out he could help more with the money he got working as an associate for the mafia.”
Not to mention its connections.
Sean pointed a finger at me. “I’m the patriarch of this family now. Do not make a move like this without consulting us again.”
“You know that’s like waving a red flag at the bull, right?” Mads said dryly.
Sean glared at our sister-in-law. “She’s twenty-three years old, damn it. She should be concentrating on college.”
“Watch how you talk to my wife, bro,” Robert warned, all teeth, leaving his position at the door, and standing right where Mads was seated.
And that signaled my exit. “I need to study for a test, and just FYI, I may be twenty-three-years old, but I am the one who fixed that shit yesterday.”
Without waiting for their response, I left the apartment.
