Page 14 of Shadowed Loyalty

Tony frowned and angled his head so that the dim light caught his strong jaw. Lorenzo had caught him more than once practicing such stances in front of a mirror. He was considered the handsomest of the Capecce brothers, at least since Joey had been killed in the war.

“‘Sabina’?” Tony echoed. “You haven’t used her full name in…ever. Am I missing something here? ’Cause when I saw you a few days ago, you were talking about the suit you were going to buy for your wedding, and now you sound like…”

“Like it’s off?” Lorenzo grunted and pasted his eyes on the scarred bar, liberated from an Irish pub across town when it closed its doors two years ago. He debated for a moment whether to elaborate. On the one hand, he had the urge to coddle his pain a little longer, to protect it from the harsh light of opinion. On the other hand, Tony was the best friend he had, differing views on the world notwithstanding.

He may have told himself he wanted a distraction, but deep down he probably knew that if he came here, his brother would force him to face the situation head on. “I think it is.”

“Hey, can I get a beer?”

Tony snarled at the impatient customer three stools down. “Hold your horses or go someplace else. We’re having a family crisis here.” He smoothed out his features as he turned back to Lorenzo. “What happened? You two have a fight?”

Lorenzo let out a humorless breath of a laugh. “Some might call it that. She doesn’t love me, Tony.”

His brother straightened, rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on. You two have been joined at the hip since she was old enough to walk.”

“She’s been seeing someone else.”

Though Tony had been reaching for another mug, he froze. “She what? Who?”

“You remember Oliveri?”

Tony grabbed the mug and thrust it under a tap while he contemplated. “Maybe. Was he the one that Manny sent to the brewery with Val a month ago? Tall, talks like New York?”

“Mm hm.”

Tony shook his head as he slid the beer down the bar. “He’s got nothing on you, little bro. Don’t worry about him.”

“She loves him—she told me so. But it’s worse than that.” Lorenzo let his eyes flutter shut for a moment. “He’s not really Oliveri. He’s O’Reilly, the Prohibition agent that took Manny down yesterday.”

Tony let fly a few choice expletives in both English and Sicilian. His next words stayed in their parents’ native tongue. “Scioccu!You think he realizes his life’s over?”

With an upward jerk of his head, Lorenzo sent his brother a scorching glare. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk, Antonio.” He, too, kept to Sicilian.

The elder bared his teeth, hissed out a breath, and gripped the edge of the counter with both hands. “I promised you years ago I’d keep my hands clean. But Manny has an awful lot of men who don’t have kid brothers with your scruples.”

“Which is why I made him promise to put out the word that O’Reilly’s off limits.”

Tony sagged in disbelief. “And he did it?”

Lorenzo chuckled again, still without mirth. “He didn’t understand why I’d ask it, but I think he figured he owed me for getting him out, especially after what his darling daughter did to me.”

Tony spat out a few more ugly words and shook his head. “I don’t understand why you’d ask it, either. You could have just kept your mouth shut, you babbo, and let someone take care of this for you.”

“It wouldn’t have changed the fact that Sabina fell in love with him.” He waved away a wisp of smoke that drifted over from another patron’s fat cigar. “It just would have made me guilty on top of it all.”

“It’s not like you would have—”

“‘To him therefore who knoweth to do good, and doth it not, to him it is sin.’”

Tony sent his eyes to the hazy ceiling and shook his head. “You’ve got one of those for every occasion, don’t you?”

“That’s the general idea.”

His brother muttered one more curse for good measure and turned to fill a few more orders. Lorenzo soaked up the jazz from the stage, content with the pause in the conversation. Sometimes it amazed him how different he and his brothers were, how the same lessons at Holy Guardian Angel could have taken hold in him and not fazed them at all. But, all jokes aside, they were there. They didn’t pretend to understand what drove each other, but they’d still be along for the ride. They were family.

As evening edged toward night, the speakeasy came to life. Warm bodies packed every available piece of real estate, the dance floor a writhing mass of shimmies and Charlestons. There were a few flappers present, their faces painted, their dresses short, and their laughter loud, but most of the patrons seemed to be normal folks looking for a diversion from normal life. They kept Tony hopping, and Lorenzo turned on his stool so he could lean against the bar and watch the band.

After about an hour he saw Val relinquish his post at the door to a friend and come over for a drink. Seating was nil, so he just leaned beside Lorenzo and offered a quiet critique of all the people milling around—or at least the female half of them.

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