Page 13 of Shadowed Loyalty

Five

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,

More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.

Comforter, where, where is your comforting?

—Gerard Manley Hopkins,

from “No worst, there is none"

Dusk had crept over the city by the time Lorenzo left his office on North LaSalle and slid behind the wheel of his new Nash Roadster. As he pulled out into the usual traffic of a Friday evening, he debated for a moment where to go next. Manny was on his way home, and he had invited Lorenzo to join the family for a night of celebration. Everyone would be there. Every Mancari in Chicago, and every Capecce too—or the ones not working elsewhere, anyway. Cousins and aunts and friends he’d known since he was a toddler.

And Sabina. Sabina would be there with her perfect face and her perfect hair and those deep brown eyes that he had no desire to look into right now. Sabina would be there, the devastation of heartbreak in her eyes. All because of that cop who had used her and tossed her aside.

His fingers tightened on the wheel, not sure how he could be so furious with both her and with himself—and with Roman O’Reilly. But he was. He didn’t want to go there, he didn’t want to talk about O’Reilly…and he didn’t want to be alone with his own brooding thoughts, either. With a blustery breath, he made a turn he didn’t often make and headed for the shopping district and one of Manny’s speakeasies. His brothers would be there, working—if anyone could distract him from himself, it would be Tony and Val. He needed their humor, their perspective. And live music wouldn’t hurt his state of mind, either.

He found parking a block away from the dry goods store and joined the pedestrians filling the sidewalks. Heading for the back entrance, he fell in behind a giggling couple dressed for a night on the town. Sequins and beads on the girl, and a glittering band pulled over her forehead. Pin stripes and two-tone shoes on the gent, who walked like he was trying to prove something.

At their approach, the panel in the back door slid open. The man whispered, and the door creaked open wide enough for them to enter. Jazz music spilled out into the street and harmonized perfectly with the shadows of encroaching night. Lorenzo sauntered up to the door, and again the panel opened.

“Password?”

Lorenzo lifted his brows. “Let me in, Valente, or I’m going to tell Mama you’re the one who broke her favorite vase.”

His little brother laughed and opened the door. “Fancy seeing you here, Enzo. This is, what, the third time you’ve ever graced our fine establishment?”

Lorenzo stepped into the dim interior, soaking up the anonymity of the busy speakeasy. “I was in the mood for some music.”

Val nodded, glanced out the peephole, and then smiled at him. “It’s a good group tonight. The female vocals are real smooth, you’ll love it. But say, shouldn’t you be at Manny’s? Pops said there was a big bash over there tonight. I’da thought you’d be a guest of honor, getting him sprung like that.”

Lorenzo grunted and loosened his tie. Sometimes Val was such a dunce. He always knew just the wrong thing to say. “Yeah. I’m a real hero.”

“One of these days you’ll get over yourself, you babbo.” Val shoved him—too hard, like always, just to prove he could. “Hey, Tony! Get our brother some of the good stuff!”

Lorenzo shook his head and gave the baby of the family a playful cuff on the side of the head for calling him an idiot. And to remind him that shoving had consequences.

Val grinned and waved him away.

As he headed for the bar and one of the few empty stools, Lorenzo arched a brow at his older brother. Tony put down the bottle of gin he held—which had probably been cooked up in a bathtub a few blocks away—and reached instead for a Coca-Cola. Grinning, he popped the top and slid it over. “Thought maybe the events of the last day would give you a thirst for it.”

Lorenzo gripped the cool glass bottle. “The idea has a certain allure, but—”

“The law’s the law,” Tony finished for him. He grabbed a clean mug from a shelf and filled it with beer in response to another patron’s demand. “I’ve heard the lecture. Though technically you wouldn’t be doing anything illegal. You neither manufactured, sold, nor transported it.”

“But by buying it, I force my brothers to do each of those things. No thanks. I won’t contribute to you breaking the law, either.”

He took a swig of the soda, let the bubbles fizz their way down his throat. And winced. Not at the carbonation, but at the fact that he’d just contributed in a big way to that very thing by helping Manny.

“I swear, Enzo, if you weren’t the spitting image of Pops, I’d say you were a foundling.”

Lorenzo raised his Coke. “To brotherly love. Where would I be today without your unfailing support?”

Tony laughed, nodded toward the stage where the band prepared for another set, and turned to take an order. Lorenzo swiveled his head to look at the musicians. The lead vocalist was a dark-haired beauty decked out in a low-cut white evening dress, red rose pinned on to draw yet more attention to her décolletage.

“Think I might offer to drop her home tonight,” Tony said, leaning onto the bar across from Lorenzo. “Her name’s Peggy, I think. Hey, maybe I can convince her to go out with me if you and Bean tag along. Whadaya say?”

He forced his grip on the Coke to relax, reminding himself that his brother had no idea how painful the suggestion was. “I don’t know, Tony. I’m not really sure where things stand with me and Sabina right now.”

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