Joe just stared back, helplessly.
Maria whispered, “Joe,” and that broke the spell.
As if she’d struck him with a whip, he jerked up to his full height. “You will keep the baby,” he informed his brother. “Tell her.” He pointed at Mrs. O’Hara.
“I will . . .” Antonio had to swallow. “I will keep the baby,” he said obediently, and this time he bolted, heading for the kitchen to be sick.
Mrs. O’Hara gave a primal howl of anguish.
Sarah saw Malloy’s desperate plea for help, silent though it was. “Mrs. O’Hara, there’s nothing you can do right now.
Let me take you home,” she said gently, moving to take the woman by the arm.
Defeated, she sagged in Malloy’s grasp, and he released her to Sarah. The older woman let Sarah lead her toward the front door.
“It ain’t right,” she was muttering as she wept loudly and sloppily. “It just ain’t right for them to have my girl’s baby.”
Malloy hurried to precede them and opened the door, holding it for them as he shouted something to the ambulance driver. Sarah murmured comforting phrases as she led Mrs. O’Hara out into the street.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Howard Street,” Mrs. O’Hara murmured brokenly. “Just past Broadway.”
Sarah turned her in that direction, and they started walking. She was starting to believe she would get the older woman away without further incident when Mrs. O’Hara stopped dead in her tracks and breathed a curse.
Sarah looked up and saw only an average-looking, middle-aged Italian man walking toward them, followed by a group of younger men who seemed to be ready for anything. Before Sarah could even comprehend what she was seeing, Mrs.
O’Hara said, “Ugo,” and turned and ran in the other direction, leaving Sarah standing alone on the sidewalk directly in the path of Ugo Ruocco and his minions.
4
The ambulance driver moved just as quickly as Frank would have wanted, whipping his horse into motion to pull the vehicle around to the alley to pick up Nainsi Ruocco’s body. Frank waited just an instant, to make perfectly sure the wagon was well on its way, before turning back to make sure Sarah and Mrs. O’Hara were well on their way, too. He saw Mrs. O’Hara scurrying past him in the opposite direction and without Sarah.
Instantly, he sensed the change in the crowd. Something had happened, and instinctively, he sought out Sarah to assure her safety. He found her at once, standing with her back to him in the middle of the sidewalk, all alone because the crowd had drawn away, stepping into the street to make way for . . .
Frank almost groaned aloud. Ugo Ruocco and about half a dozen of his young toughs were heading straight for Sarah.
He opened his mouth to call out to her, but someone else beat him to it.
“Mrs. Brandt! Mrs. Brandt!”
Sarah turned toward the young Ruocco girl who had come charging out of the restaurant to summon her.
“Mrs. Brandt, come quick! The baby is sick!”
“Sarah, don’t,” he tried, but she only gave him a puzzled glance before hurrying by him and back into the restaurant with the girl. He checked to make sure Ugo and the boys were still coming, then he followed her inside. The last person he wanted to see this morning was Ugo Ruocco, but he wasn’t going to leave Sarah to Ugo’s mercy, unprotected.
He winced when he stepped through the door. The baby was screaming, and even Frank could tell he was in pain.
“He just started crying,” Maria said in terror.
“Make him stop!” Antonio begged, hands over his ears.
He’d returned from the kitchen, but he looked like he might need to go back.
Sarah took the baby from Maria’s arms. He kept screaming, but she didn’t seem the least bit concerned. “He’s probably just hungry,” she said, heading for the kitchen door.
“But I already fed him this morning,” Maria protested, following after her.
“He’s hungry again,” Sarah explained as the door closed behind them, muting the sound of his wailing a bit.
Frank glanced around at who was left. Officer Donatelli waited patiently for his orders. Joe and Antonio were perk-ing up a bit, but they were still a little green. The girl—
what was her name again?—stood in the middle of the floor, wringing her hands in distress. Mrs. Ruocco sat at a table, head in hands, looking as if she wanted to be as far away from the rest of this bunch as possible.
Frank went straight to Donatelli and told him in a hurried whisper that Ugo Ruocco was coming and to go out through the kitchen to meet the ambulance in the alley to make sure they got the body away safely.
No sooner had Donatelli disappeared into the kitchen than the restaurant door opened again, and Ugo Ruocco came in. The younger men with him made a little show of jostling each other to be the first to follow, but eventually they were all inside, too.
Ugo wasn’t a large man, but his presence seemed to fill the room. He wore a custom-made suit with a snow white shirt, the kind the men on Wall Street wore. No one would mistake him for a financier, though. His broad, olive-skinned face betrayed his heritage. Pock-marked and coarse featured, he obviously came from peasant stock. Only ambi-tion, relentless effort, and a cruel disregard for the welfare of others had elevated him to his current position.
“Zio!” the girl cried and ran to him. He caught her in an embrace.
“What is it, ragazza piccola?” he asked tenderly, stroking her hair. “What has made you so unhappy?”
“Nainsi is dead, and the police are here!” she informed him indignantly, looking up at her uncle with a theatrical pout.
“What is this about the police?” he asked, looking at Frank with a trace of amusement. He had no fear of the police.
“Uncle, thank you for coming,” Joe said, hurrying toward him for a quick embrace. Antonio followed.
When he’d finished with the children, Ugo looked over to where Mrs. Ruocco stood. She’d risen from her chair but made no move to greet him.
“Patrizia,” he said in a tone of mock amazement. “You sent for me.”
“Ugo,” she said by way of greeting, although she said it with a grimace through gritted teeth. If her children were happy to see their uncle, she wasn’t.
“Sit down, Uncle,” Joe urged, pulling out a chair for him.
“Is that your baby crying so loud, Antonio?” Ugo asked mildly as he took the offered seat.
Antonio’s lip curled in disgust. “You know it is not my baby, Uncle.”
Ruocco nodded, and Frank noted that he had already been told about the baby’s birth and questionable lineage. When had that happened?
“But it is your wife’s baby,” Ruocco said. It wasn’t a question. “Did Valentina say she died?” he added with appropriate, if false, regret. “That is too bad for you, Antonio, to be a widower so young.” He gave the boy a sympathetic glance while he smoothed his lush mustache with one finger. Antonio looked away in embarrassment. “But why does this sad event bring the police to us?”
Everyone in the room looked at Frank. Ruocco’s boys had stationed themselves around the room, ready to block any attempt at escape and ready to take any action Ruocco might command of them. Frank hated being in such a vul-nerable position, but he knew better than to show fear.
Ruocco would smell it like the wolf he was.
“It looks like somebody helped Nainsi Ruocco along into the next world by holding a pillow over her face,” Frank said. He pretended not to notice the small gasps of surprise and the wave of animosity that roiled from the rest of the people in the room.
