The Prince of Broadway

by Joanna Shupe

  Mulligan? Florence had no idea who they were speaking about.

  Donnelly pointed at Florence. “Then what’s she doin’ here, counting cards in one of his clubs?”

  “There we are, back to your accusations.” Jack folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. “Tell me, have you ever heard of Madden taking someone under his wing, especially a woman?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “Correct. He’s not the charitable sort. Now, considering he has agreed to mentor her, does that not say something about the young woman’s skills? Do you honestly think he’d take on someone who wasn’t skilled?”

  Donnelly rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Well, no, I suppose he wouldn’t. But I still can’t believe she won four hundred dollars off my best dealer. No woman is that skilled.”

  She was tired of them speaking about her as if she wasn’t in the room. “Let me show you. I’ll prove my skill.”

  “Good idea. Shall we test it?” Jack gave her a quick wink.

  “How?” Donnelly asked.

  “Bring in Biddle,” Jack said, “or whichever dealer you prefer, and let’s see her play. You can watch to make sure she’s on the level.”

  “And what happens if I see her cheating?”

  “Then Madden will pay out five times what she supposedly swindled. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Well, if she wins outright without cheating then you let her take her winnings home.”

  Florence perked up at that. She could do it, no matter who dealt the cards. She didn’t need to cheat to win.

  “Fine.” Donnelly strode to the door and ordered someone outside to quickly retrieve Biddle. “Now we’ll see if she possesses these skills you speak so highly of. Come on, girl.”

  Florence stood and walked to the desk, which Donnelly promptly cleared off. All the money disappeared into the safe in the corner. Mamie positioned herself at Florence’s side, while Jack stood at the end of the desk. Florence tried to calm her racing heart. She hated that she’d been put in this position, but at least Donnelly was giving her the chance to prove herself.

  Biddle soon arrived and unboxed a new deck of cards. Even still, Jack asked to see them. He flipped through the cards and counted to make certain the deck hadn’t been altered in any way. Satisfied, he passed the deck back to the dealer. Mamie reached out to squeeze Florence’s hand as the cards were dealt. Florence gave her a small smile. They had nothing to worry about, not with Jack here and Florence’s skill at twenty-one.

  The first deal gave her a total of twelve. Not ideal. The dealer’s up-card was a three. Again, not ideal. However, she knew from Clay that odds were slightly better if she took a card in a situation like this, so that’s what she did. A six, for a total of eighteen. The dealer took two cards and busted out at twenty-three. First hand to Florence.

  For the next ten minutes, the cards were dealt and no one in the room spoke. She lost two hands, one when she stupidly didn’t split a pair of nines and another when the dealer had twenty-one. The rest were all hers, and Jack began to chuckle when she won with an ace and a ten. “Has she impressed you enough, Donnelly? I’d say you’re lucky she was only up four hundred.”

  Donnelly exhaled long and slow as he withdrew a stack from his pocket. “Damn it. Go on, take your four hundred. I better never see you return, miss.”

  Florence stood and accepted the money. “You won’t, Mr. Donnelly. I promise.”

  Jack and Donnelly shook hands, but Florence grabbed her sister’s arm and started for the door. She wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.

  “You were amazing,” Mamie whispered. “I knew you were good but that was astounding.”

  “Let’s talk about this later.” Florence crossed the threshold and ended up in the hall. The two of them continued toward the main entrance then down the front stairs and out onto the street.

  “Hold up, miss.” They turned and found Jack hot on their heels. He pointed to a sleek black carriage waiting on the street just a few doors down. “Hop in. I’ll give you a lift uptown.”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose,” Florence said. “Thank you for coming, Jack.”

  “Let me rephrase that, then. Mr. Madden asked that I see you safely to your door, Miss Greene.” His expression remained firm, letting her know that he meant to carry out this order for Clay. Florence’s shoulders sagged.

  “Jack, you remember my sister, Mamie?”

  Jack tipped his derby. “Indeed, I do. Pleasure to see you again, Miss Greene.”

  “And you, as well. Thank you for saving us tonight.”

  “Oh, I did nothing of the sort.” He started walking them to the carriage. “Miss Greene did that all on her own. You should have split those nines, by the way.”

  Florence nearly rolled her eyes. “I know. It was a stupid mistake.”

  “The only one you made, actually.” He flipped open the latch on the carriage door. “At least during the game.”

  “Are you going to tell me how idiotic it was to come down here?”

  “No. Mr. Madden plans on doing that himself tomorrow. He said to tell you be at the club by nine o’clock.”

  She paused on the step. The words had a portentous undertone. “Am I in trouble?”

  “I’ve stopped trying to read his mind, miss. But I’ve never seen him quite so worked up as when the messenger arrived to tell us of your predicament tonight. He was mighty unhappy.”

  “Because I was accused of stealing?”

  “I couldn’t say exactly why. If I had to guess, though, I’d say it had more to do with putting yourself in danger. This isn’t a safe place for ladies.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she grumbled as she adjusted her skirts and sat.

  Jack was shaking his head as he sat across from the two sisters. “You’re Madden’s now—and he takes care of his own.”

  She was early.

  This pleased Clay, probably more than it should. He watched Florence from the shadows, observing her as she stood on the balcony overlooking the casino floor. She was gorgeous, in a midnight-navy silk evening gown that was probably sewn by the city’s most expensive dressmaker. Her hair was perfectly styled on her head while diamonds hung from her ears, both designed to show off her elegant throat. He longed to place his lips along that milky skin, to test its softness with his mouth and tongue.

  He was still angry over her foolishness last night. To gamble elsewhere was a slap to his face, let alone choosing one of Mulligan’s spots to do it in. Had she any idea of the danger, how terribly wrong it all could’ve gone without Jack to intercede on Clay’s behalf?

  He’d nearly worn a hole in the floor, pacing, until he’d learned of her safety. The relief he felt at the news told him all he needed to know about the way she had gotten under his skin.

  Clayton Madden, gone soft for a fancy uptown debutante.

  He was beginning to think it was true.

  No, he couldn’t let it be true. Duncan Greene’s daughter was off-limits for so many reasons.

  Making no sound, he approached and halted directly behind her. He saw her breathing hitch, knew she was aware of his presence.

  “I had an inkling you were here somewhere, observing.” She threw him a quick glance over her shoulder. “Hello, Clay.”

  He said nothing. His thoughts were an amalgam of anger, relief and lust, none of which he was ready to voice quite yet.

  She sighed and spun around. “Let’s have it, then. No doubt you are brimming with recriminations about last night.”

  He thrust his hands in his pockets and studied the perfect skin, the delicate features of her face, questions buzzing in his mind. Why would she risk her reputation—not to mention her person—at one of Mulligan’s dives? Had she truly been repulsed by Clay’s interaction with Bill? Was that why she’d gone gambling at a seedy casino last night? What would she have done if Jack hadn’t intervened with Donnelly? What would she do if Clay kissed her?

  It was th
at last question that had him clamping his lips tighter.

  “Fine.” She threw up her hands. “You’re clearly angry with me. It was stupid, of course. I wanted to win some money and test out the advice you’d given me, so I went back to Donnelly’s. I didn’t go alone, however, and took my sister with me. I never should’ve stayed so long at that table. I wasn’t paying attention to the amount I’d won and soon it attracted the wrong kind of notice.” She dragged in a long breath and kept right on going. “I did not bring up your name. My sister did that, despite my efforts to get her to shut up. I never wanted you or Jack involved. But thank you for sending him to help us.”

  He let her words sink in and contemplated them, remaining silent. The two of them obviously had differing views on what the issues were, because the tightness behind his sternum didn’t dissipate one bit after her diatribe.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked when the silence stretched.

  He cleared his throat. “I hear you didn’t split a pair of nines.”

  Her jaw fell open before she quickly recovered, a chuckle escaping her lips. “I thought you were furious with me.”

  “Oh, I am furious. I nearly put my fist through a wall when Donnelly’s man showed up here, saying a woman claiming me as a mentor had been caught cheating there.”

  The muscles in her neck worked as she swallowed. “That reaction seems a bit extreme, considering.”

  “Considering what?”

  “Considering I’m only paying you to teach me about running a casino. We hardly know each other.”

  Irritation crawled along his skin, though she wasn’t altogether wrong. Yet, it seemed there was more he needed to teach her. “Florence, being under my tutelage means that you are under my protection. We are linked, whether you like it or not.” She started to speak, so he held up a hand. “Furthermore, your decision on where to play last evening was an unfortunate one. Do you know who owns Donnelly’s saloon?”

  “A man named Mulligan, I think.”

  She showed no reaction so his suspicion was confirmed. “You obviously haven’t heard of Mulligan. What I don’t run in this city, Mulligan does. We are . . . associates of a sort.”

  “Rivals?”

  “Not quite. I’ve risen above the type of places Mulligan runs. We’re not enemies—but we’re not friends, either. More important, Mulligan allows the men running his properties a fair amount of latitude to do as they see fit with patrons. Even if you hadn’t been accused of cheating, you were in danger just by being there.”

  She waved her hand. “I’ve been all over the city and never encountered any problems. I’m perfectly safe.”

  “Don’t be naive, Florence,” he snapped. “You’re far from safe in casinos, dance halls, saloons and other two-bit dives. Even if rape or personal injury doesn’t scare you, the possibility of being kidnapped for ransom certainly should. Your last name puts you at risk. God knows your father has made any number of enemies over the years.”

  “Including you.”

  “Yes, including me, although I don’t need to use you to gain retribution against him. Not all men would feel the same, however.”

  “No one would dare.”

  “Yes, they certainly would. Mulligan wouldn’t think twice about using you as a pawn to gain power in this city.”

  She worried her lip and he hoped his words were getting through to her. “You speak of him as if he’s some sort of bogeyman.”

  “He’s no one to trifle with. Mulligan rose through the ranks in the Five Points gang. When he got older, he realized how much more money everyone could make by consolidating all the gangs under one leadership—his. He oversees a vast criminal empire from his New Belfast Athletic Club. He’s likely the only person in the city who knows as much about gaming as I do.”

  “Hmm.” She stared out at the patrons below as the games carried on. He said nothing, let his information sink in. Instead, he watched the money exchanging hands as patrons lost at the tables. The sight warmed Clay’s heart.

  Finally, she turned back to him. “What if I wished to play somewhere else, a place where no one knows who I am?”

  “Then ask me. There are several small places I own where you’d be safe and could remain anonymous.”

  “Were you truly worried about me?”

  Hadn’t he already said as much? Was Florence digging for compliments? “You know that—”

  A sharp piercing whistle cut through the air like a sword. Every eye swung toward the exit, where Jack stood, his eyes wild. He whistled once more then circled his arm over his head, which caused all the dealers to begin moving at a breakneck pace.

  “Goddamn it,” Clay growled.

  “What’s happening?”

  He moved toward the stairs. “We’re being raided.”

  Chapter Eight

  Everything happened so quickly.

  One minute, she and Clay were on the balcony, arguing, and in the next the place was thrown into chaos. Though it was organized chaos. The staff had rehearsed this, obviously, because everyone knew what to do to hide any evidence of gambling. Chips and money were shoved in locked boxes. Tables flipped and secured into place. Jack opened a panel of wainscoting to reveal a secret passage, and patrons quietly streamed through the door like rats scurrying off a sinking ship.

  “Florence!”

  Clay’s hiss reached her ears and she hurried after where he’d disappeared. He was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, a frown on his face. “Were you going to stand there and wait for the police to question you?”

  “No. I was watching your staff remove any traces of a casino. It was fascinating.”

  “It’s an annoyance,” he snapped. “And we need to get out of here.” He pushed open a door and ushered her down a long corridor. Just as she was about to turn the corner, he stopped. The section of wall here was brick, not plaster. Feeling under a sconce, he flicked what must have been a release mechanism because the bricks separated from the wall. Another secret passage.

  He pulled open the wall and she slid through. When he followed, she asked, “Are you not going to stay and talk to the police?”

  “No. Jack is far more reasonable in situations like this. If I stay, I’m likely to punch a copper.”

  He closed the wall and darkness descended. Before she could grow concerned he took her hand. “Come along. It’s not far. Watch, these are stairs.”

  Down they went. At the bottom of the steps, he held her hips briefly to steady her. Almost as soon as his touch appeared, it vanished and another door opened. A few steps later he closed them in. Then she heard a pull chain. Soft yellow light illuminated a tiny passageway, one so small that Clay had to bend over to fit. She plucked a cobweb off her sleeve and followed him steadily through the gloom. His large shoulders shifted under his black topcoat, his movements lithe for a man so large. It was a routine he was well familiar with, clearly. “Where are we going?”

  “To the brothel next door.”

  A brothel? Excitement simmered in her veins. This was turning into some remarkable evening. “Do you go back and forth often?” She held her breath, unsure why his answer mattered. Yet somehow, it did.

  “No, not since I had it built. Annabelle uses it often, however.”

  Annabelle. There was that name again. Florence’s lungs deflated like a popped balloon. Of course he would have women come to him. The great Clayton Madden wouldn’t visit a brothel like a common plebeian.

  Why do I even care?

  She didn’t. Just because her heart beat a little faster in his presence didn’t mean there was anything between them. She wasn’t foolish enough to develop an interest in him—or any man—when her goal was in sight. In less than two years her choices would disappear, along with her independence. So good that Clay had a paramour. The information would help her maintain perspective throughout her tutoring.

  “If you do run your own casino,” he said, “remember to build in an escape route just in case.”


  “Of a raid by the police?”

  “That or anything else that might require a quick getaway. You’d be surprised the number of people who’d rather not part with their money—even after losing it fairly.”

  Another set of stairs awaited. At the top, he gave three short raps. A click sounded just before the wall opened. “Took you long enough,” a feminine voice said.

  Clay grabbed Florence’s hand, his skin rough and warm against hers, and pulled her into what turned out to be a tiny closet full of clothing. A woman with a gorgeous head of red hair and large blue eyes shut the panel behind them. “So much for having Big Bill under control,” she muttered before facing Florence. “Miss Greene, a pleasure. I am Annabelle Gallagher, the owner of this fine establishment.”

  Florence blinked at the familiar greeting. How did this woman know her name? Had Clay been speaking about her? “It is nice to meet you, Miss Gallagher.”

  “Just Annabelle will do. Now, follow me and let’s get you two safely hidden away.” She waved them into the hall.

  “We can get out through the alley,” Clay said.

  “Not tonight. Police are all over the neighborhood. You’d best hide here.” At the end of the hall she swung open a painting to reveal a handle, which she turned. The bookcase on the other wall popped open.

  “Clever,” Clay murmured and widened the opening for Florence to slip through. Darkness enveloped her once again. She had no idea where they were, but she was grateful to be safe. Getting questioned or arrested in a casino would certainly not go over well with her father.

  “You aren’t the only one with secret rooms,” Annabelle said. When Clay followed inside, Annabelle whispered, “Be quiet in here and enjoy the show.”

  “Wait, is this—”

  “I’ll come and fetch you when Jack says it’s safe.” Her hand flicked near Florence’s head and a wooden panel the size of a small painting slid on the wall. Goodness, it was an opening. Was this like Clay’s peephole?

  Before Florence could ask, the door closed and latched shut. Soft yellow light in the opening caught her attention and she leaned in.