The Prince of Broadway

by Joanna Shupe

  You didn’t always feel this way. If she was here you would feel different.

  Yes, but she wasn’t here. She wouldn’t ever be here again.

  He turned to find a stiff drink when he heard heels on the wooden floor. He knew better than to give in to the hope, however. Florence wanted nothing to do with him. Which meant this could only be one person.

  Anna appeared out of the darkness, her silk skirts dragging the ground as she made her way to where he stood. Clay hadn’t seen her since the night of the supposed intruder. Still, he offered no greeting. He wasn’t fit for company.

  She studied his face, one delicate brow arched. “Hello.”

  He dipped his chin once but kept his gaze trained on the craps table below. Jack prowled the floor, always at the ready to solve problems and handle their members. Clay should have been in his office all night to work on the books. But his office reminded him of her.

  “How are you doing?”

  Were they really doing this? “I am not in the mood, Anna.”

  “I see that. You look terrible, in case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t, actually.”

  “Jack is worried about you. I’m worried about you. This isn’t like you, Clay.”

  “What isn’t like me? Standing on the balcony to check on the floor? Pretty sure I do that every night.”

  She reached over and pinched the back of his arm through his suit. He winced but didn’t pull away. “Do not deliberately provoke me,” she said. “I am here to help you.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “Badger you until you talk to me. You cannot retreat behind this thick wall you’ve built around yourself.”

  He almost laughed. The imaginary thick wall was doing a poor job at protecting him, if that was the case. “There’s nothing to say, and I am not a problem that requires solving. I want to be left alone.”

  “We care about you too much to allow you to wallow.”

  “Wallow? Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “Yes, I do,” she answered. “You thought she’d fall into your lap when you returned her grandmother’s deed. Seeing as that one effort failed, are you really ready to give up? Jesus, you spent twenty years plotting and scheming against her father. One attempt to win her back and that’s it?”

  “One has nothing to do with the other. She said she couldn’t forgive me for the past. She doesn’t want to see me again.”

  “I thought you loved her.”

  He pressed his lips together. It was pointless to say the words now. Florence didn’t want to hear them. But he could admit the truth, that he felt more than affection for her. It was bone-deep, this craving for her. All-consuming and raw. Ugly and uncompromising. Was that love? If so, he hoped never to experience it again.

  Noise from the casino floor drifted up as a shoving match erupted between two patrons. Clay wished he were down there to throw punches, burn off some of the energy crackling in his veins. But to what end?

  “I’m so tired,” he told Anna. “I don’t want to do this any longer.”

  “Stay awake, you mean?”

  “No. This.” He swept a hand toward the crowd below. “I’ve achieved everything I ever set out to do. The money, the power, the revenge . . .”

  “Yet, it hasn’t made you happy, has it?”

  “No.”

  In fact, he was more miserable than ever before. At least in his youth he had revenge to plot as a way of distracting himself from his despair. Now he had nothing. Just regrets and heartache.

  “If you want to win her back, find a way to fix it.”

  “There is no undoing the past, Anna. We both know that. We make choices every day that affect our future in ways we can’t begin to predict.”

  “So true. In Akron, when I was fifteen, I never thought letting the butcher’s son peek under my skirts would lead me to owning one of the most exclusive brothels in New York City. But it did.”

  He angled toward her, resting a shoulder on the wall. “I never heard this story. What happened?”

  “My father caught us, called me a harlot and kicked me out.”

  “That is fucking awful, Anna. I’m sorry.”

  “It certainly felt awful at the time. However, I moved here and met a benefactor. He was wealthy and decent. I learned I liked sex and could make a living at it. You know the rest.”

  Yes, he did. Two of the city’s wealthiest men had fought over her, one eventually shooting the other, and Anna had become a legend in the Tenderloin. Her bordello was one of the most popular in the city, catering to mostly upper-class men and politicians.

  Clay sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I’ve lost her. The one good thing in my life and I ruined it.”

  “You’ve always figured out how to get what you want, from supporting your family to this casino and your revenge on Greene. So decide what you’re going to do today to change your future.”

  Clay had no idea how to win Florence back. He hadn’t ever been in a relationship before, not one with serious feelings involved. And he’d already played his best hand, the return of her grandmother’s house. “What would you do if you were me?”

  “Grovel.”

  He frowned. Words were not his strength. Writing or speaking his thoughts had always proven difficult. He was a man of action. A man of numbers. If the reconciliation relied on his conversational skills, he was doomed.

  Anna must’ve seen something in his face. “That could also be some kind of gesture.”

  “I tried that already. It didn’t work.”

  “No, that one was for her family. You need to do an act of kindness just for her.”

  Hmm. Another act of kindness, but just for Florence. What did she want? She had everything money could buy—soon to include her own casino for women. And she wasn’t traditional in the sense of jewelry and furs. Florence was unique. He’d need to think up a gesture suited to her personality—

  Then it hit him.

  Yes. It was perfect. Even if she didn’t forgive him, even if she never spoke to him again, he knew in his bones that this was what he needed to do.

  Leaning over, he kissed Anna’s cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”

  He didn’t wait for a reaction, merely started for his office. “You’re welcome,” he heard her call out from behind him.

  He didn’t turn or pause. Finally, he had a plan. And, if this failed, then he’d know that he had truly given the effort everything.

  On her way toward the front door, Florence happened to glance inside the portrait gallery. A lone figure sat inside, one she hadn’t expected to see there. His shoulders were slumped, almost in defeat.

  Curious, she stepped closer. “Daddy?”

  He dragged a hand down his face and shifted to give her his profile. “Hello, Florence.”

  The soft, flat tone worried her. Were his cheeks wet? She sat carefully on the other end of the sofa. “Is everything all right?”

  He let out a bitter chuckle. “Oh, everything is just dandy. Mamie’s in love with my attorney, the boy I almost married her off to is a cad, and you have been cavorting with a man of the criminal class. What could possibly be wrong about that?”

  “I have apologized—many times—for my association with Mr. Madden. If I’d had any idea—”

  “Forget what he did, Florence. I’m talking about who he is, about what you aspire to become. You could have been hurt a hundred different ways in those neighborhoods or in that casino. You never gave any thought to your safety—or what it would do to your mother and I should something happen to you.”

  “Nothing happened. I’m careful, Daddy.”

  “You cannot plan for every eventuality. Life always has a way of giving us what we least expect—like daughters who buck tradition and convention in favor of independence.”

  She tried to remain calm, to not get defensive. “I told you, things are starting to change now. Women have choices.”

  “I understand, but some of
us are not ready for change. Some of us want to guide our daughters into secure futures with men who will do right by them, not break their hearts. We want to keep you safe and sound in our small little world, near us.”

  “Yet your version of my future would slowly smother me, day after day, until I couldn’t take it any longer. That just isn’t me, Daddy.”

  “I’m learning that. It turns out I know nothing about my daughters.” He dragged in a ragged breath and reached over to clasp her hand. “When did that happen? I feel like just yesterday I was bandaging skinned knees and teaching you to ride. Where did I go so horribly wrong?”

  Her throat knotted and emotion burned behind her eyelids. Daddy was the most confident, arrogant man she knew. Not once had she ever heard him doubt himself. “You did nothing wrong. In fact, you’ve done everything right. You and Mama have raised strong young women who know their minds and are comfortable in their own skins. Mamie is smart as a whip and Justine is the kindest, most honorable person I’ve ever met. Don’t you see? You haven’t raised girls to go along with the tide. You have raised girls who will change the tide.”

  He gave her a small smile. “Like Joan of Arc?”

  “Exactly. Show no fear, remember?”

  “I remember.” He squeezed her hand and tugged her closer. “You know, despite what Mamie thought, I never cared about having daughters instead of sons. You three have been the joy of my life, along with your mother.”

  “Even me?”

  “Even you.” He kissed the top of her head. “You are the most like me, you know. Stubborn, willful. Never could sit still for five minutes. I think that’s why you and I disagree more often than I do with your sisters. Probably why you are Granny’s favorite, as well.”

  She had no idea. “I always feel like I’m disappointing you.”

  “My father wanted me to go to Yale. I went to Harvard. He thought baseball and boxing were beneath me. After I first brought your mother to meet him, he told me later she was too plain to ever keep my interest for long.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “I’m telling you this because strong-minded children often disappoint their parents. I didn’t fit the mold of what he expected, but he still loved me. Just as I love you.”

  “Even if I drop out of society and open a casino?”

  “Is there anything I could do to stop you?”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Then I best come to terms with it, shouldn’t I? Just don’t expect miracles. I’m old and set in my ways.”

  Chuckling, she dropped her head on his shoulder. “I love you, Daddy.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment until he said, “The road you are choosing for yourself is a hard one. I wish I could spare you the pain and social recriminations.”

  “Indeed, but the alternative is so much worse. I will be fine. I swear.”

  “So, you and Madden. That’s done?”

  She nodded against him instead of answering. The heartache was too fresh, too consuming to discuss at the moment.

  “If he made you happy, then I’m sorry for it,” Daddy said. “But I believe a man like Clayton Madden would have eventually crushed your spirit. He’s too dark for you, too dour.”

  Wrong. He’d been perfect. And Clay had a lighter side, one he didn’t show to many. He had been funny and sweet, a wonderful storyteller. A man who’d understood her ambition and restlessness.

  If only he hadn’t plotted and schemed behind her back.

  The clock chimed three o’clock and Florence jerked. “Oh, goodness. I have to go.” She rose and shook out her skirts.

  Her father chuckled. “Always on the run. Just like I was at your age.”

  Grinning, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Love you.”

  “I love you, too. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you are off to?”

  She just laughed and waved as she hurried to the front door. “You’d rather not know, believe me.”

  Not that she was traveling to a rough neighborhood—quite the opposite. She planned to speak with Mrs. Mansfield, one of the city’s top architects, about designing the women’s casino. They didn’t have an appointment but Florence knew the architect spent every afternoon at the Mansfield Hotel’s construction site. Florence was prepared to steal a few minutes of the woman’s time.

  Outside, she started to look for a hack when a figure stepped away from a sleek black carriage at the curb.

  Bald Jack.

  She was happy to see her friend, but her heart lurched at the reminder of Clay. Would this stupid ache ever go away? She walked toward the carriage, smiling at the other man.

  The wariness on Jack’s face eased. “Miss Greene.”

  “Hello, Jack. What are you doing so far uptown?”

  “I came to see you.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “He wants to see you.”

  Her stomach hollowed out and dropped like a stone. “No.”

  “He figured you’d say that. Hold on.” Turning, Jack reached inside the sleek carriage and withdrew a few sheets of paper. “Here you go. He asked me to give you this.”

  She stared at the stack as if it were poisonous. What was Clay sending her? Had he written her a letter? “What is it?”

  “Read it.”

  “Jack, I cannot—”

  “Florence, you’ve never been afraid before. Don’t start now.”

  She inhaled a deep breath. He was right. Whatever Clay had to say would not change her mind. She would steel her heart, read whatever the papers contained then leave. Move on. He was in her past.

  Holding out her hand, she accepted the papers from Jack. The tightness in her chest eased slightly when she saw it wasn’t a letter. These were legal papers.

  “I don’t understand.” She looked up at Jack, her brows pinched.

  “You will. Keep reading.”

  Glancing down, she read the first paragraph. Then she read it again. Dear God.

  No, no, no. This was unbelievable.

  How could he do this?

  She didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Everything from disbelief to confusion to anger coursed through her, weakening her knees. A strong hand slipped under her elbow to support her. “Steady,” Jack said.

  Florence blinked up at Jack and forced out the words. “I have to see him. Right now.”

  “I thought you might say that.” Jack reached behind him and opened the carriage door. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Curious eyes watched as Florence and Jack entered the Bronze House. She ignored them and climbed the stairs toward the third floor. Her heart pounded fiercely, taking up all the room in her chest, as she went. She wanted to throttle Clay. No, shout at him and then throttle him.

  Not bothering to knock on the door to his apartments, she tried the knob. The door swung open. Disarray greeted her, with crates and trunks, canvas cloths and books every which way she turned. He was . . . packing. What on earth?

  She flicked her wrist and let the door slam closed behind her. A second later Clay appeared at the door of his bedchamber. He looked terrible. Wrecked, as if he hadn’t slept a wink in days. No, a month. Hair disheveled, he had several days’ worth of growth on his jaw and dark circles under his eyes, the kind that came from total exhaustion and despair.

  While she hated to see him like this, she was too angry to care. “I don’t want it.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Of course you do. Anyone in their right mind would want it.”

  “Anyone except me, apparently. You cannot give me the Bronze House.”

  “I can and have. I am no longer the principal owner of the property in which you are standing. That would be you.”

  “This is ridiculous. I do not want your casino.”

  “I once swore on the deed to the Bronze House I wouldn’t hurt you. I broke that promise—and I never welch on a bet.”

  That night at the New Belfast Athletic Club felt like a lifetime ago. �
�I hadn’t remembered that conversation, but even if I had I would have refused. This club is yours, top to bottom, inside and out. It’s a success because of you.”

  “Then you’ll have an easy time stepping into my shoes to run it.”

  “Absolutely not.” She lifted her arms then dropped them, frustrated. “I have my own shoes and I prefer to use them how I see fit.”

  His brows lowered as he frowned. “Wait, why are we talking about shoes?”

  “I mean that I don’t want to step into someone else’s shoes. I will run my own casino, the way I want. Build it from the ground up, as you did. But for me and my clientele.”

  “Women.”

  “Yes, women. I refuse to own a club that wouldn’t have me as a member.”

  Sighing, he stared at the wall, a muscle in his jaw working. “That makes sense.”

  “Excellent. So keep your deed.” She tossed the legal papers on the floor. “Continue swindling your swells and intimidating your cheaters.”

  “No, I’ve decided to get out. I think it’s best I stick with that plan.”

  “Get out? What does that mean?”

  Walking to the sofa, he lifted a stack of books into his arms and dropped them into an open trunk. “It means retire from the casino business. Move on. Go elsewhere.”

  Panic stung her throat, and she struggled to pull in a breath as her mind whirred. Was he serious? “Go elsewhere, as in leave New York?”

  “My mother lives outside Philadelphia. Perhaps I’ll settle there for a while.”

  She put a hand to her mouth, stunned. As furious as she’d been with him, she hadn’t ever thought he’d leave. He was a part of this city, like the East River or Five Points. Anyone who’d ever held a pair of dice on the island knew his name. “What about the Bronze House?”

  His big shoulders rose and fell. “Jack should have it. He’ll fight me on that decision, but he deserves it. I wouldn’t be anywhere close to where I am today without him.”

  Wrong. He was supposed to say he’d stay, that he couldn’t bear to part with the club. “So that’s it? You are just going to leave?”

  “What would you have me do, Florence?” He flicked the lid of the trunk closed with a harsh snap that reverberated throughout the room. “I tried to win you back and I failed. There’s no reason to stay here. I’ve been going out of my mind because I cannot stop thinking about you. I cannot seem to stop loving you and it’s driving me insane.”