by Amanda Foody
“My mother always told me to stay away from gangsters,” Narinder said, as though Levi really was just like the other lords. “Because first they break the rules, then they break your bones...and then they break your heart.”
“Your mother was right,” Levi snapped, slamming the door behind him.
He stormed back into the party with a bitter taste in his mouth. A few more cheers went around at his reappearance, and he tried to manage a smile in return. But Narinder’s words kept coursing through his mind. It didn’t matter what he’d accomplished—there was blood on his hands, and there always would be. Levi knew exactly who and what he wanted to be, but in the end, his story was being written for him.
Levi circled around the bar and grabbed the bottle of bourbon. As he poured himself a new drink, a girl in a red dress leaned over, dark curls nearly spilling into his glass.
“I bet you’ve looked better,” she said.
Levi recognized her as the girl Jac had brought and gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I can’t always be as dashing as the stories.”
He remembered that he’d promised Harrison to have a decision about the Torrens by tomorrow, so he searched the room for Jac. Instead, his gaze fell on another face: Mansi. When she locked eyes with Levi, any remnants of his triumphant mood sank until they hit bottom.
Then he noticed something even worse—she wore bandages around both her forearms, where her Iron tattoos were. The gauze peeked out from beneath her sleeves, stained red.
He swallowed as she crossed the room to his side. “’Lo, Mansi.”
“Is it true?” she hissed. “Were you stealing from the Irons for your scam?”
The alcohol no longer sat still in his stomach. “What? Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t want to challenge you,” she warned.
Levi leaned in so no one could hear them over the music. Gangsters didn’t casually throw around the word challenge. It was a duel to the death for lordship. Chez had nearly killed Levi during their duel, until Levi later ended the challenge on his own terms. He’d always thought of Mansi as his protégée, but she stood by and watched as Chez kicked him over and over. When it came down to it, she’d chosen Chez. And maybe she was making that choice again now.
“I don’t want to fight you, either,” Levi rasped.
“Even if I tell everyone what you did?”
She pulled a knife out of her pocket and flipped it expertly between her fingers, just like Chez once had. Levi had taught Mansi how to deal cards, but it seemed he hadn’t been her only mentor.
“Even then,” he said, and he meant it.
“If you’re wondering how I know, it’s because you missed the same loose end again. He sends his congratulations about the bridge.” Then she turned and walked away, and when the door closed behind her, Levi knew it would not open again.
The same loose end. Levi and Enne had already forgotten about Jonas once, and now he’d made the same mistake again—of course Jonas had known the details of Levi’s investment scheme. Reymond had been Levi’s business partner.
“Congratulations,” Levi muttered to himself. He grabbed his bottle off the bar and skulked off to an armchair in the room’s corner, to watch the rest of the party from his broken throne.
JAC
Even with all the Irons’ past glory, Jac had never seen his gang celebrate like this. Drunk and obnoxious, the party was exactly the sort he and Levi would’ve fantasized about years ago, when all their dreams revolved around cheap liquor and dropping volts on outrageous, one-night sprees. Jac’s eighteenth birthday had recently passed, but that didn’t seem a good enough explanation for why he looked around the room and suddenly felt old.
Sophia perched on the edge of the bar, shaking a mixer, flanked by Enne and her girls. She was the only one here who knew how to make a Hotsy-Totsy, some South Side drink Enne liked that was basically a Snake Eyes with so much syrup it tasted like cotton candy. The five of them stood in the room’s corner, away from the rest of the crowd.
“I don’t get this,” Grace mumbled. “He’d be dead if it weren’t for you. Where’s your applause?”
“He’ll thank me later,” Enne answered. But Levi had been absent for some time. Jac suspected he was lost among his admirers, showing off card tricks and counting how many hands he could shake.
“I owned a motorcar for a grand total of four hours,” Lola said bitterly. She polished her harmonica with a bar napkin.
“You shouldn’t have bought it in the first place,” Enne chided. “What a waste.”
“You’re the one who planted the idea in my head.”
“I heard it was a Houssen,” Jac told her, smirking. “I knew you didn’t have taste, but if you ask me, it’s for the best that Levi—”
“Shut up, Polka Dots,” Lola snapped.
Sophia slid Enne her drink. “I’m in the mood to dance. Everyone else is dancing.”
Jac had brought Sophia to introduce her to Levi and convince them both of his plan, but so far he’d spent the entire night gaping at her in that red dress.
“I’ll dance,” he said, trying to sound casual.
Lola rolled her eyes. “You can’t dance.”
“How do you know?” Jac challenged.
“I know things.”
“Lola, you have no room to talk,” Enne told her in between sips of her Hotsy-Totsy. “You’re as lithe as a lead pipe.”
Lola stood up, several shades of pink. Jac realized he’d never seen her drink before. Apparently she was a lightweight. “I’ll prove you both wrong.” Then she tripped and slammed awkwardly into the person beside her.
Grace snorted. “I think you both broke her.”
The person caught Lola by the shoulder. Jac recognized her as Tock, though she dressed far more nicely than when they’d last run into her at Liver Shot. She smelled like the Brint mixed with cheap perfume.
Tock hoisted Lola back up and looked her over. “I don’t really know you,” she told her. “But I could.”
Lola flushed a shade so bright it matched her hair. Both Grace and Enne choked on their drinks.
“Um,” Lola sputtered.
Tock nodded at Lola’s harmonica. “Do you play? I brought my sax.”
Lola nodded, looking dazed, and let Tock lead her away into the party.
Jac had no intention of being upstaged by Lola, aspiring librarian, so he pulled Sophia away from her set-up of mixed drinks and loose candy wrappers. “We need to talk,” he told her.
When they reached the dance floor, Sophia slid her arms around his shoulders. “Then let’s talk,” she said.
Having her so close to him made his heart squeeze nervously. He wasn’t Levi—he wasn’t the one who came up with the plans. He suddenly had sick feeling he was about to make a fool of himself.
“I don’t think your plan for Delia and Charles to destroy each other is going to work,” he told her.
She pursed her lips. “Way to kill the romance, Todd.”
Jac coughed out an awkward laugh. “Even if one of them kills the other, one of them will win, and then what will you do?”
“I’ll do what I’ve been doing—I’ll weasel my way into their inner circle. I know them better than anyone—”
“But they don’t know who you are, so how can you really know them?” Sophia had told Jac they were half siblings, so Jac assumed Sophia must’ve grown up estranged. But clearly there was something she hadn’t told him.
A dark look crossed her face, and she dropped her arms from his shoulders. “Why are you asking me these questions? You haven’t told anyone who I am, right?”
“No. No, of course not,” he said quickly. He wasn’t good at this. He was losing her. “But I have a better idea for how destroy your family.” Jac peeked over his shoulder, but the Irons were too lost in their dancing and card games to pay them
any attention. Still, he leaned closer and explained Levi’s agreement with Harrison Augustine.
Sophia’s green eyes widened in shock. “That’s who you were going to call last night. You were going to give him Delia’s name.”
“I was, but I’ve decided to wait. I’m working for Harrison as a favor to Levi, but I keep feeling like all I’m doing is helping another monster rise to power. I don’t want to be complicit.”
“So what do you want?” Sophia asked.
“I want it to be you. You should become the next don.”
Sophia backed away, out of his reach. “I can’t do that.”
“But you could. You’re their sister! You have as much claim as they do. And after the election is over, we can burn it. All of it.”
Jac flushed. Maybe he shouldn’t have said “we.” This was why Jac was never the smooth talker—he didn’t open up; he unraveled.
“But this is suicide.” Her voice was high-pitched, and she trembled the same way she had in the tunnels beneath the Mistress parlor. Maybe her fear of the dark and the fear of her siblings were one and the same. “They can’t know who I am. If they find out...”
“You’ve been getting close to Delia for months,” Jac pointed out. “There’s always been that risk.”
“Close enough to interfere, yes, but to rival them?” She let out a strained, hopeless laugh. “You either underestimate them, or you overestimate me.”
Jac had witnessed enough of Delia’s twisted laboratory to know to fear her and her brother, but that was him. Where was Sophia’s easy confidence? He’d never seen her this vulnerable.
“Everyone at Liver Shot eats out of the palm of your hand. You bet on and win every fighting match.” One of the other dancers bumped into them, causing them to stumble even closer together. Jac caught Sophia by the side and steadied her, and her chest pressed against his. He swallowed and tried to focus. “You’re the most confident person I’ve ever—”
“That’s because I’m lucky,” she snapped at him. “I told you how my talent works. Of course I win all my bets. I was lucky I got my promotion. Lucky we made it out of that den today alive.”
Jac’s hands started to sweat. He wasn’t convincing her—he was only making her angry.
“And I might be lucky,” Sophia continued, “but Delia and Charles are invincible. It doesn’t matter how many charms I have—their methods are much more effective than mine. I’ll never outplay them. I’ll only expose myself and undermine everything I’ve worked for.”
Jac recognized the fear in her voice. It was the overwhelming nausea he’d felt when he walked onto Chain Street this afternoon. It was the nightmares that woke him up in cold sweats. It was when he took the long way home simply to avoid certain places.
Jac had felt that terror when he agreed to enter the Torren empire, and clearly, Sophia had, too. And they’d both braved that fear in order to do something they believed in.
That made them the same.
If Sophia could confront him and show him that he could want more, that he could be more, then he could do the same for her.
“It meant something to me today, to burn down that den,” Jac said quietly.
Sophia averted her eyes. “I know that.”
“Why did you want to do it?”
“Because they’re both monsters, and they’re my family. It’s my responsibility to bring them down.” She hugged her arms to herself. Jac got the feeling he was watching her unravel, too. “I’ve already sacrificed so much to do this—more than you could ever guess. I owe it to myself to make those sacrifices worth it.”
After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed her hands and squeezed them reassuringly. All it had taken was the smell of gasoline, and Jac’s decision had been sealed. He would do whatever it took to see Luckluster Casino and all the Torren dens reduced to rubble.
Maybe he didn’t know Sophia well; maybe she didn’t know him. But if they were both bound to this path, then they might as well walk it together.
“I won’t tell you what to do,” he said, “but if you choose this, then I’ll help you every step of the way.”
She looked down to where their hands touched, and her expression softened. “But it’s not the same for you. All you need to do is give Harrison a name and leave. You’re not in it like I am. You could go back to...” She crinkled her nose and looked around the room. “Overly greased hair and suits with the tags still on.”
He grinned wryly. “Well, I won’t pretend like the Irons are a class act—”
“That girl is literally vomiting in the corner.” Sophia nodded at Stella, who was indeed bent over a waste bin.
“I...” Jac couldn’t argue about the Irons, but she was wrong about him. He was at a party surrounded by friends but feeling like an outsider, because what he wanted wasn’t here anymore.
“I could get a new job,” he murmured, “but I could never leave. There will never be a time when I walk past Chain Street and don’t get chills. When I won’t have nightmares that send me into a spiral for days. When I won’t wake up telling myself I have to fight, that I never get to stop fighting.”
Sophia bit her lip. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She squeezed his hand, and it made his stomach tie in knots. “I’ll do it,” she murmured. “But if I regret this several hours from now, I’ll blame you and that face of yours.”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“Nothing, and it’s very upsetting.”
Jac grinned as he led her to the corner of the room, where Levi sat, staring into the bottom of his glass.
“’Lo,” Jac said to him.
“’Lo,” Levi echoed, not looking up.
Jac had no idea why Levi would be sulking at his own party, but what he had to say couldn’t wait for Levi’s mood to improve. He cleared his throat. “I want you to meet someone. This is my boss.”
Levi took a look at their hands and raised an eyebrow. Then he wearily set his glass down and stood up. “I’m glad you came—I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Harrison needs a name by tomorrow. He wants to meet and everything. I know it hasn’t been long—”
Jac cleared his throat a second time. “That’s actually why I came over. This is—”
“Sophia Torren,” she finished for him, holding out a taffy as an offering. All her nervousness from earlier had vanished, as though confidence was a switch Sophia could simply turn on and off. When Levi just stared at her instead of reaching for the candy, she dropped it into his empty glass. “I’m going to be the next Torren Family donna.”
ENNE
Enne’s stomach was still recovering from her drunken gossip with Poppy that morning, but she sipped her Hotsy-Totsy, anyway. It was an excuse to sit even as the party grew wilder around her. She wasn’t in the mood to dance. She wanted to think.
Her bullet had provided the diversion needed for Levi to escape and for Tock to destroy the bridge. It wasn’t that Enne was bitter about their lack of gratitude—well, she definitely was bitter—but she couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her mind when she’d fired. When she squeezed a gun in her hand, she felt capable. She felt powerful.
Her thoughts drifted back to her familiar fantasy: the figures of the Phoenix Club disappearing around her like smoke. This time, they vanished in a puff of gunpowder.
“Are you just going to sit there and mope all night?” Grace demanded.
“I haven’t been moping,” she answered. It’d be nice to share her thoughts with Grace, but Grace had yet to swear to her, which meant there was still so much about Enne that she didn’t know.
“That was a good shot earlier.” Grace peered around the room, and her gaze settled on one of the tables. She winked at Enne. “I’m sure there are more ways to upstage the Irons. Do you know any card games?”
“Just one,” Enne answered darkly.
�
��Well, you should play a game of Tropps with me. I already know what I’ll bet.”
“And what is that?”
“My oath.”
Enne stiffened in surprise. “You shouldn’t bet that on a card game.”
Enne expected Grace to laugh, but instead she asked, “Why not?”
“Because swearing to me is about more than loyalty. There are...secrets. Things you don’t know.” Grace had worked as an assassin. She wore weapons as though they were accessories. But when she learned the truth, would she also look at Enne differently? As a danger to them all?
Enne’s secrets always seemed to push everyone away.
Rather than argue, Grace grabbed Enne’s hand and dragged her through the crowd. The air smelled of spilled bourbon, sweat, and cigarettes, and it was hot from the many bodies pressed together.
They approached a table and slid into the two available seats, Enne in between Grace and a pretty-faced card dealer.
Grace slid an orb into the pot, and it glowed dimly with a couple volts. “We’ll be boring for now. Loser has to buy the other dinner.”
Enne nodded shakily and took the hand the dealer slid her.
You may take your cards.
She heard Malcolm Semper’s voice as though he stood behind her, and her hands trembled as she stared at her hand. But they were only normal playing cards. This was only a game.
The dealer shot her a charming, lopsided smile. He had dimples and a dusting of freckles beneath his eyes. “You look nervous. Have you ever played before?”
Enne shook her head.
His face lit up, and he began to explain the rules. “All players, as you can see, start with three cards. Every round, you’ll be given a new card if you continue to bet.” As Enne leaned in to show him her cards and ask a question, he pushed them away with a laugh. “This isn’t like blackjack or poker. In Tropps, the dealer is another player in the game. You can’t go showing me your hand.”
But even as Enne lowered her cards, he continued to lean closer. Enne might not have minded if she wasn’t so on edge. He was attractive, and he had a smile full of innocent intentions, but Enne knew better than to believe that about an Iron.