by Amanda Foody
He snorted and wrapped his arms around her. “You aren’t losing me.” But despite his words and how much he cared about her, too, he struggled to imagine leaving New Reynes. Leaving Levi.
You haven’t spoken in two months, he reminded himself. But that didn’t stop Jac from thinking about Levi every time he tallied their profits, every time he saw the Iron tattoos on his arms. Levi had saved him countless times, but he couldn’t save Jac from this.
But there was another option. Another deadline that drew closer.
Just because Jac had torn up Charles’s invitation didn’t mean he’d forgotten it. Tomorrow was Jac’s last day before the deadline expired, and he dreaded to think how the war would change when Charles stopped playing nice.
Sophia buried her face in his shoulder. “Don’t worry—I haven’t given up. Not—”
Suddenly, the lights went out, and the room fell into blackness. Sophia’s breath hitched, and she squeezed his arm tight enough to hurt. “What’s going on?” she hissed.
He shushed her, his heart hammering. It could’ve been coincidence, but Jac didn’t believe in coincidences.
Sedric Torren had once killed Eight Fingers to send Levi a warning.
Maybe Charles had tired of playing nice.
“Are we the only ones here?” Jac whispered. Few employees but them came to Liver Shot this early.
“I think Ken left...”
Faintly, a sound murmured in the darkness. It was eerie and high-pitched, like some sort of flute.
Sophia clutched at him tighter and cursed under her breath.
The music gradually came closer.
“A match,” Jac rasped. “Strike a match.”
He could hear footsteps approaching the den, the creaking of floorboards, the melody of the flute. Jac fumbled in his pocket for his pistol while Sophia dug out a match from his stash in the desk. He aimed his gun in the direction of the door.
The music stopped, plunging everything into silence.
Sophia struck the match.
They both screamed at the sight of the stranger standing directly in front of them, close enough to stare down the barrel of Jac’s gun. In the dim matchlight, Jac made out the freckled face of a young man, and greasy hair dyed white.
Jac fired, but the Dove had already ducked. Sophia shrieked and pressed herself against the wall while Jac lunged for the man, intending to tackle him to the floor. He grabbed him by the arm, spinning the Dove around. There was a flash of silver.
“Jac, watch out for—”
But then the match burned out, and the room slipped back into darkness. Jac grunted as he threw their assailant against the closest wall. Books tumbled off the adjacent shelf, thumping on wooden floorboards and the edge of the carpet. Jac stumbled on one as he pinned the man down. He was bluntly built but skinny, his elbow jamming painfully into Jac’s stomach as he struggled to break free.
Jac let out a groan, but quickly collected himself. The man landed a hard punch at Jac’s face, and Jac took it, using the opportunity to bury his pistol in the Dove’s gut.
“Don’t move,” Jac panted.
Sophia struck a second match and edged closer. She held it up to the young man’s face, and his pale green eyes narrowed at her inspection.
“Kill me,” he spat.
“Who sent you?” Sophia demanded.
He said nothing. There was something feral about his face and the way he pressed himself harder against Jac’s gun. Jac squeezed tighter on his shoulder, keeping him pinned to the wall. He didn’t want to kill if he could help it.
“Did Charles Torren send you to kill us?” Jac asked.
“I doubt it,” Sophia answered. “Charles killed Delia himself.”
But Jac wasn’t so sure.
He’d overpowered this Dove now, but how many more Doves would it take? One for every day that passed after the deadline? Two? Three? Jac didn’t think Charles could afford that, but he couldn’t be certain.
Jac twisted the gun into his stomach. “Well, you can tell Charles—”
“I’m not a messenger.” The Dove squirmed so that the gun moved closer to his heart. “Do it.”
Jac faltered.
“Do it,” he repeated.
Then Sophia grabbed a lamp off the shelf and slammed it hard against his head. The man crumpled to the carpet. Jac took several steps back and leaned against the wall to steady himself, trying to make sense of this.
He’d promised Lola that he’d listen to Levi and Sophia when they’d told him not to take Charles’s offer. But Levi was gone, and Sophia was already planning contingencies.
She could’ve died.
Which was why Jac couldn’t wait for Charles to make a second move. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow, couldn’t wait for Sophia to come up with any more final, desperate options.
The thought of facing Charles terrified him more than anything, but if he was going to save both Sophia and Levi, he needed to face his fears.
Tonight, Jac Mardlin would play a game of his own.
LEVI
As Vianca Augustine poured herself a cup of tea, Levi pictured all the ways she might die.
The cold November weather had made the air in her office dry, and each of his breaths scratched at his throat. For months, Levi had counted down the weeks until he achieved his freedom. Until Vianca Augustine was dead. And now the election was only two days away.
But the Spirits ran new polls every few days, and according to Lola, the results looked bleak. Despite Fenice’s mass deregistration and voter suppression, the North Siders held unwavering support for the monarchists.
No word from Harrison. No word from Jac. No contact with Enne. After months of following every news story and debate, their hope was waning. Levi had done everything to give Harrison this victory, but apparently everything wasn’t enough.
And the last place Levi wanted to be when mourning his losses was St. Morse Casino.
“Levi,” Vianca purred, and every hair on his neck stood on end. “Please take a seat.”
She poured him a cup of tea, spiking it with whiskey cream. He raised his eyebrows as he accepted the drink. Levi never willingly consumed anything she offered him, but he could admittedly use something strong.
Vianca unlocked one of her desk drawers to reveal a sparkling orb.
“You and Miss Salta have, once again, exceeded my expectations,” she said.
Levi tried not to stiffen at the mention of Enne. He’d avoided thinking about their last conversation for weeks, but it’d been very hard to avoid thinking about her. He’d thought it would grow easier, but hearing Vianca say her name only made his stomach clench. Enne knew the horrors of Vianca Augustine as well as he did. So he’d never understand how she could’ve taken the one thing he hated and feared most and used it against him.
Vianca clearly didn’t notice his distress, because she didn’t mention it. She usually did, when given the chance.
“I’ve been dwelling on this conversation for a long time,” she said. “Surely you must realize what I’m going to say to you.”
Levi straightened in his seat, trying to decide whether or not that was a threat. “I have no idea.”
“What does this city say about me?”
Witch. Shatz. Pathetic. Terrifying. Ruthless. Monster. The list was endless. Vianca was the villain of every fairy tale, leading helpless North Side children to ruin with a line of breadcrumbs and poker chips.
“Um,” Levi started. “That Worner Prescott is barely more than a puppet, and if he wins the election, you’ll be the one truly in power.”
The corner of her lips turned into a smile. “That’s correct, but that isn’t what I meant. St. Morse Casino isn’t run by me. It’s run by the Augustine Family. But look around...” She gestured around the office. “I have no family left. When I die, there will
be no cousins feuding for my throne. My son will have nothing to do with this place, or with me. If my legacy lives on, it will do so by one of my inept employees, all of whom have only a child’s understanding of how this empire operates.”
Levi took a long sip of his drink to cool his nerves. He wasn’t sure where this was headed.
“I have no heirs,” Vianca continued. “I only have the three of you.”
“Three?” he repeated. He knew she was referring to her omertas, and he’d always suspected there was a third. Over the summer, Zula Slyk had confirmed those suspicions. I’ve always wanted to meet her other boy.
“Surely you’ve guessed the third by now,” she said with amusement. “I would’ve thought it obvious.”
“It’s Prescott, isn’t it?” The world already called him Vianca’s puppet.
“No—though it’s probably better you don’t know. I don’t want you doing something reckless and interfering. He’s useful—but he’s difficult. Anyway, after the debate, I decided he won’t be a problem much longer.”
Levi’s heart quickened. He knew Vianca well enough to recognize the cold flippancy in her voice. Vianca was going to kill him, whoever he was. If it was happening before their own plans were carried out, then Levi would be powerless to stop it. He might not know who the third was, but death at Vianca’s hand was a fate he’d imagined for himself dozens of times. If he could uncover the boy’s identity, he could try to save him.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Vianca snapped. “He’s far from innocent. And I’m one of the only ones who knows his secret.”
“Have I met him?” Levi asked.
“We’re not playing that game,” Vianca said sharply. “The only person in New Reynes who truly understands how this empire works is my son, but he’ll do everything in his power to burn it down. I’ve worked too hard to be where I am to have my legacy destroyed. So, for the very first time, Levi, I am offering you a choice.”
She slid the emerald ring off her fourth finger and set it in front of him.
“The Augustine Family owns one of the largest empires in New Reynes. And I’m offering it to you.”
Levi’s initial reaction was shock, quickly overshadowed by abhorrence. When he imagined himself walking these halls, portraits of dead Mizers watching him, he could think of nothing but Vianca. In this office, he thought of nothing but Vianca. In the card rooms, the theater, the suites... The donna’s so-called legacy was only torment.
But once those emotions settled, his ambition stirred. Levi had come to New Reynes to write his own story, and rising from nothing to become a don had an attractive sound to it. It wouldn’t be the first time in his life he’d made a decision with his own legacy in mind. His relationship with Narinder, his dangerous promises to the other lords... Levi had gotten to where he was by seizing opportunities when they came his way. He wasn’t sure he wanted Vianca’s empire, but he couldn’t simply dismiss her offer, either.
“I’m not interested in the narcotics trade,” Levi said. “That’s what this casino is built on, isn’t it? Mortar and Mistress?”
Vianca pursed her lips. “The Apothecary families are keeping this Family in business, yes.”
“But once, it was just a casino,” Levi countered. “The Irons run all their operations on gambling. It could be done, if I wore both crowns.” The Irons and St. Morse. It made an impressive palace for an impressive empire.
“Is that an acceptance?” she asked.
Levi thought of the casino on the boardwalk, of the opportunity that had passed him by. But now he couldn’t imagine that casino without also remembering Enne in it.
“What about Enne?” he asked, his voice choked.
“You’ve always been my favorite,” Vianca said, and it was strange to hear those words from her. For so long, those words had been used by others to cut him. Vianca’s favorite. Vianca’s bitch. “But I have faith in the both of you. I know that by offering it to you, I’m also offering it to her.” Vianca gave him a crooked smile and tapped her fingertips together. “You really are quite the pair. I hope you’re both grateful for all I’ve given you.”
This time, the pain on his face must have been obvious, because Vianca leaned forward and licked her lips.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said quickly.
She pouted her lips. “This won’t do, Levi. I had really hoped for the set.”
Levi recoiled in disgust. “Forcing us together seems like a new low, even for you.”
A glimmer of something passed through Vianca’s eyes. He’d hardly imagined he’d insulted her—nothing he said ever seemed to wound her. But then she shivered, and Levi realized what that look was. A memory.
She folded her hands neatly on her desk. “Very well. My offer stands, and it’s for you alone.”
Alone.
He swallowed down the painful lump in his chest.
“I’m wanted for treason and murder,” Levi said. “How can you want my association?”
Vianca shook her head. “Once Worner wins the election, you’ll be pardoned. All of the gangsters will be. The plans are already in motion.”
Levi had been so focused on Harrison winning the election and giving him this freedom, he’d never considered that maybe, just maybe, this scenario could be a win-win. Harrison had supported Levi and Jac when they needed it, so Levi didn’t like the idea of betraying him. But now, Harrison’s promise was a sinking ship.
Still, could Levi really abandon all his efforts these past few months for...Vianca?
There was far more at play in this decision than just Levi’s destiny—there was politics, and blood. Every gangster, every Mistress-dazed vedette, every citizen of the North Side could be affected by his decision, and that was an incredible weight on his shoulders.
It’d been far easier to hate Vianca when there had been no choice at all.
He’d resented Enne for using Vianca against him, yet now, he’d consider Vianca’s offer? He knew it was hypocritical, and if he and Enne were still together, he would’ve immediately declined. But now Harrison was losing, the Irons were going broke, the North Side was falling. Both Enne and Jac were gone.
It’d been far easier to want to be good when he’d had someone to be good for.
“I need to sleep on it,” he told her.
Vianca reached into her desk and handed him a key. “Sleep on it in your old suite. I hope you come to the right decision.”
JAC
The lights of Luckluster Casino strobed down Tropps Street, beckoning patrons with the offer of discounted rooms, for nights spent at card tables and on king-size beds to pass the time from curfew until dawn. Jac hadn’t seen the Casino District so bright in several weeks, hadn’t seen crowds this size in longer. Music blared with an erratic pulse, and those around him murmured in excitement.
As Jac slipped past the doors into the casino, stepping on discarded flyers for all-night theatrics and drink specials, he felt with cool certainty that the grandiosity of the night was meant for him.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Sophia had asked when he told her he planned to oversee a drop-off.
“I’ll be fine,” he’d told her.
She didn’t know his words had been a promise.
As Jac wove through the entrance hall, dancers beckoning to him from shadowy alcoves, servers passing him with trays of glittering Snake Eyes, he knew there was a very good chance he was walking toward his death. There were a lot of things he wanted to do before he died, that he’d never be able to do if he failed tonight. He wanted to tell Levi that he was sorry, that trying to protect him had seemed noble at first, but really the request had come from all the worst parts of Jac—the ones that obsessed and worried and itched—and all he’d done was make his friend miserable. He wanted to apologize to Enne, who hadn’t deserved
any of the mess he’d made for them.
Most of all, he wanted to kiss Sophia in front of a smoldering Luckluster Casino once they burned it down.
But no matter what happened tonight, Jac had accomplished the one thing he’d always wanted—to be a story worth telling. And maybe he would still turn into a cautionary tale, but even if North Side kids whispered about this night with terror in their eyes, at least they would know that Jac Mardlin had finally faced his fears.
He’d earned his story.
Jac approached the concierge desk and told the man he had an appointment with Charles. The man nodded, as though he’d been expecting him, and motioned for Jac to follow.
They climbed the casino’s wrought-iron spiral staircase, one Jac had always assumed was just for show. It looked like something out of Olde Town, black and sharp and gothic. Red ribbons circled around the rods like sticks of candy, and lipstick marks stained several of the widest spikes. The stairs curved up three floors and ended on the fourth, and the landing wrapped around the entire lobby, so you could lean over the railing and look down upon the entrance hall, merely a shadow among the ceiling’s scarlet lights.
The man opened an impressive set of double doors, and Jac walked into a dark room. Though he couldn’t see, he felt the floor change from carpet to wood, and the room was large enough to make his footsteps echo. He reached to the wall, fumbling for a moment, and then switched on the light.
It was a banquet hall, the chairs folded in one corner, the tables deconstructed and stacked to the side. Mirrors covered each of the walls, stretching Jac’s reflection infinitely in all directions.
This was no fighting pit.
“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” a nasaly voice said behind him. Jac whipped around to see Charles standing at the threshold. He wore a white blazer long enough to be a medical jacket, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“You sent a Dove after us,” Jac said. “Were you expecting me at all?”