“I’m flattered,” she sneered, her voice vicious. “Truly.”
He stiffened, wilted. “Excellent,” he said drily. “Wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with a new coworker.”
The word coworker sounded stranger the more Enne let it sink in. Her teachers—and probably Lourdes, for that matter—never would have let her within fifty feet of a casino, and probably not within one hundred feet of Levi and the collection of lost things in his closet.
But the Lourdes Enne knew and the Lourdes Levi remembered seemed to be completely different people. To think that Lourdes spent so much time in this wretched city boggled Enne—disturbed her, even. Maybe Lourdes knew how to survive in New Reynes. Maybe the reason Lourdes never told her the truth was in case Enne might have been foolish enough to believe that she could survive here, too.
Her mother had been right to keep her daughter in the dark, because each hour spent in New Reynes formed a new crack, and there was no way Enne was going to emerge from this city unbroken.
LEVI
Levi’s poker face didn’t waver as he studied his hand: a four-card straight and the kings of clubs and spades. Clearly luck was on his side. The player to his left eyed him warily and threw in five green chips. Two hundred and fifty volts.
From beside him, Sedric Torren also slapped five green ones in the pot.
Levi equaled their wagers on behalf of the house. Normally with the betting so high, he’d fold. But tonight was different. He hadn’t expected Sedric Torren himself to visit St. Morse. He could’ve been there for only one reason, and that was Levi.
Which meant that Levi couldn’t afford to look weak—not even for a moment.
When the hand ended, Levi had managed to earn a 27 percent profit. At this rate, he’d have thirty in the next hour, which was the highest he’d ever made in one shift. Unlike poker or blackjack, where the dealer was little more than a moderator in the game, Tropps treated the dealer like a player who represented the house. The game placed a heavy emphasis on strategy and bluffing, and it was so well-known across the city that the main street of the Casino District was named after it. Dealers like Levi were famous for their skill, and Levi was one of the best of them all.
The other players grumbled and stomped their way to the next table, their pockets significantly lighter. Levi took a break to collect the cards, as well as his bearings.
The only player who didn’t leave was Sedric Torren.
“’Lo, Pup,” he murmured. His brown hair was slicked to the side and shiny with grease, and his smile was wolf-like. He switched to the seat beside Levi.
“Sedric,” Levi gritted, concealing the ugly feeling of dread in his stomach. The Tropps Room around them was loud with jazz and the chatter of guests, all gussied up in designer gowns and carrying cigarettes in long jewel-encrusted holders. Surely Sedric wouldn’t try anything in public. Even the don of the Torren Family wouldn’t do something that reckless. “What can I do for you?”
Sedric turned to one of the waiters carrying a tray of champagne. “Two glasses.” He set one in front of Levi, who didn’t bother to reach for it. Drinking with a Torren—least of all the don—sounded like asking for trouble, and Levi needed all his concentration to survive this encounter unscathed. “Should we make a toast?” Sedric suggested.
“To what?” Levi asked, keeping his voice steady as he shuffled the Tropps decks. Sedric Torren had a reputation for playing with his prey before he killed it, and Levi needed to make it clear to Sedric that he wasn’t afraid. As far as Sedric should have been concerned, Levi had no reason to fear his family. If anything, this should be an exchange between two businessmen, a celebration of an advantageous trade.
Sedric raised his glass. “We toast to your continued good health. You’ve managed to push back the date for our investment return not just once or twice, but three times.”
Levi’s skin went clammy. This was no celebration—this was a threat.
“Cheers, Pup.” Sedric clinked Levi’s glass before taking a swig. “So where are my promised returns?”
Levi swallowed. “They’re coming.”
Sedric leaned closer. He had a sickly sweet smell to him, like toffee. “I’m not a thickhead, you know,” Sedric said. “Just tell me what you’ve really been doing this whole time.”
He suspects, Levi thought with panic. Or he knows. And he’s forcing me to lie.
The truth meant death.
“You’ll get the volts soon,” Levi rasped, shifting away from him.
Sedric laughed, then adjusted his suit jacket. A silver knife gleamed from an inside pocket, a ruby winking at Levi from its hilt. Only a Torren would carry a weapon that flashy.
Levi reminded himself that he couldn’t look vulnerable. He searched around the Tropps Room for some of Sedric’s cronies, and sure enough, he spotted several men lurking near the door in crisp suits with black-and-red-striped ties—Luckluster colors. He fought to maintain his poker face. He was surrounded.
“You gonna kill me in St. Morse?” Levi dared, mustering up the appearance of confidence. “Doesn’t seem you’d get your volts back, then. And Vianca would never forgive you.”
“I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to warn you.” But despite his words, Sedric removed the knife from his jacket. With only an arm’s length of space between them, it would take Sedric only a heartbeat to stab the knife through Levi’s neck.
Any rational man would run, but Levi was frozen. Maybe that was a good thing. It made him appear bold, even when he was terrified.
Sedric ran his finger along the blade, then inspected the red droplet on his fingertip, as if assuring Levi the knife was sharp. He licked away the blood. The sight of it made Levi shudder.
“Whatever scheme you’ve been running,” Sedric murmured, “it’s over. Maybe you will be, too.”
Sedric flipped over the top card on the deck.
“Ten of hearts. You got lucky, Pup. We’ll give you ten days. With reminders.” He stood, slid his knife back into its sheath and drained the rest of his glass. “A present from my family.” He tossed a silver card face down in front of Levi. Sedric whistled and walked to a different table.
Levi’s heart hammered, both from Sedric’s threat and the gift he left behind. He recognized the card instantly—its metallic back was signature to the Shadow Game, the rumored execution game of the Phoenix Club. It was a North Side legend, as notorious as the Great Street War or the original lords. To Levi, it was an object plucked out from a story, from a nightmare.
It can’t be real, Levi thought, hoped. But even his cynicism couldn’t rationalize away the card’s plain existence right in front of him.
The tales claimed the cards had magical properties once you touched them. Even though Levi didn’t believe in those shatz superstitions like Jac did, he flipped it over with a morbid curiosity, seeking some assurance that the legends weren’t true.
The moment he touched it, the lights of the Tropps Room faded, and silence pierced through the music.
*
Levi stared down a long hallway that stretched endlessly in both directions. The impressively tall doors alternated black and white, each parallel to the other. The walls and ceiling were marble, clean enough to glint off the hallway’s collection of mirrors and crystal. The floor was tiled in black and white, as well. Like a chessboard.
Vaguely, he got the sense he was dreaming. But if he was, he couldn’t seem to wake up.
He reached for a black door, but it was locked. He tried the white one next to it, and it clicked open. The air that rushed past felt like a sigh against his skin.