Levi had failed her in the worst way. At the start, finding Alfero for her had been a way to save himself, and since Sedric had given him a Shadow Card, it meant salvation now more than ever. But since last night, it was also more than that—it was about Enne’s forgiveness. It was about making things right.
He’d originally thought Enne wouldn’t last more than a night in New Reynes, but he’d been wrong about her. Sedric had terrified Levi down to his very core, and Enne—Enne—had poisoned him, the wolf of the North Side, and she felt remorseless. No, she wasn’t what he’d expected at all.
Jac snorted. “A job doing what?”
“I told Vianca she was an acrobat.”
“Think you could get me a free ticket to their next show? I need a good laugh.” Jac kicked an empty beer bottle across the street. It clunked loudly—too loudly. This section of Olde Town was lifeless except for them.
Then footsteps thumped through the silence. Chez strutted out from the alley next to the old church, Mansi following close behind. Chez was scowling, which had lately become as permanent a feature of his face as his protruding brow bone and sharp sliver of a nose. He saluted Levi, quickly and haphazardly.
Mansi, however, brightened the moment she saw him and didn’t hesitate to cross herself. Like most kids in the North Side, Mansi took the laws of the streets seriously. Every rule. Every myth.
She looks skinny, Levi thought. Skinnier than usual.
He sighed. He was so tired, in his body as much as his soul. It exhausted him, carrying all this guilt. If all his failures were a sea, then he was drowning, and the omerta was the ball and chain dragging him down to rock bottom.
“’Lo,” Levi greeted them.
“Where were you last night?” Chez demanded. “Either of you?”
“Working, same as we both have every Saturday for the past year,” Levi grunted. Chez already knew this. “Why? What did we miss?” That was a question that, as the Iron Lord, he should never have had to ask.
“A run-in with the Scarhands,” Mansi blurted. Her gaze shifted wildly from Levi to Chez.
“What?” Levi growled. He would’ve never sanctioned such a brawl. Nor would Reymond. But street law had more power than the lords, in the end. Besides, Levi’s history with Reymond wasn’t common knowledge outside of this circle. The other Irons would view it as a breach of loyalty—Chez certainly did.
“Where was this?” Jac asked sharply.
“Near Revolution Bridge.” Not far from the border between Iron and Scar Lands.
“Was anyone hurt?” Levi asked, searching Mansi for scratches and bruises but, thankfully, found none.
“One of our rats pulled a knife but didn’t get a chance to use it,” Chez answered, his chest puffed out. “Scavenger had it coming.”
“Someone pulled a knife on Jonas?” Levi couldn’t imagine which of his kids was that thick. Jonas was the deadliest agent in the Scarhands. He’d even killed a Dove once.
“Will Reymond be upset? Didn’t mean to anger your missy, Pup,” Chez said, then instantly froze.
Both Jac’s and Mansi’s mouths fell open. It took everything Levi had not to cringe, to remind himself that he didn’t deserve this.
He was meant for more than this.
Levi slowly slid his knife out of his jacket. Not the smart one Vianca paid for, but the one with the rusted handle he’d used in the old days.
Chez eyed the knife but didn’t move. Levi flipped it a few times in the air as he walked toward him, and the blade’s edge twirled around Levi’s fingers with deadly finesse. Chez wasn’t the only one who could show off.
“It was a joke. You gonna gut me?” Chez said it more like a dare than a question, but they both knew that this was more than that. Six months ago, these comments were a joke.
Now they were a threat. To Levi’s power. To his pride.
Levi didn’t know how far he would go, but, oh, that knife felt good in his hand. Reymond or Ivory would’ve never allowed their third to talk to them like that. But Levi had sworn long ago he wouldn’t be like Reymond or Ivory. He wanted glory, not fear.
Besides, it wasn’t as if Levi could gut Chez, or simply kick him out. He’d need to replace him with someone else who could relay Levi’s orders to the other Irons—Jac couldn’t do all that himself. Mansi would run to the edge of the world and back for Levi, but she was only thirteen—how would it look if the third of the Irons was just a kid? The other gangs thought Levi was just a kid. If he made Mansi his third, they’d think he was a punch line.
He hated to admit it, but he needed Chez—at least until he got Sedric his payment and could focus on the Irons again. Or maybe Chez would grow more tolerable after that. He used to be better, before he’d decided the Irons’ problems were his responsibility, not Levi’s.
They’d been friends, once.
It all came back to respect, in the end. Levi would rather earn his respect at the card table than demand it at gunpoint. But it was Reymond who had once told him that respect and fear were two sides of the same card. Since it had come this far, Levi needed to play his hand.
He placed the edge of the blade against Chez’s throat. Chez went rigid. He didn’t dare to breathe. But he didn’t fight back, either. He didn’t think Levi would truly hurt him.
Levi barely recognized his own voice as he growled, “I could gut you.” Beside him, Mansi’s eyes widened with uncertainty. It was a look Levi wouldn’t soon forget.
“Oh, is that how you’re playing now?” Chez rasped.
“The question is how you’re playing,” Levi hissed. “What makes a lord isn’t the bravest, the smartest or the first person to whip out a knife. It’s the one who earns the volts and keeps everyone alive. No one else can lead like me.”
Levi felt the wisps of Jac’s aura grazing his shoulder, as if trying to calm him. Jac probably didn’t even realize his aura was doing it. Levi knew he wasn’t acting like himself; the Iron Lord didn’t have a reputation for pressing knives to his subordinates’ throats. But this was the hand he’d been dealt. He didn’t know how else to play it.
“The Irons have more volt flow than any other gang in New Reynes, thanks to me,” Levi continued.
“Maybe once,” Chez challenged. “Not anymore.”
“This is temporary. Give me nine days, and I’m going to solve all our problems.”
Chez’s eyebrows furrowed. “What comes after nine days?”
My freedom, Levi thought, although that wasn’t entirely true. In nine days, if he did manage to pay back Sedric, he’d be free of the investment scheme. But he’d never be free of Vianca. When all this was over, she’d just give him a new assignment, a new way to get himself killed and put volts in her pocket.
But maybe not. This was by far the worst job he’d ever done for her. She wouldn’t demand such risk from him next time. He hated how much he was under her power, how he had to cling to the hope that next time, she’d take pity on him. That next time, she’d show compassion.
You’re her bitch, Reymond had said yesterday. He’d been joking—Reymond was always joking—but it’d stung.
Levi was and always had been the Iron Lord, and it was time that meant something again.
“Our paycheck comes after nine days,” Levi answered. This wasn’t a lie; once the scheme was over, Levi could pay the Irons what the Irons were actually earning again. They were still the richest gang in the city, even if no one but him and Jac knew it.
“From now on,” Levi commanded, dropping his knife and stepping back from Chez, “if you’re thinking about pulling a knife on another gang, you clear it with me.”
Chez’s eyes narrowed. Levi could tell he was debating whether to challenge that order. Chez was coming awfully close to learning the truth of it: that Levi was stealing from his own gang. But it wasn’t that simple, and Levi wouldn’t do it if he didn’t need to. He loved the Irons, but he wasn’t sure he loved anything enough to die for it. Not when the problem was so close to vanishing.
Much to Levi’s relief, Chez nodded. Mansi nodded even more fervently, beaming with the kind of loyalty that made Levi’s stomach hurt. He didn’t deserve it.
Only Jac failed to react. He was exceptionally gray and still and quiet, even for him. It made Levi uneasy.
“Any other news to share?” Levi demanded. “Any questions?”
Chez shook his head.