The Prince of Broadway

by Joanna Shupe

  The side of his mouth kicked up. “What would you have done had I not noticed you in my casino?”

  “Keep coming back until you did.”

  “I knew you were bribing my men at the door. I could have stopped you at any time.”

  “And yet you didn’t. Was it because of my father?”

  “Definitely not. I do not make allowances for anyone connected to Duncan.”

  “Are you certain you won’t tell me your plans regarding him?”

  “Absolutely positive.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “So what will it be? Lessons on how to operate the Bronze House for one hundred dollars an hour, or back to visiting the poolrooms?”

  She nearly shuddered. The idea of never returning here, of going back to the poolrooms—seedy, filthy gambling haunts in rough neighborhoods—was depressing. Sitting here, she was closer than she’d ever been to her independence. She couldn’t leave.

  She’d just find a way to thwart his revenge plans later on.

  “Fine. I’ll pay for mentoring.”

  “Call me Clay, then.” He pushed out of his chair and started toward the door.

  When he turned the knob, she quickly stood. “Wait, where are you going?” They hadn’t settled on a tutoring schedule yet.

  “Come along. It’s time to begin your first lesson.” He disappeared into the corridor, and she was left staring at the empty doorway. Oh. She hadn’t expected to start tonight.

  Lifting her skirts, she hurried after him.

  “Wouldn’t you rather hear what I am interested in, what I need help with?” she said to the wide shoulders draped in black wool. “You don’t even know what I am planning.”

  He began to climb a small set of stairs, clearly ignoring her. Huffing out a frustrated breath, she started up behind him. “Are you going to answer my question?”

  “There’s no point. You need to start at the bottom.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He came to the landing and turned to wait for her. “It means the pace and content of each lesson is at my discretion. And if I need to cancel or cut our time short, you’ll respect my decision. This is not up for debate. Now, go left and around the corner.”

  God, he was so frustrating.

  She continued along the scarred wooden floors and into a corridor. Noises from the casino—shouts and curses, dice and chips—rose up and jolted her like a shot of energy into her veins, as if she’d touched a live electric wire. Men took this for granted, their ability to wallow in vice and sin at will, while women were tasked to uphold society’s virtues. Any slip meant failure and ruination, the damnation of one’s soul and confinement to spinsterhood.

  Bollocks to that, as their cook liked to say when she thought no one was listening. Florence craved the danger and freedom in every part of the city, especially the ones off-limits to her. Why should she be cast out of society’s good graces for occasionally doing what every man her age did nightly?

  Her casino would change that. An illegal gaming hall where society ladies could lose their pin money and jewelry without fear of recrimination. No men permitted meant no judgment or gossip. The women would be free to enjoy themselves, to live their lives without men ruining everything.

  If only she could unionize the entire female race . . .

  After following his directions, she found herself on the balcony overlooking the casino floor. She sucked in a breath. He would be able to see everything from up here.

  “I knew you were watching.”

  He came to stand shoulder to shoulder with her at the railing. “When there’s a potential problem in my casino, yes.”

  “Is that what I was, a potential problem?”

  “An innocent woman in a lion’s den is always a problem.”

  “I am not innocent.” She froze. The words had escaped her mouth like a locomotive traveling at high speed. All because she’d wished to counter his opinion of her as a sheltered uptown schoolgirl.

  Idiot. What did she care if Clayton Madden thought her green? Unfortunately, there was no taking the sentence back. Perhaps he’d act a gentleman and let it go.

  “Fumbling kisses from boys between waltzes hardly counts,” he said, and her hopes of gentlemanly behavior died right then. No need to mention she hadn’t stopped at fumbling kisses. God knew she’d already said too much.

  He gestured to the floor. “Men who gamble here are often drunk or high on the thrill of a win. An unescorted woman can prove a temptation some men cannot resist taking, regardless of whether she agrees or not. You saw what nearly happened to your sister.”

  “You needn’t worry about me. I’m able to handle myself.”

  “Oh, indeed.”

  His tone implied he didn’t believe her, but she let it go and took in the scene below. Patrons were clustered throughout the casino floor, every table full. The crush of well-dressed men, with their black evening wear and thick billfolds, was a thing of beauty. How had Clay managed to build this up so quickly? The Bronze House wasn’t even a year old.

  The minutes ticked by and he said nothing. Her impatience got the better of her. “Is there a point to standing here or are you fleecing me out of one hundred dollars?”

  “I was waiting to see how long it would take before you asked. Yes, there is a point. Close your eyes.”

  “What?” She cast him a sideways glance. “Why?”

  “Because I am your mentor and I’m telling you to do it. If you’d rather learn from someone who cannot teach you a fraction of what I know, then by all means refuse me. I’ve lots of other tasks I should be doing.”

  Heat washed across her neck, an anger that spread to the roots of her hair. His employees must absolutely hate him. If this was how he treated people, no wonder his assistant handled everything below during club hours.

  She forced her eyes closed. The sounds from the casino floor sharpened, as did her awareness of the man next to her. He smelled . . . manly, like faint cigar and a forest. Was it pine? The unusual combination appealed to her, dash it. She heard his shoes squeak ever so softly as he moved closer. His elbow brushed hers.

  “What do you hear?”

  “Voices.”

  “What else?”

  She didn’t understand. Was this a test of some kind? If so, was she already failing? “Lots of voices.”

  “Florence, try harder. You need to hear all of it. Take a moment and think.”

  She exhaled and cleared her mind. She and her sisters had often hid outside from one another in the summers. The first person to find the other two would win. Florence had triumphed nearly every time. She’d keep perfectly still and listen until the familiar sounds fell away and she could discern the unnatural ones. Then she’d hurry to where Mamie and Justine hid and reveal them.

  The same thing happened tonight. The voices drifted to the background and she could hear the underlying noises. “Dice, more than one set. From directly below us. One roulette wheel spinning, a ball dropping in another.” A tiny ivory ball clanged against the metal. “Champagne cork popped. The stacking of chips.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Cards being shuffled.” She held her breath, hoping for more. “A scraping of some kind.”

  “Now open your eyes.”

  She blinked in the dim light and let her eyes adjust. “How did I do?”

  “You tell me.”

  Refraining from frowning at him, she glanced at the floor. A waiter poured champagne in one spot; roulette players collected their winnings in another. Craps games rolled on. An older man with one lame leg slowly made his way toward the exit, his foot dragging on the wooden floor. She cast Clay a satisfied grin. “I’d say pretty well. It’s not hard when you put your mind to it.”

  All of his attention was now focused entirely on her mouth. The intensity of his stare sent a bolt of heat through her, rooting her feet to the floor. What was he thinking? Something to do with his attraction to her? Her heart pounded as the moment stretched, the surroundings drifti
ng away in their darkened and secluded spot. His features were sharper at this distance, angles and scars that fascinated her. They told a story of a life much different than hers.

  Stop it. As compelling as she found him, she could not become distracted from her purpose. Men wanted only one thing from women: to control them. To take away their choices.

  No one was taking away Florence’s choices. Ever.

  Clearing her throat, she averted her face and studied the craps game beneath them.

  “You must learn to filter out the noise at any given moment, concentrate on what’s missing or out of place. You have to know the sounds, grow familiar with them, until they’re like the sound of your own breath. Then you know when someone is stealing from you.” He pointed toward a poker table on the left side of the room. “Watch.”

  One of the players was casually glancing at a man at the neighboring roulette table. From his position at the roulette wheel, the man could see the cards of the other poker players. He was subtly tapping his arm with his fingers, giving clues to his friend on his opponents’ cards.

  Florence exhaled. “He’s cheating. How was I supposed to hear that?”

  “You wouldn’t. The man at the roulette table isn’t betting. He’s not even watching the wheel. It’s what is missing in this case that counts.” He lifted his hand and caught the attention of Jack, who was dealing with a drunk and disorderly craps player. Some quick hand motions followed then Clay took her elbow and began leading her to the stairs. “Jack will meet you at the bottom of the steps. I have another matter to attend to.”

  “The cheaters?”

  “Yes, my second occurrence just this evening. It must be my lucky night.”

  The words were terse and angry, but there was a hint of anticipation there, as well. She almost pitied those two cheaters. “Wait, are you kicking me out?”

  “Those are the terms we agreed to, yes. Anytime I must cut a lesson short you’ll respect my decision. And we are cutting this lesson short.”

  “Well, when should I return for my next lesson?”

  Impatience radiated from his hurried gait, the stiff movements of his arms. He wrenched open the door at the top of the stairs. “Why not surprise me? You seem to enjoy doing that.”

  He disappeared, leaving her to descend alone. As she reached the bottom, she realized he was right. She did like surprising him.

  What worried her was how he’d come to recognize it before she did.

  Chapter Three

  Clay pressed the block of ice to his knuckles and strode toward his office. Two attempts to cheat the House in one night? That had been unusual.

  Not as unusual as Florence Greene, however. The girl was surprising. He hadn’t met many society women but he had to assume that opening a casino for ladies put her in a class all by herself. She’d never pull it off, of course. Duncan Greene would lock her up and throw away the key before he allowed that.

  But it would be damn fun to watch her try.

  Clay would assist her in any way possible. If it meant aggravating her family, Clay was fully on board. The past twenty years had been about two things: making money and ruining Duncan Greene. The groundwork had been laid some time ago but, in another six months, Clay’s plan should come to fruition. When the dust settled, Duncan’s family home would be obliterated. Destroyed. Just as Clay’s had been.

  Eye for an eye. Like for like. That was Clay’s way—and there was nothing Duncan could do to stop it.

  A dark smile twisted his lips and he threw open the door to his office, ready to get back to work. He paused just over the threshold. A red-haired woman was perched in his chair, her booted feet propped on his desk, a lit cigar in her mouth. Sighing, he continued inside and shut the door behind him.

  Annabelle Gallagher. One of Clay’s few friends and investors. She owned the brothel next door to the House, providing a service to the fancy fat cats that Clay was unwilling to undertake himself. He did not peddle in flesh, though Anna’s girls were willing and well cared for. It was her business, one he did not judge. God knew she’d never judged him for the way he’d earned his money over their decade-long friendship.

  A secret tunnel below ground connected their buildings, providing access in case either business was ever raided by the Metropolitan Police. Hard to imagine that happening at the Bronze House, however, considering the second-highest officer in command was also an investor here, but Clay liked to be prepared for anything. He hoped the tunnel remained permanently unused, except for trips by Annabelle.

  She exhaled and let out a stream of smoke. His good Cubans, damn her. “Hello, Clayton.”

  “Slow night?”

  “No. We’re quite busy, actually. I did hear an interesting rumor, though. Thought I’d come over and see for myself.”

  He dropped into the armchair across from his desk and reached for the humidor. Normally he enjoyed visiting with Anna, but he was edgy tonight. Two cheaters in his casino and lusting over Florence Greene had soured his mood. Bearing the weight of an empire certainly could wear a man down. “And what rumor was that?”

  “That you let a woman gamble in your club tonight.”

  “Wrong.” He took his time to select a cigar and snipped off the end with a silver cutter.

  “I knew it had to be a lie. You’d never bend your intractable rules for a pretty face.”

  “I let her gamble here three nights this week.” He enjoyed the way her mouth slackened, her jaw hanging open. “You’re a bit behind, Anna. Surprising, as your customers love gossiping almost as much as they love getting their cocks sucked.”

  She smirked. “Almost. My girls are the best in the city, after all. Tell me about this woman. Who is she?”

  He took a few puffs on his now-lit cigar. “Florence Greene.”

  “Florence . . .” Her eyes widened almost comically. “Surely you don’t mean that Florence Greene. Duncan Greene’s daughter?”

  “I do. She’s the middle one. The troublemaker.”

  Anna’s feet hit the floor as she straightened. “Why on earth would you let her in?”

  Clay exhaled smoke and tried to come up with an answer. Only, there was none. “Curiosity, I suppose.”

  Anna closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes, studying him. After a long minute, she nodded. “Oh, I see. This explains why everyone’s been extra terrified of you this week.”

  He had no idea what she was implying. “That’s ridiculous. This week has been no different than any other—except that I’ve dealt with two cheaters in one evening.” They were getting bolder. His reputation must’ve slipped.

  “No, I think it is Miss Greene. You like her.”

  “Bite your tongue,” he snapped, though it came out halfhearted and they both knew it.

  “Clayton Madden, gone soft for a fancy uptown debutante.” She grinned and shook her head. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  He ground his back molars together. If this rumor gained legs, he’d never hear the end of it. “I have work to do and no doubt you have clients next door. As much as I’ve enjoyed this visit, I think it’s time to cut it short.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “Anna!” He came to his feet. “Get the hell out of here.”

  Chuckling, she rose. “Here is your chair, Your Majesty.” She waved a hand and edged away. He stalked over and sat, the well-worn leather creaking under his weight.

  Instead of leaving, she went to the sideboard. He ignored her and concentrated on the stack of papers on his desk. These were financial reports from various operations all over the city. He owed quarterly payments to his investors, including Anna. The net profits would determine how much to pay out, if he could ever find the time to balance the books. His attention had been sorely distracted as of late.

  Maybe you have gone soft.

  No, never. The idea was laughable. He remained focused on what truly mattered: money and revenge.

  A tumbler half-filled with spirits was placed on his desk. “Drink this,
” she said. “It’s your favorite and it’ll sweeten your mood.”

  “My mood needs no sweetening,” he clipped as he set down his cigar and reached for the glass. “And I do not like her. I merely wished to learn why she was so desperate to gamble here.”

  She lowered herself into an armchair. “And?”

  He took a long drink and let the smooth bourbon warm his insides. “She plans to open a casino. For ladies.”

  Anna hooted, a gleeful grin overtaking her delicate features. “Oh, I like her. I approve, Clay. I approve.”

  “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. She’s hired me to give her lessons on how to run a casino. That’s all.”

  “And you agreed? It cannot be for the money. God knows you have enough of that.”

  No, he didn’t. One could never have enough money, especially in New York City. “It . . . pleases me to assist her down the path of debauchery and vice. Mostly because I loathe her father and I know how much it will irritate the old bastard.”

  Anna sobered, her brows pinching together. “I don’t like you using her. Men and their hidden motives. Women have it hard enough without being lied to—”

  “I haven’t lied to her about a thing. In fact, I told her how much I hate her father.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. I also informed her that I was attracted to her.”

  That caught his friend off guard. “How did she take that news?”

  “Not as expected,” he admitted. “I thought to scare her off by telling her, actually. She merely asked if I planned to force her. When I said no, she threatened to shoot me if I hurt her.”

  Anna’s lips pressed together like she might be fighting to hold in laughter. She hid her face by taking a long drink of bourbon. “So you’re not planning on bedding her?”

  “It would be a terrible idea. Women of her ilk get ideas after intimacy.”

  “Know a lot of fancy uptown ladies, do you?”

  “I know enough. And even I would not fuck a woman purely as revenge against her father.” An eye for an eye.