by Amanda Foody
Levi’s break ended, and a new group of players sat down. Every card he drew was lousy: a single queen and the lowest of every other suit. The house’s pile of chips shrank, and his profits slumped to 20 percent.
A man in a bowler hat took his eighth pot. Levi tried to focus on his game to see if he was counting cards, but he was panicked. He was sloppy. And his mind kept straying back to Sedric Torren.
If the Torren Family wanted him dead, why would they use the Shadow Game instead of one of their own men? Sedric’s cousins—the brutal, notorious siblings, Charles and Delia—never turned down an opportunity to kill. Levi had heard rumors that Charles was experimenting to see how many times he could shoot someone before they bled out, and that Delia had a knife collection made from the bones of each of her victims.
If Sedric wanted Levi dead, he didn’t need the Shadow Game to do it.
Which meant Sedric was showing off his friendship with the Phoenix Club. Sedric had inherited his position as don less than a year ago, after his father’s death. Since then, in an effort to squash his rival, Vianca Augustine, he’d befriended the wigheads, begun a campaign for office and declared himself an honorary South Sider.
He would make a spectacle of Levi, just to show he could.
After another round, the players headed to the poker and roulette tables. Levi’s profits plummeted to a meager 18 percent, a good percentage for a mediocre player. Not for him.
Even if he played his best at St. Morse, ten days wasn’t enough time to come up with ten thousand volts.
He traced his finger along the edge of the Shadow Card in his pocket. In the stories, receiving one meant only one thing: a warning. Make the Phoenix Club happy, or go buy a cemetery plot.
Lourdes Alfero has to be alive, he thought. Because if she’s not...
Ten days.
Ten days to figure out how to beat his enemies at their own game.
ENNE
Enne found a mention of Sedric Torren in her guidebook, buried within a chapter called “A History of Organized Crime on the North Side.”
He was the don of the Torren Family.
He owned a narcotics and gambling empire.
He was one of the most powerful men in New Reynes.
And Enne was going to poison him.
A knock at her door summoned her from her bed. She’d fallen asleep, but she hadn’t truly rested. In her dreams, she was running through the city’s streets, reaching for her mother’s slender shadow as it disappeared down alley after alley. She’d been paying too much attention to the diminishing sound of Lourdes’s footsteps to notice the second shadow lurking behind her. It tore the jacket from Enne’s arms and ripped the purse out of her hands. She’d woken just before it had plunged a knife into her back.
Enne opened the door.
A woman stood in the hallway with a grim expression, holding a dress. “From Madame Augustine,” she said.
Enne’s hands shook as she took it and held it up to her small frame. It was pink as peonies, with a crescent moon collar and a ribbon tied around the waist, its skirt a mess of tulle and bows. It was a dress meant for a doll.
“What is this for?” Enne asked.
“For tonight,” the woman answered, already turning to leave.
“She can’t be serious.”
“It’s nonnegotiable.”
Enne had always enjoyed dressing up, especially for a performance. In a way, the outfit reminded her of a ballet costume, so as she slipped it on, she tried to convince herself she was preparing for an elaborate show rather than her potential demise. Her makeup calmed her, even if her hands were shaking. Some powder around her nose. Some rouge on her cheeks. Some tint on her lips. Whatever it took to persuade herself that she was another person, that this was not her life, this was not her end.
She repeated Lourdes’s rules to herself in the mirror.
Do not reveal your emotions, especially your fear.
Never allow yourself to be lost.
Trust is a last resort.
The words didn’t mean much now—after all, those rules couldn’t save her. She tucked the clear vial into her pocket and, on her way out the door, left one thousand volts in an orb for Levi on her table—nearly everything she had—in case he came looking when she didn’t return.
She’d never felt so alone.
* * *
If St. Morse were a palace, then the Tropps Room was the throne room, and greed was king. The stained glass windows, the iron candelabras, the glimmering marble floors and white tables—the room was decorated as though for royalty. The throne itself was in the center of the room, raised above the rest of the floor. There Levi sat, collecting and shuffling a deck of midnight blue cards. He was speaking to a man with slicked brown hair, fair skin and an expensive suit.
Of course Levi was at the throne. Reymond had said he was Vianca’s favorite.
Levi wore a three-piece blue suit and a green tie that matched St. Morse’s signature colors. For a brief moment, Enne allowed herself to see what the other girls and boys had seen—the girls and boys whose clothing now filled half of Levi’s wardrobe. He cleaned up nicely, and Enne had a soft spot for men in suits. She appreciated the way the jacket made him look broader, and the way his dark suit and features contrasted with the copper roots in his hair...
She stopped herself. She needed to focus.
Levi watched the man next to him while shuffling a deck of cards. He half smiled, then he adjusted his tie, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he—
Focus. What would her teachers have said? Levi was...hardly someone to admire. And even if his appearance was nice, his character left quite a lot to be desired. She didn’t feel like herself, not in this dress, not with the vial in her pocket, not so far from home.
More problematic than Levi’s dashing appearance was the fact that he was so prominently seated above everyone else in the room. She would be easy to spot, looking like a walking piece of cotton candy. But Vianca had claimed Sedric would be here, in the Tropps Room. Thankfully, Levi wasn’t directly facing her. Maybe he wouldn’t see her at all. He did look rather preoccupied with the man beside him.
If only she was wearing something less conspicuous. She was small enough that, with some luck, she could have slipped the poison into Sedric’s glass from behind him and he’d have been none the wiser. But the dress made this impossible. Enne had spent her entire life being overlooked, but tonight, Vianca had dressed her to be noticed.
A man in a green St. Morse uniform stood by the door, the pallor of his face nearly matching the white busts lining Vianca’s hallways.
“Excuse me?” Enne asked.
“What can I do for you, miss?”
“I’m looking for Sedric Torren. He promised to meet me here.” The gravity of the evening felt much more real now that she’d spoken his name out loud.
“He’s there.” The employee pointed to Levi’s table. Just as he did, the man with the slicked hair drained his glass and strode away with a swagger to his step. Enne paled. What was Sedric doing talking to Levi? “He just left.”
“Thank you—”
“Miss?” the employee called, his voice heavy and weary.
Enne turned around. “Yes?”
“Are you, um, here alone?”
This dress, Enne grumbled internally. As if I don’t look young enough already.
Seeing her annoyed expression, the man looked down at the floor, flustered. “Never mind. Please, forget I said anything.”
Enne took a deep breath and repeated Lourdes’s rules to herself. She followed Sedric to another card table and, before she could talk herself out of it, slid into the chair beside him. It was conveniently behind Levi, so he wouldn’t spot her unless he turned around. She almost wished he would—maybe he could help her; maybe he could save her. But the omerta was a secret. Sh
e hadn’t been able to tell Levi before, and even if she found a loophole, the memory of suffocating made her stomach turn. She couldn’t risk that again, even if it meant acting alone.
She didn’t look at Sedric for several moments. Her heart pounded. He was the don of a casino Family, just like Vianca, and if he was anything like her, then Enne was right to be afraid. She should be petrified. She should run.
But that wasn’t an option. She might need to poison him for Vianca, but she would survive this night for Lourdes.
At last, she turned to him.
He was already smiling at her.
He was attractive. Not in a beautiful or even a handsome way, but in how he carried himself. As if he had power over everyone, and he knew how to use it. But the more Enne stared at him, the more she noticed the heavy grease in his hair and the outrageous, gaudy details of his suit—as if anyone really needed a diamond-studded necktie.
Yet as attractive as he was, it wasn’t a good-looking smile. It was threatening, like a wolf who had just spotted his prey.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said smoothly. His age was difficult to discern—his receding hairline didn’t match the few lines on his face. She guessed about thirty years old. “Are your parents here?”
“What? No, no,” she said, her voice distressed. She was breaking the first rule. He could see her fear. She needed to do better than that if she was going to live through the night.
A knife winked at her from his pocket. She almost whimpered.
“And are you a fan of Tropps, miss?” Sedric asked.
She didn’t have any chips. She didn’t know how to play. Her lie was unraveling before she could even spin it.
Forget you noticed me, she pleaded. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be invisible again, so long as she was safe.
But she was trapped under Sedric’s snare of a smile and the other players’ bewildered looks. She was in the spotlight. For once, she had people’s attention.
So she did the only thing she knew. She smiled innocently and lied. “Yes. I play all the time.”
She could tell from his expression that he didn’t believe her. But there was no suspicion in his eyes—only amusement. She was simply a silly girl to him.
She relaxed—barely. Young, innocent...she could keep up that charade. She was a Bellamy schoolgirl lost in the City of Sin. She knew this role well.
Sedric slid her a stack of ten green chips. “Compliments to a pretty young lady.”
“Thank you.” She placed one of the chips in the center, and the dealer handed her three cards. She mimicked how the other players held them and moved some cards around here and there for good measure.
Each round, the players placed their bets, and the dealer passed them a new card. This continued for a few turns, until each of them was asked to reveal three cards from their hand. Enne flipped over the ace of spades, then the queen and ten of hearts. The others watched with raised eyebrows. Perhaps she’d made the wrong move.
One of the players folded, and so did she. With four chips left, she waited for the game to finish, the hairs on her neck rose on end. She felt the heated gazes of the whole table. She looked obviously lost. If this continued, Sedric might grow suspicious.
When the game finally ended and the dealer collected the pot of chips, Sedric turned to her. “I take it you’re not a regular. Are you sure you’ve played before?”
“Was I that obvious?” she asked, trying to appear sheepish. She wiped her sweaty hands on her tulle skirt.
He smirked at her as if, yes, she was. “Waiting on someone? You can’t be here by yourself.”
“I’m here alone,” she replied cautiously. “I thought I’d watch the dancers.”
“Then you’re a little lost. The theater is across the hall.” He scanned at her up and down, and she resisted the urge to look away from his dark eyes. She was supposedly playing the role of the assailant, yet his gaze was the one growing more and more predatory. Her skin prickled with unease. “Would you like me to accompany you? I wouldn’t want you to get lost again.”
“That would be lovely...”
“Sedric.”
“Sedric,” she echoed nervously.
“And your name, miss?” He took her arm and led her around the tables. She peeked at Levi, who was—thankfully—still too focused on his game to notice her.
“En... Emma. It’s Emma.”
“A pleasure, Emma.”
In the lobby, the air reeked of floral perfumes, cigarette smoke and the perpetual stink of Tropps Street. Groups in ruffled gowns and tuxedos shuffled between the restaurant and the casino rooms, but they all parted for Sedric as he approached. Enne couldn’t tell if it was out of respect or fear—in New Reynes, they both seemed like the same thing. She tried to avoid their wary gazes in her direction to keep herself from trembling.
“The performance doesn’t start for a half hour,” Sedric said. “Do you like dancing as much as you like watching it?”
In order to poison him, she’d need to stay with him until he bought himself a drink. But the way he held her, his arm linked so tightly with her own, her side pressed against him, she felt the urge to flee. It was nothing he had said, but the way he looked at her. It made her feel...wrong.
“I love dancing, but only if I have a good partner,” she said, swallowing down her longing for escape. She had lasted this long. She could do this.
She had to.
He smiled. His teeth were alabaster white. “I promise you will find me more than acceptable.”
He steered her to the dance floor of a grand ballroom of twinkling lights and waxy floors. The other couples danced chest-to-chest, and Sedric pulled her close. His breath warmed her forehead, and she wished she was tall enough to look him in the eyes, or at least anywhere above his neck.
She did her best to follow his steps—they didn’t have this dance in Bellamy. Left. Right. Right. Turn. A left kick. Repeat. She caught on quickly, and he smiled as she accidentally turned tighter than intended and pressed her back into his chest. His cologne smelled sweet, like toffee.
He raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me you have a dancing talent.”
“You never asked.”
“Are you a Tanzer? A Glisset?” Those were the names of wealthy dancing families at her school. Enne had attempted to compete with them her whole life, even when her toes blistered and her muscles ached. She knew his words were flattery—Saltas and Tanzers were simply incomparable, no matter how hard she practiced—but the compliment still sent a thrill through her chest.
“A Salta,” she corrected him.
“There’s no need to keep secrets from me.” Left. Right. Right. Turn. “You’re too graceful for a Salta. You’re a rarer form of dancer. Or your parents must spoil you with lessons.”
Her annoyance piqued. “My name is Salta.”
“I’m sorry,” he amended quickly, but he looked more amused than apologetic. “I meant no offense.”
The song ended on a low minor chord, saving Enne from responding. He took her arm and led her to a near-empty side of the room, to a lone velvet love seat in a shadowy alcove. It felt awfully private here, so far from the other dancers. Enne felt a prickle of unease. What exactly was he considering?
“Why here?” she asked.
“Away from prying eyes. I’m determined to learn more about you, Emma Salta. I don’t usually meet girls your age quite so...”
“Quite so what?”
“Confident.” He gave her that snare of a smile. “You must give your teachers a lot of trouble.”
He truly thought her to be young, treating her as though she weren’t old enough to be a teenager. As he leaned forward, the way his gaze roamed over her delicate hands and her small chest, she realized with horror why the dress was nonnegotiable. And she felt ill. She couldn’t decide who wa
s more of a monster: Sedric...or Vianca?
Oh...he would like you, she’d said. This was the part Vianca had designed for her to play. She wanted to leave him in disgust, but then she felt the omerta squeezing her lungs, coercing her forward, trapping her. She had no choice but to continue the act.
“My teachers love me,” she played along, feeling vile inside and out.
“Of course they do.” Sedric snapped his fingers at a footman. “Two glasses of your house’s finest wine.” Her heart lifted for a moment. A drink meant the opportunity to poison him and be done with this despicable man—something she was feeling less guilty about by the minute. “Once he returns, we can make our way to the theater.”
“I didn’t realize you were so interested in dancing,” Enne replied with an attempt at a girlish smile.
“I don’t mind dancing, but I’m more interested in sitting beside you. A person’s first show at St. Morse is always a treat. But...” He smiled, a hint of arrogance in his expression. “I’d love to show you Luckluster. Our shows are spectacular.”
“What do you mean ‘our shows’?” she asked, as though she didn’t know he also owned a casino. “Do you run them?”
“Not exactly,” he answered. “Your parents wouldn’t mind me showing you, would they?”
“No, they wouldn’t.” She attempted to feign excitement to hide her revulsion. No, perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to poison him.
The footman returned with two glasses of red wine. She’d never had it—alcohol was illegal in Bellamy—but she recognized it from the bottles other girls had smuggled into their dormitory. She sipped it and tried not to wrinkle her nose; it was horribly bitter.
“Have you ever had wine before?” Sedric asked conspiratorially. “I was twelve when I tried it for the first time. Didn’t have a taste for it then, either.”
“No, I haven’t. It’s...” She didn’t want to sound rude and risk ruining her charade. “It’s nice.”
“I wouldn’t tell your parents, if I were you.”
“Why not?”
He scooted closer to her until their legs touched. “That’s how parents are. They won’t like how fast you’re growing up.”
