by Amanda Foody
Enne pulled away to tell him to leave her, to focus on his own plan for saving the North Side, but she couldn’t. Even as panic rose in her throat, the omerta forced her lips into a smile.
JAC
“I told all of you to Shut. The muck. Up!” Jac hollered. The gangsters behind him—over a hundred in total, a mixture from all the gangs—immediately stopped their chattering.
Jac shouldn’t have felt surprised at his own authority. With Levi in the casino and Tock cutting off the party’s power, Jac was the only leader of the Irons present. But he didn’t think that was the reason.
Even now, he heard their hushed whispers of how he’d pushed Charles Torren to his death. That was his story. His legend.
He and Sophia stood at the window, peeking out at the front entrance of St. Morse. All of the gangsters had been divided into two groups, and theirs was stationed at the top floor of a pub, one that had closed down from the financial pressures of the curfew. Scythe and Rebecca, sitting in a booth across the room, were also here to supervise the Doves and members of the Orphan Guild.
Down below, the last of Vianca’s guests were arriving, and Tropps Street—once congested with expensive motorcars—was emptying for the curfew. Any minute now, Tock’s explosion would light up the Casino District brighter than any of its neon signs.
And that would be their cue.
There were a thousand ways for this plan fail. But it was Levi’s plan, and Levi had a way of pulling off anything. Still, Jac’s fingers fiddled with his Creed. He craved a cigarette, but he hadn’t smoked one all day yesterday, and maybe that could become a new normal. He hoped so.
Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and Lola appeared. “The back entrance is clear.” She hurried to Jac and Sophia. “Grace went to tell the other group, and... Where’s Tock?”
“She’s not done yet. She’ll be back soon.”
Lola stared up at the roof of St. Morse Casino, her expression pale. “Did she go alone? I told her not to. She always does—”
“She took another Iron with her. Tommy’s a dealer, but he has a speed talent. He’s good for more than tricks.”
Lola swallowed and nodded.
“I don’t think Tock hates me,” Jac told her.
“What? Why would Tock hate you?”
He grinned. It wasn’t the time for jokes, but he couldn’t help himself. “You told me your date would hate me.”
The memory dawned on her, and she scowled. “It’s not your business.”
Jac bit his lip, initially wounded. He liked to think that, by now, they were friends.
But then she grumbled, “It’s been a few months. And yeah, I like her. She doesn’t get hung up on nonsense, like all of you.” Then Lola crossed her arms, and Jac knew that was all he would likely get out of her. Her lip curved slightly into a smile, but it quickly disappeared. “Enne is inside.”
“She is? Is she—?”
“She’s fine, but... I have a bad feeling.”
“Have you ever had a bad feeling that’s come true?” he asked nervously, because if there was ever a time for superstition, it was tonight. Levi was playing with legends, and just because Jac thought this plan was clever didn’t mean he thought it was smart.
“Once or twice.” Lola stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Enough times that I don’t ignore them.”
From his other side, Sophia flipped her coin, and it landed heads. “Eighty-four,” she said, her mouth full with a piece of taffy.
“That’s just your luck,” Jac told her.
“I’m willing to share it.” She handed Lola the coin and curled her fingers around it. Jac doubted that her talent actually worked like that, but he supposed it was a supportive gesture. “Besides, my brother and sister used coins. I’d like to try something different.” Sophia reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of dice. She rolled them on the dusty window ledge. Two sixes.
“What does that mean?” Jac asked.
“That means we’re getting lucky.”
Lola crinkled her nose. “Gross.”
Jac ignored her and pulled Sophia closer to him. Her dress was Luckluster red, with sleeves that draped off her shoulders and exposed the delicate curves of her collarbone and the sparse freckles on her arms.
Sophia cast him a smile. “What are you thinking about?”
Jac grinned impishly. “Tomorrow, we get to burn Luckluster to the ground. And then you and I—”
Boom.
Sophia jolted, and Lola let out a stifled scream. It was the sound they’d been waiting for, but it was quieter than they’d expected. The rest of the gangsters scrambled to their feet, brandishing knives and pistols. Jac squinted up at the roof of St. Morse—there’d been no light, no visible explosion.
“What’s happening?” Sophia whispered, pressing her hand against the glass.
“I’m not sure...” Lola whispered. There was no need to whisper, of course, but the room had fallen dead silent. Everyone held their breaths. Scythe and Rebecca immediately bolted out of their seats and joined them at the window.
“That didn’t sound like an explosion,” Scythe said darkly. “Where did it come from?”
“There!” Jac said, pointing toward the far corner of the roof. Though distant, he could make out the figures of Tock and Tommy as they sprinted across the rooftop of St. Morse Casino.
“Did they do it?” Sophia asked. “Why are they running?”
“She has to run to lay the line,” Lola explained.
“But we already heard something.” Jac looked up into the sky, but there was no smoke.
The door burst open. It was Grace, followed by the Scarhands’ second, a young woman Jac only recognized from the Catacombs. He was surprised to see her and not the Scar Lord, who was supposed to be commanding the other group.
“That was no explosion!” Grace shouted, panting, one arm braced against the doorframe. “That was a gunshot.”
Boom.
This time, the sound was no louder, but it rang in Jac’s ears, roared inside his ribs.
One of the silhouettes atop the casino fell.
The body hit the ledge and toppled over. It seemed to take ages to fall all twenty stories. It was time enough for Lola to scream. For several of the Irons to curse and make for the door. For Jac to register what it meant—that one of them had been shot, that someone had gotten wind of their plan, and that everything was about to go to muck.
The body fell onto the sidewalk of Tropps Street. Jac looked at the gore only long enough to determine who it was, and his heart clenched.
Tommy.
Lola let out a strangled sigh of relief, but it was short-lived for two reasons. Jac wasn’t even sure which of those happened first.
An explosion tore across the rooftop of St. Morse, far larger and louder than he expected, its angry black smoke reaching claws into the sky. The lights of the casino all went out.
Either before it, or after, or simultaneously, bullets fired from across the street, shattering the windows of the pub. Every person inside fell to the ground while glass rained through the air. Jac landed hard on his side, and his first instinct was to cover Sophia’s head with his arms, the same way Scythe protectively braced Rebecca. Behind them, an Iron he recognized as a runner clutched the blood pouring out of her shoulder and let out a wail.
“What is this?” Lola called, her back pressed against the wall, her head ducked down between her legs.
“Who knew?” Jac shouted. “Who knew who isn’t here?” He looked wildly to the Scarhands’ second, who crouched by the door.
“Scavenger’s inside!” she shouted.
“Why would he be inside?” Rebecca hissed.
“I... I don’t know. He just told me where he was going.” The second cast a doubtful look to the other Scarhands in the room, and that was all the confirmation Jac needed. The Irons never would’ve doubted Levi; the Spirits never would’ve doubted Enne. If Scavenger didn’t have the trust of his gang, there must be a reason.
“Ivory is gone, too,” she added. “Along with the other half of the Doves.”
The Doves in the room made no expressions, but each of them reached for their weapons.
And Jac understood.
Scavenger and Ivory had betrayed them all.
The power in St. Morse was out, which meant Levi and Enne were waiting for them to barge through the open exit.
But Scavenger and Ivory might’ve already alerted the whiteboots that the Iron Lord and Séance were inside—maybe they’d done it in exchange for their own pardons. Whatever reason, the plan ended here, before it’d even begun.
“I need to warn them,” Jac gritted through his teeth. He refused to see any more friends die tonight. “And I need to hurry—before all the doors are locked.”
Sophia squeezed his hand. “You can’t go out alone.”
“You said we were lucky.”
“Not lucky enough for you to sprint into gunfire!”
“There are whiteboots coming!” Lola shouted, peeking out through the window. “Nearly thirty of them—probably more.”
They couldn’t stay here. They’d be fish in a barrel.
“Everybody out!” Jac called. He didn’t have Levi’s way with words, but he still had some show in him. “The lights are cut. The others are waiting. And the whiteboots are asking for a fight.” He raised his pistol high enough for the room to see. “When I call it, we charge.” It would mean a battle, but it would also give him an opportunity to get to that door. To change the plan. To shut it down.
He crawled up beside Lola and pressed his back to the wall. Carefully, he peeked out the window as well, to see what she’d seen. His eyes widened at the whiteboots approaching the pub’s front door. They were nearly upon them.
It would be a shame if his legend ended here.
He undid the safety on his gun.
“Three!” he called.
The others hurried and gathered around the stairs, weapons raised.
“Two!”
Sophia blew him a kiss. He liked to think it was for good luck.
“One!”
Q
“Oaths, omertas, Chainers—there’s a reason so many in the North Side favor such weapons. New Reynes killed the queen on the very day she hoped to negotiate peace. The City of Sin was built on duplicity.”
—A legend of the North Side
ENNE
Enne held her breath, waiting for the grip of the omerta. She could feel the ghost of it, as though a caress of Vianca’s jagged fingernail traced from her navel to her throat.
You will break his heart, and then you will die.
“What are you talking about? I’m fine,” Enne told Levi.
“Where have you been?” His voice cracked. “You didn’t go home last night. You didn’t call. You—”
“I couldn’t make it home before curfew, so I had to stay here. And Vianca’s kept me here all day, complaining about the party and the polling turnouts and everything. I couldn’t escape.” The omerta drew the lie from her easily, even as the truth ate at her from inside out. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
“Worried me?” He squeezed her shoulders hard enough for her to wince. “We’re infiltrating the largest party of the year, threatening some of the most powerful members of government, and committing treason. But I...”
He swallowed.
But he was preoccupied with his worries over her, Enne realized. Only a day before, the thought would’ve filled her with hope. Now it only burdened her with dread.
Repair whatever you’ve broken, Vianca had commanded her.
Enne tucked the revolver back into her dress, and the apology she’d long practiced was pried from her lips. “I’m sorry,” Enne sputtered. “I’m so, so sorry. I was so focused on fixing myself that I was hurting the people around me. And I—”
Levi’s expression flickered with surprise, as though he’d forgotten he was supposed to be despising her. He shook his head and squeezed Séance’s mask in his fist. “What is this? This wasn’t in the plan.”
Her lips trembled. She didn’t know if she should feel relieved he’d interrupted her apologies or wounded that he hadn’t listened. They were still her words, even if Vianca had turned them into weapons.
The omerta forced Enne to shake her head. She felt like a puppet. She felt sick. “It’s not what you think—”
“I saw Vianca. I know she’s done something to you, and she’s forbidden you from telling me what it is.”
Enne had no way of indicating to him that he was right, not when the omerta, once again, stretched her lips into a reassuring smile.
He met her smile with a hopeless look in his eyes, and she could almost see the weight of the entire night on his shoulders. Of the cleverness of his plan and fearing it would fail. Of saving her. Of the destiny and throne he’d sacrificed everything to claim.
Now that Levi had found her, Vianca’s cruel assignment would inevitably be fulfilled, and she braced herself for the omerta’s orders. Enne didn’t know what the omerta would conceive. She could spew hateful words about how he was selfish and inconsiderate and egotistical. She could turn and run back to the whiteboots and betray everything they’d ever worked for.
The omerta gave her no direction.
But Enne wasn’t foolish enough to believe they were safe. This only meant something worse was still to come.
“Then there’s only one option, since I don’t know the truth, and you can’t tell me,” Levi said lowly. He tucked her mask into his jacket and clasped her hand. “I won’t let you out of my sight.”
Enne wanted to tell him that it was useless and that none of his clever plans could save them, but she remained forcibly silent except for a single sob. The omerta let her cry. Maybe it liked her like this, playing the damsel to Levi’s knight.
Levi wiped away a tear on her cheek, and she flinched as he touched her. She both craved it and hated it.
“Tock will be finished soon. We need to man our stations.” Levi took her hand and pulled her into the ballroom. The mirrored wall behind them bore two banners: a blue one, to represent Harrison and the First Party, and purple, for Prescott and the monarchists.
A member of the St. Morse staff handed out balloons, jewelry, and various accessories to guests. As she passed them, she slipped a strand of beads around Enne’s neck and placed a silver plastic crown on Levi’s head.
A few feet from them, Worner Prescott danced with Poppy. It was a sweet image of a father-daughter dance, one the media present at the party was certainly capturing. Enne looked away from the flashes of cameras. In the newspapers tomorrow, if the reader looked closely enough, they might glimpse two notorious street lords in the corner. Perhaps they’d chalk it up to a blur in the photography. Or perhaps that would be part of the legend.
“Dance with me,” Levi said. It didn’t sound like a request. It sounded like a plea. “We only have moments left until the lights go out. Vianca doesn’t know about our plan, does she?”
“She doesn’t,” Enne answered softly. That truth she could share.
“Then we haven’t lost yet.” He pulled her toward him, held her in the same way he’d held her before. But as much as Enne wanted his forgiveness, she’d never wanted it like this. Vianca had taken the broken pieces of their relationship and crafted them into blades, and every time Levi touched her, it felt like a cut.
“I can’t believe you,” Levi murmured, and the edge to his voice filled her with equal hope and equal dismay. He didn’t forgive her.
Repair what you’ve broken.
“I’m sorry. You know I’m—”
“Is sacrificing yourself really the best plan you have?” Levi snapped, startling her. He no longer sounded broken. He sounded furious. “That stunt with your mask wasn’t for Vianca, or you would have been relieved that I stopped you. I won’t let you be a martyr for me.”
Tears spilled from Enne’s eyes, but she couldn’t tell if they were her own doing or the omerta’s coercion.
Levi’s face softened. “I’m asking you to trust me, Enne. Whatever is coming that you’re so afraid of, I can take it. You saved me before, and I could do nothing but watch.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m begging you—this time, let me play. This time, trust in me. Let me be the one to save you.”
Enne’s heart crumbled at his words. If she knew the answer to Vianca’s twisted, cryptic demand, then it would be easier to trust he could outsmart it.
Did she trust him more than she feared Vianca?
It didn’t matter. The omerta still forced the wrong words from her lips, still intertwined her fingers with his when all she wanted to do was run.
“You haven’t said it yet,” she whispered.
He shivered at her breath on his lips. “I haven’t said what?”
“That you’ve forgiven me.”
“I...” He swallowed. “I’ve made the most desperate wager of my life tonight, but I’d still throw it all away. What’s the point of saving the city if I can’t save you?”
Enne fought against the omerta. She was breathless and gasping as its power pressed her lips to his. It was Vianca’s work. It was wrong. But that didn’t stop Enne’s heart from swelling. It didn’t make the words either of them had spoken any less true.
She wanted this, even if it spelled ruin for both of them.
Enne kissed him like it was the last chance she’d ever have, breathed in his sigh like it was the last breath she’d ever take. The music around them was ending, playing its final chord, and even though Enne was the one with a heart full of tragedy, it was Levi who lifted her higher, who shuddered as her tongue ran across his lips, who clung to her like at any moment she would disappear beneath him. Maybe, somehow, he also knew what this was.
A surrender.
She let out the faintest sob against him. “I love you,” she whispered. Enne hoped it was her own will that said it, because she meant it. “I trust you.”
Boom!
The entire casino rattled—crystal chandeliers clacking, guests screaming, dancers stumbling. Enne held on to Levi so as not to fall.
