by Amanda Foody
If Vianca discovered Levi was working for her son, she would do much worse to him. So he swallowed and put on his best poker face.
“’Lo?” he called. His voice sounded stifled in the apartment’s stillness. He jolted as a floorboard creaked beneath his loafer.
“We’re in here.”
When Levi had received this summons, he’d assumed Vianca would be alone. Apparently that wasn’t the case. He followed the sound of her voice into a dining room, where the donna was seated at the end of a dramatically long table with a full spread of food across it, as though she planned to host a dinner party. His eyes roamed over the dishes—seafood specialties of New Reynes, heavy pork roasts and potatoes, strudels and cinnamon tarts, cheeses he didn’t recognize. The room smelled of so many different foods his stomach hurt.
Enne sat on Vianca’s left, nearly concealed from view by a tower of rosemary pastries. Levi felt an acute mixture of relief and guilt to find her here. After all, it was Levi’s fault that she’d fallen victim to Vianca’s omerta in the first place.
But he was also grateful not to be alone.
He and Enne had only interacted in person a handful of times since initially selling shares on Sweetie Street, but the ache of seeing her never seemed to ease. She wore some glitzy South Side dress, and her hair—normally tied up in a ballerina bun—draped over her shoulders. It was hard not to stare.
He cleared his throat and turned away before he betrayed himself. “Expecting more company?” he asked the donna, gesturing to the assortment on the table.
“We’re sampling,” Vianca answered. She nodded at the seat to her right. “Come join us. We’ve been waiting.” As soon as Levi did so, she stood and made a slow, predatory circle around the table. “I hope you’ve both come hungry. I’ve had food brought to us from all the best restaurants in the city.” There was a sharp edge to her voice that gave Levi the troubling impression he was being stuffed for slaughter.
He eyed Enne carefully. Her lips were pursed in a nervous line, much like his own.
“Maybe we’re even celebrating,” Vianca mused. As she spoke, she swiped a finger across the meringue cream on a pie, streaking its perfect swirl design, and popped it into her mouth. The dessert looked delicious, but Vianca made a face as though it tasted of ash. “I’ve been so impressed with you both. What you’ve accomplished is quite remarkable.” She narrowed her eyes at Levi. “Don’t hold your breath like that, like you’re in a panic. I thought you’d be pleased. You’ve more than won our little bet.”
The omerta forced all the air out of him in a rush, the least satisfying sigh of relief Levi had ever had.
Vianca paused over the plate of cheese and cured meats. She lifted the platter and began serving each of them, rattling off the specific names of the pecorinos and burratas. Soon both Enne’s and Levi’s plates were loaded with nearly a dozen varieties, mounted with olives, pickled vegetables, and crackers.
In all the time Levi had known Vianca, he didn’t recall her ever feeding him. Paid him, choked him, applauded him, drugged him...certainly. He knew better than to trust anything she offered.
“All it took was a little motivation,” Vianca purred, “and now you’re both some of the richest people in the North Side.” Her gaze moved over them as though they were a dish she could sample. She slid her hand down Enne’s head, getting a touch of grease in Enne’s hair. “Eat,” she commanded.
Enne nervously bit into a stack of bread and cheese. Levi picked through his own plate, his fingers quickly growing slick with olive oil. The food tasted as delicious as it looked, but it was also rich. He began to grow full before he’d made it even halfway through his plate.
Vianca returned to her seat, and for several minutes, spoke of nothing more than the cheeses. She made a point to identify everything they ate.
“What do you think of the camembert?” she asked him.
Levi swallowed past his fullness. “It’s...very good. It’s all good. But I don’t know why you’re asking me—I don’t know anything about fine food.” He couldn’t tell the difference between a half-and ten-volt bottle of bourbon, and he considered that a good thing. He wasn’t hard to please. “And you didn’t invite us over just to sample overpriced hors d’oeuvres.”
Vianca never made such grand gestures unless she wanted something. It was her way of pretending they were more than her prisoners. But no matter how many delicacies she offered them, whatever she wanted, she could—and would—simply take.
She pouted. “I thought we could enjoy each other’s company for a while.”
“We were called here without warning. We’re both missing appointments, I’m sure.” Levi had nothing on his agenda that evening other than to discuss Fitz Oliver’s offer with Tock, but he could think of a thousand places he’d rather be than Vianca’s dining room.
“So impatient,” Vianca chided. “I’ve left you both much to your own independence these past few weeks, though I initially hoped you’d be more like partners. I admit to missing that little idea.”
She cleared the empty plates in front of them and began setting out new, larger ones. Levi’s stomach gave a painful clench.
“Do you think Levi would make a good business partner, Enne?” Vianca asked. “He can be so self-centered.” Levi gripped his fork so hard his knuckles whitened. “And touchy,” Vianca added.
“He’d be adequate,” Enne answered steadily.
Levi thought he deserved more than that. Maybe not a month ago, when everything had fallen apart between them, but they’d moved past that. He didn’t want Vianca’s unnerving fantasies to cause a rift between them all over again—or worse, to kindle fantasies of his own.
But then Enne’s foot found his under the table. It wasn’t a kick, but a brief touch, probably meant to reassure him. It did, but it also made him dizzy.
Three more months, he told himself. Three more months until the election, until Harrison killed Vianca, until Levi’s promise to Jac finally expired. But amid all his hope and gratitude for Jac’s work lurked a seed of resentment. The promise was meant to last until the end of Jac’s assignment, but Jac had seen to it that his assignment would never end.
Levi quickly jerked his foot away. He was trying to be a better person than the one who’d stolen from the Irons and killed Chez. But he was starting to doubt that goodness was in his nature, if the right thing felt like a battle and the wrong thing felt like surrender.
“And what about you?” Vianca asked him. “Enne would probably be a hard partner to work with. She takes everything so personally. No separation between business and pleasure.” While Vianca piled roast pork on Enne’s plate, Levi tried not to let his thoughts trip over her last word. “You should see her at the salons we attend. Always dancing, drinking, eating. It’s a wonder she’s not spilling her secrets into the ear of any of the young men who ask her to waltz.”
Enne cast the donna a scathing look. After all, her efforts were entirely transparent, as though Enne and Levi really were her dolls. And as much as he hated to play into her games, it was too easy for Levi to fall into this trap.
An intrusive picture of Enne in the arms of a South Side boy entered his mind, and the worst part of it wasn’t that Enne would do better with a South Sider—it was that she wouldn’t. If she was going to dance with anyone, it should be with him. If she was going to be with anyone, she should be with him. Their secrets, their troubles, their destinies were intertwined, and no matter what lengths Levi took to avoid her, it wouldn’t matter. It would always be her. It would always be him.
Levi wanted to be better about keeping his promises, he really did. But he was also bitter, and for the past few weeks—the past few years—he’d been scared that bitterness was all he’d ever feel. Maybe he couldn’t help himself, and he’d never stop wanting. Or maybe everything he had seemed insignificant because he didn’t have her.
“W
hy don’t you tell him about the parties?” Vianca asked Enne, whose gaze was fixed on her heaping plate.
“It hardly seems important,” she breathed.
“It looks like it’s important to Levi.”
Enne’s gaze whipped toward him, and Levi’s face burned. It would’ve only taken a single look from her to shatter his resolve entirely, but her face was unreadable.
“Whatever you’re about to ask us,” Levi told Vianca, “please just do so.” So we can leave. He needed some fresh air. Away from Enne. Away from here.
“We haven’t made it through the entrées yet,” Vianca responded. “And I really do need your help with this.”
“With what?” Enne asked coolly.
Vianca crossed her arms as if to say, Fine. “Election Day is on November ninth, and that night St. Morse will be hosting a white-tie affair for when the results are announced. I expect nearly everyone of influence in attendance, here to celebrate as a monarchist candidate finally gets elected to the Republic’s Senate. I’ve waited my entire career for this moment, and I want the event to be extravagant.”
Levi’s heart skipped on the word extravagant, and he knew what Vianca was about to ask before she asked it.
“I’ll need fifty thousand volts.”
There it was. His stomach clenched—that was a fortune.
“From each of you.”
He should’ve known the moment he walked in this room that Vianca would ask for voltage. All this talk about achievements and potential—she obviously wanted a piece of their success. But he wouldn’t steal from the Irons again. Fulfilling her demand would mean letting the casino opportunity pass him by, but at least his conscience would be clear.
“You can’t be serious,” Enne said, gaping. “By when?”
“As soon as possible. There are decorations to buy, meals to plan.” She waved her hand over the table. “Business has been down, thanks to my son’s theatrics.”
“One hundred thousand volts is still far more than extravagant,” Levi gritted between his teeth. “That’s probably the value of this whole casino.”
Vianca didn’t respond to that. Perhaps because this was more than a party to Vianca. If it was the night the election results were announced, then both candidates would be there. Levi wondered when Harrison Augustine had last come home.
The thought of Harrison made his already queasy stomach take a turn for the worse. Now that his wager with Vianca was finished, how many times would she summon him back to St. Morse? How many poker faces could he wear until she learned the truth?
“I’ll expect both of you to attend, of course,” Vianca said. “And I must say, you would look quite handsome as a set.”
“We’re not dolls,” Enne said flatly.
“Of course not,” Vianca answered. “Dolls would never be so stubborn. But that’s really the fun.” She took a pastry off the tower and held it to Enne’s lips. “Eat. Tell me what you think.”
“I think I’d like to leave.” She slid her seat back, knocking it into Vianca’s side.
Vianca scowled. “I could make you stay.”
“But you won’t.”
And to Levi’s utter shock, Enne walked out the door, and Vianca didn’t try to stop her.
The donna collapsed in her seat, her expression strangely haggard. She gave Levi a dark look. “You’ll go, too, will you?” There was only fact in her voice, no accusation.
She’d never given Levi a choice. But if it was sympathy or affection she sought after, they were far beyond the possibility of those. Levi would never forget how she’d laughed at him about Reymond’s death. How he’d nearly died performing her scheme. How she’d dressed Enne up exactly to Sedric Torren’s tastes.
Vianca Augustine was a monster, and a monster who learned remorse was a monster still. Her hands were too stained to wipe clean.
“You’ll have your volts,” Levi said, though he knew that wasn’t what the donna wanted to hear. Then he left his napkin on the table and followed Enne out. And though it was from no effect of the omerta, he didn’t breathe again until he saw Enne waiting at the elevator, holding the door open for him.
ENNE
Enne was uncomfortably full during the elevator ride—her diet had been mostly bonbons and cookies for weeks, so the heaviness of Vianca’s chosen fare made her feel bloated and tired. She had every urge to slip away to her room in the finishing school and sleep off her discomfort, but her mind was racing too quickly for any hope of sleep.
The donna was manipulative, jealous, and cruel, and no amount of weakness on Vianca’s part would change that fact. If anything, the more Enne understood about Vianca, the more she hated her.
Levi cleared his throat, but said nothing. Enne could hardly bear to look at him after all the things Vianca had said. Less because of embarrassment, more because of pride. The way he had looked at her earlier...
Her heart would not be cut in the same place twice.
“I assume Vianca sent a motorcar to bring you here, as well,” he said.
“Yes, but I doubt we can expect the same treatment going home.” Something heavy hung in those words. She had her home, and he had his. And there were miles in between.
“You walked out on Vianca,” he murmured. “I could never do that. I’ve always waited to be dismissed. It was brave.”
“I knew she wouldn’t force me.”
“How?”
“Because it wasn’t her son’s leaving that changed Vianca,” she told him. “It was that he came back.” It occurred to her that Harrison might very well be present at this event Vianca planned, and she loathed to think of the donna in the same room as her son. Enne didn’t have the time or care to piece together the shards of Vianca Augustine after she fell apart.
“Are you afraid she’ll find out?”
“I’m always afraid of Vianca. I was before you told me about your deal, and I still am now.” She met his gaze fiercely. “But I’m glad we don’t keep secrets.”
“Me, too,” he answered.
But there were still secrets, and this time, it was Enne who kept them. She’d never told Levi, Lola, or anyone else that she wanted to destroy the Phoenix Club. Now, after weeks of grasping for power, Enne finally had her first name. She had a time and a place. She had her gun.
There was another secret, too. One Enne didn’t want to admit, not because it made her appear ruthless, but because it made her appear weak. It burned in her now as she stood beside him—the way they leaned close, but not too close. They’d hurt each other, and now they were afraid of each other, of giving or taking too much and repeating the same pain all over again.
But Enne’s secret—the one she’d been running from for months, the blade that could pierce her not once, or twice, but over and over—was that no amount of giving or taking would ever be enough. Her life before New Reynes had been safe, but it had been lonely. Even if Enne’s story had begun with her mother’s death, it had also begun with Levi. And no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, it would always lead to him, as well.
The elevator doors opened, and both of their breaths hitched. For a moment, neither moved.
“I guess we’re both walking, then,” Levi said awkwardly.
“Walking where?” she asked.
“It doesn’t have to be home.”
“No,” she breathed. “It doesn’t.”
They walked through the hallway and into a back alley behind St. Morse. It was raining. Levi opened his umbrella and kept it low to conceal their faces. They could’ve been any couple walking down Tropps Street in an evening storm—almost.
“Last night, I was offered a chance to purchase a casino on the new boardwalk,” Levi told her.
“That’s incredible,” Enne said, and she meant it. It was exactly the sort of flashy, clever aspiration that suited him.
&nbs
p; “It would’ve taken me months to scrounge up the volts, but with Vianca’s party, there’s no way I can afford it now.” He shook his head. “It was a thick idea, anyway.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do. Things have finally been going well for the Irons, and I don’t want to push my luck.”
“Not so long ago, you told me that if I wanted something, I should let myself have it,” she said, and instantly regretted it. Those words hadn’t been about shopping sprees or excess treats; they’d been about him. She pressed forward, as though she’d forgotten that detail. “You don’t follow your own advice?”
“Obviously not,” he said slowly, looking at her. She flushed and turned away. It would be easier to convince herself to stop wanting him if he didn’t look at her like that.
Around them, the flashing lights of Tropps Street were muted and dim. The rain provided a thin, hazy curtain, separating them from the rest of the world.
“We should get out of the rain,” Levi murmured.
Enne examined the various taverns and storefronts. “Anywhere that doesn’t serve food.”
A few minutes later, they slipped inside a quiet music den. A small band played onstage, and the tables, despite the evening hour, were mostly empty. The pair crept into one in the corner, both their backs to the wall so they could keep a careful scope of the place.
When a server approached, Enne ordered for both of them—Levi kept his head down and didn’t say anything, in case he might be recognized. The server didn’t pay them much attention anyway.
“A Hotsy-Totsy?” Levi asked, clutching his heart. “I should’ve known.”
“Yes, you should’ve. It’s not easy playing politics at those parties with Vianca hovering over me.” She neatly folded a napkin over her lap. “And it actually tastes good, unlike what you drink.”
