by Amanda Foody
Levi choked on his drink. It might’ve been a hairbreadth away from the election, but Jac and Sophia had pulled it off. Just like Jac promised he would.
His triumph was quickly replaced by guilt. This entire time, he’d been betting against his friend.
Harrison checked his watch. “I have an event in two hours. Because I’m grateful, I’ll give you fifteen minutes for whatever you actually came here for.”
Levi had come loaded with questions, far too many to squeeze into such a short meeting. So he started with the most important. “Are you certain you’ll win?”
He licked his lips. “Unfortunately, you can’t ever be certain. My team thinks the Torren votes will leave us evenly matched. The results could go either way, which is why it’s even more crucial that I win, if I want to kill my mother. Despite the curfew and all the new regulations, the Capitol wants this election to seem fair. My mother’s murder would, unfortunately, give the wrong impression.”
Levi’s heart—already hammering—now pulsed with nerves. If Prescott won, Vianca claimed Levi would be pardoned—and made heir to the Augustine empire. But if Harrison won, then Levi remained a criminal, the Irons stayed broke, and nothing in the North Side changed. But at least Vianca would be dead.
“Do you know the identity of Vianca’s other... Her other...?” Levi asked, unable to utter the last word.
“I know about Séance, and I suspect the other,” Harrison answered, but Levi couldn’t guess how he’d learned that. “I suppose I’ll be doing all three of you a favor. It doesn’t matter much to me. There have been nearly a hundred of you coming and going for as long as I’ve known about my mother’s practices.”
“Not your practices?” Levi asked. Harrison and his mother shared a blood talent.
“It’s not exactly to my taste.”
Levi wanted to press more on how he’d learned about Enne, but he was running low on time. And so he asked what he’d come here for: “What happened between you and your mother?”
Although such a question would’ve unraveled Vianca, Harrison didn’t hesitate. He even chuckled. “You really don’t know? I thought everyone knew the sorry story of what happened to me. The tabloids aren’t all wrong about it.” He inspected Levi closely. “I was about your age.”
“I know about how Veil kidnapped you, if that’s what you mean.” Enne had once told him as much.
“Yes, Veil and his psychotic attempts to undermine anyone else with power in the North Side. I was abducted from my bed at university and smuggled out of the city. We were kept in an attic, Leah and I.”
“You mean Leah Torren?” Levi asked. “Sedric’s older sister?”
“Yes. It was a brilliant move on Veil’s part. The Families only care about two things: volts, and their legacies.” Something dark swam in Harrison’s eye. “Five months spent in that attic, it was only me and her. We were both seventeen. We were heirs to rival Families in New Reynes. The story practically tells itself.” And if the details didn’t, then the sharpness in Harrison’s voice certainly did. Love always carved the deepest wounds. “When I returned, my mother grew even more obsessed with the future of the Family. Which was why she was far from pleased when I told her of my own naïve hopes—that our empires could be stronger together.” Harrison laughed bitterly. “I should’ve left with Leah and never came back. I tried to, but my mother got to her first.”
Levi filled in the rest with what he already knew of street history. Leah Torren was murdered shortly after her return. Sedric had been a child at the time.
“I imagine the real reason you’re here is because you think my mother has offered you some kind of choice,” Harrison said, and Levi stiffened. He hadn’t wanted to give that away. “But once someone knows what matters most to you, they own you. The omerta binds your life, but if she manages it, she’ll also bind your heart.”
Vianca had killed the person Harrison loved in order to control him, and her plan had backfired. And as Levi thought of Vianca’s suggestive comments over the past few months, he realized Vianca had since tried to engineer the opposite. She’d bound Levi and Enne together through her. She’d devised ways for their partnership to continue. She’d played with their chains like puppet strings, twisting and intertwining them until she got the end she wanted. Until she rewrote the mistakes she’d made with her son.
She hadn’t picked Enne because of her finishing school manners or because of Sedric Torren—she’d picked Enne as bait. For him.
“I have a last favor to ask of you.” Harrison nodded to a cigar box on the coffee table. The box was an antique, its woodwork covered in rose petals and faded paint. It looked so delicate, Levi was almost afraid to touch it. Gingerly, he opened it.
Inside was a gun.
Levi sucked in his breath. “Who is this meant for?”
“This election has become another game of fifty-fifty chances for you, hasn’t it?” Harrison asked. “But this doesn’t have to be a gamble. Whatever else you need to convince you—a pardon, riches, anything—I can give it to you. You can take matters into your own hands—choose your throne rather than betting on one. You need only name your price.”
Once again, Harrison was handing Levi his destiny.
All it would take was a single shot. He couldn’t take out Vianca, but he could kill Prescott. The turmoil would tip the election in Harrison’s favor.
But the blame would have to fall on someone, and Levi’s gambler’s instincts told him it would fall on him.
Levi could, at this very moment, shoot Harrison between the eyes. A different choice. He wouldn’t even need Harrison’s weapon and all it symbolized to do it—he had a perfectly good pistol in his pocket. He could accept Vianca’s offer. He would still remain a prisoner, but at least he’d wear a crown.
But there was a third option. There had always been a third option.
All this time, Levi had focused on those who could give him power. He’d wagered with Harrison. He’d wagered with Vianca. But all of those bets had required sacrifices—sacrifices he should’ve never been willing to make.
Now a new plan formed in his mind.
“Someone else will accept my offer, if you don’t,” he said smoothly, and the deep green of his eye had never so perfectly matched his mother’s.
But Levi was already making his way toward the door. “I wish you luck with tomorrow’s election and your other plans. But I’m going to claim my own throne.”
* * *
A knot tightened in Levi’s stomach as he entered Luckluster Casino. The last time he’d stepped foot here, he’d received a death sentence. And even with its signature red lights dimmed and its lobby empty, he still saw the ghost of Sedric Torren stalking him from the corner, smiling wolfishly and clutching a deadly invitation.
Levi couldn’t simply go up to the concierge and ask for Jac Mardlin, a wanted criminal. He knew Jac had been using an alias, but he had no idea what it was. So instead he cleared his throat and asked for Sophia.
“She’s not here right now,” the concierge replied.
“Then I’d like to see her partner.”
This request was understood, and the concierge led Levi to an office much like Vianca’s. Jac sat on a leather chair beside a fireplace, grinding a barely smoked cigarette into an ashtray. His gray aura wafted throughout the room, cooling and familiar and steady.
He looked up as Levi entered and shot to his feet.
“Levi,” he let out.
“It’s good to see you,” Levi managed. Out of habit, he inspected his friend’s appearance for any signs of Lullaby, but thankfully found none. Instead, he noticed other changes. Jac seemed to stand taller, and there was a faint scar on his lip that he wore well.
Levi swallowed. “I heard Charles Torren is dead.”
“He is,” he answered darkly. “And just in time for you, isn’t it?”
Levi couldn’t tell if that was an insult, but he still winced. “I ended my arrangement with Harrison.” When Jac’s eyes widened, Levi blurted, “I’m sorry for all the things I said. For the way I acted. I trusted you with everything except yourself, and I didn’t consider what you wanted.”
Levi held his breath as time passed in silence. It was only seconds, but he felt the weight of these past months inside them—months of looking over his shoulder for whiteboots, of leaking voltage, of reassuring everyone he had the situation under control. But he didn’t. And without Jac, without Enne, he had struggled alone.
When Jac didn’t respond, Levi made his way toward the door and sighed, defeated. “Well, I said what I came to say.”
“Wait,” Jac said, and Levi stopped. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I was never doing this for you—I was doing it for me—so I shouldn’t have asked you anything in return. It was unfair. And pretty mucking low.”
Levi’s shoulders sagged with relief. That sounded like forgiveness.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jac, and his friend squeezed back.
Levi wanted to unload everything from these past few weeks, about Vianca and Harrison and Enne. But instead, he sat on the opposite armchair, swallowed down his own problems, and said, “Tell me the story.”
Jac grinned. “The exciting version, or the truth?”
“Whichever one you’d rather tell.”
And so Levi learned what had happened since he’d last spoken to Jac. How Charles had toyed with them before attempting to have them killed. How Sophia had used every volt they had to try to push him out. How Charles had arrived at the match bloody and wounded. How Jac had finally finished him.
Jac, Levi realized, was very good at telling stories. He always had been. He had a story after every fight. He knew Faith legends; he knew street ones. Levi had spent so many years listening to Jac tell stories that he’d never realized his friend, too, wanted to become one.
“So are you and Sophia...?” Levi asked, because it seemed the only part of the story missing.
Jac flushed. “Um—”
“Are we what?” Sophia asked from the doorway. She wore all black, as though in mourning for the half brother she’d despised, and she carried a large clothing bag. “Dating?” She kissed Jac on the top of his head, making him flush deeper. “Nah. We’re cohorting.”
“What do you have there?” Jac asked her.
“Harrison invited us to the party at St. Morse tomorrow night.” She unzipped the bag and revealed something shiny and burgundy. “I already got your tux.”
Levi cleared his throat. “You might not want to attend.”
“Why is that?” Sophia asked.
He hesitated.
“It’s Irons business,” he said uncertainly.
Jac stiffened. “I see how it is, then. Tock is your second now?”
Levi held his breath. He would give just about anything to have Jac back. Even though Levi was lord, Jac was the one who’d really started the gang on the day he swore. But he didn’t know if Jac even missed the Irons. He didn’t think he’d want to come back.
“No one has ever called her anything but my third,” Levi answered. He hoped it sounded like an offer. But after a few moments bracing himself for rejection, he worked up his courage to actually say the words. “I want you to come back, but I understand if you won’t. Either way, you’re still my best friend.”
Jac’s face broke out into a smile. “Of course I’ll come back.”
Levi was so relieved he stumbled over his words. “We don’t pay much. It’s been tough since the lockdown. Not great at all, if I’m being honest. But you’ve always been my partner. And we could use—”
“I said I’m coming back, didn’t I?” Jac said, smirking. “And I like the sound of that. Partner.”
Levi smiled his first real smile in a long time. He didn’t have a chance to continue on about how he was lousy and selfish and had made a mess of things in his friend’s absence, because Jac leaned forward with a serious look in his eyes.
“So what did you mean by Irons business?”
Levi cleared his throat. He’d worked out his plan on the way here, and already, Tock was making calls to the other lords.
“Well, as you know, the winner of the election will be announced at Vianca’s party at St. Morse Casino.” He grinned mischievously. “And the North Side is going to crash it.”
ENNE
Vianca Augustine poured herself a glass of bourbon, and when she sipped it, disgust evident on her face, it was clear she had no taste for the drink. But still, she poured more. She offered none to Enne, despite having a full bottle of it on her desk.
Enne saw through the cracks in Vianca’s velvet office curtains that it was close to sunset, and therefore, close to curfew. Her heart dropped. She didn’t relish the thought of spending the night in St. Morse.
“Did Levi tell you what we spoke about yesterday?” Vianca asked. She traced a fingertip around the edge of her drink, her nail scratching the grooves in the glass.
Enne hadn’t spoken to Levi in weeks, but she’d heard from Tock this afternoon. All five gangs would be meeting tomorrow morning to prepare for the events Levi had planned, and after being summoned to St. Morse, Enne spent most of her drive here imagining how she’d face Levi again after what she’d done. She’d never get Lourdes back, but she might someday earn his forgiveness, even if meant abandoning her plans for revenge.
“He didn’t,” Enne answered nervously. She didn’t like the flatness of Vianca’s tone. Though her voice could hardly ever be called lively, there was something unmistakably dead in it at this moment.
“I suppose not. I heard about your little falling out.”
Enne’s heart quickened. Had she forced the details out of Levi? Did she know how Enne had manipulated her? “What did you and Levi talk about?”
“I offered him the chance to become my successor. It wasn’t an offer I made lightly.” Vianca pulled herself to her feet and swept past Enne toward the door. As Enne stood to follow her and express her surprise, Vianca chirped, “Oh, no, my dear. Keep your seat.”
The door clicked as it locked.
“I knew from the second I saw you,” Vianca continued. She walked in front of Enne and wrenched her face up by her chin, hard enough to hurt. Enne winced as the donna’s eyes roamed over her. Vianca hadn’t touched her like this since the first day they met. “Levi had never introduced anyone to me before, and I never really believed he owed a favor to your father, like you told me.” Vianca leaned forward, her breath hot on Enne’s face. “Where is your father, dear? Nobody who comes asking something of me ever has anyone waiting for them.”
Enne knew Vianca well enough to understand none of her questions begged answers. Even if she could speak, her voice was buried somewhere deep inside of her. When she opened her mouth, not even air came out. She choked, her windpipe suddenly as small as a sipping straw, and panic seized in her chest.
The entire time the omerta toyed with her, Vianca didn’t let go. She gripped Enne tighter as she squirmed. Her body was rooted to the chair.
“You were so lost,” Vianca said, just as Enne’s eyes welled with tears. Though she was afraid, she hated giving Vianca the satisfaction of showing it. But the longer she failed to draw breath, the more her body betrayed her. When she coughed, Vianca wiped the saliva away with her thumb, smearing it across Enne’s chin with a streak of pink lipstick. “But I saw the potential in you. The potential in him.”
She pulled Enne forward so violently that Enne needed to squeeze her armrests to keep from falling over. “How long have you known?” the donna spat.
Enne shook her head. The omerta’s grip around her lungs squeezed tighter. There were dozens of things Vianca could’ve been referencing, and if Enne said the wrong one, she’d only make her situation worse. It didn’t
matter how much she’d accomplished, how fearsome she’d become: when it came to Vianca, Enne was helpless. She was still the same schoolgirl who’d arrived in New Reynes, lost and alone, just as Vianca had described.
“How long have you known Levi was working with my son?” she demanded.
So of all the secrets it could’ve been, it was the worst one.
“I...didn’t,” Enne sputtered.
“Liar,” Vianca sneered. She pushed Enne so that her back slammed against the chair, with a surprising amount of force for an old woman. The omerta’s grip lifted, and Enne doubled over, gasping for breath.
“At every party in the South Side, were you toasting to my downfall? Every time we met for tea, were you plotting my ruin?” Vianca slammed her fists on her desktop. “When you fucked each other, did you both laugh at my ignorance? Without me, you would be working a corner on Sweetie Street, because your finishing school education is worth nothing in this city. Without me, Levi would be dead at the hands of some better street lord, or glassy-eyed over Lullaby just like his friend. You would both be nothing!”
Vianca reached over and finished the rest of her bourbon. Enne was absolutely frozen in her seat—from the terror or the omerta, she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts collided together like a car wreck. She needed to warn Levi. She needed to find a way to survive this.
“I’m sorry, Madame,” Enne said quietly.
“You’re. Not. Sorry!”
Vianca threw her empty glass across the room, and it shattered on the portrait of the last Mizer royal family. Enne jolted at the sound and shivered down to her bones. She had seen Vianca furious, broken, and vulnerable. Now she was seeing her as all three, witnessing what she guessed very few had seen who’d also lived to tell the tale.
“I could kill you,” Vianca swore, her voice rasping and shaking. “I could kill all of you.”
When Enne didn’t respond, Vianca let out a devastated cry, then pressed her hand to her mouth. She was truly unraveling. “I trusted you. I never trusted them, but I trusted you. My girl. And this morning... I’ve been waiting here, expecting a phone call. A chance to rewrite my wrongs from years ago. And instead, who is it? Not Levi. It’s an attendant at the Kipling’s Hotel, informing me of the words spoken at a meeting between Levi and my son.” Her voice became shrill. “You think my son is honest? You think you can simply kill me? If I die, then so will you! To plot my destruction is to plot your own.”
