“There was a street lord whose name was a number, and he changed it every time he made a new kill. Whatever it was, he owned that number. If you said it, no matter what you were talkin’ about, he’d find you and kill you. His name remains One-One-Six, the name he claimed the day he died. That’s why none of the house numbers in New Reynes have that number. All these years later, we’re still afraid.”
—A legend of the North Side
LEVI
Levi surveyed the casino floor from a balcony. At ten o’clock, the room was at its loudest: the clicks of a spinning roulette wheel, the cheers of winners, the chatter of patrons clustered around the bar.
A month had passed since Levi and Tock had destroyed Revolution Bridge, a month since Enne had launched her stock market. In that time, with the gangs united and the whiteboots forbidden from crossing the Brint, everything about the North Side had becomemore. Pubs that typically closed in mornings now kept their bars open twenty-four hours. Cabarets advertised their newer, more scandalous shows with vedettes in feathered corsets parading down Tropps Street. Gangsters strutted about the streets like kings, even as their bounties climbed three or four times as high. Levi had earned more, recruited more, and cheated more than any other time in his criminal career, and now he beheld his domain below with the pride of a prize rightfully earned.
The Martingale Casino, though smaller than St. Morse and Luckluster, boasted a patronage of over a thousand gamblers every week—and it was now the Irons’ largest contract. Spotting the Irons was simple: each of them, like Levi, wore silver jewelry. The spades dealt at the card tables, the diamonds kept careful eyes on the patrons from each of the exits, the hearts performed onstage or poured drinks at the bar.
The owner of the casino, a burly man with a beard that curled at the end like a corkscrew, slung his arm around Levi’s shoulder. Now that Levi’s ribs had finally healed, the touch no longer hurt like it used to. With his other hand, the owner handed Levi a leather pouch filled with orbs.
“This isn’t due until tomorrow,” Levi reminded him.
“I wanted to give it to you myself. From my hand to yours.” He squeezed Levi’s arm. “My only regret is that I didn’t hire from you sooner. I gotta ask, how do you do it? What’s your secret?”
“There is no secret. Just cleverness.” Technically, his secret was cheating, but that was roughly the same thing.
The owner laughed. “You’ll tell me one of these days. I’ll wear you down.” He checked his watch and slapped Levi’s shoulder again. “Break time is over. I better send the other dealers back on the floor.”
He disappeared down the stairs, leaving Levi to admire his work. After years buckled down by Vianca’s demands, he’d finally built the empire he’d always wanted. He was wealthy in both volts and reputation. Tomorrow, when his six-week deadline with Vianca expired, it would be time for the donna to finally accept that Levi was more than just hopeless ambitions.
He was a legend.
A figure appeared at the edge of the balcony, a man Levi didn’t recognize. He wore dark-rimmed glasses and an ill-fitting suit. “My apologies for barging in, but I was hoping to run into you.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Levi. It had pink swirls, like some sort of carnival ride. “My name’s Fitz Oliver. I’m a—”
“I know who you are,” Levi said quickly.
Fitz Oliver was a real estate mogul who owned half the residential complexes on the North Side, and he was far wealthier than his cheap clothes would lead Levi to believe.
Levi shook his hand. “I’m here for business tonight, making rounds. I can’t really—”
“I’ll only take a moment of your time.” He smiled until Levi reluctantly shoved the business card into his jacket pocket. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, the North Side is due for a change next summer.”
“You mean the boardwalk,” Levi answered. He’d heard some talk about that. He didn’t realize it would open in less than a year.
“We’re hoping to open several new casinos on the boardwalk—large enough to compete with St. Morse, Luckluster, all the greats. I’ve spoken to several other reputable dealers. But, well...”
“But I’m the best,” Levi said, grinning.
“I can’t walk down the street without seeing your face, whether it’s on a wanted poster or a tabloid. This city can’t seem to make up its mind about who it loves and who it despises.”
Levi couldn’t tell if that was meant to flatter him or not. “All that matters is people are talking.”
“Nothing is decided,” Fitz said hastily. “But we’d welcome you to contact us.”
“Just to be clear,” Levi said, clearing his throat. “This would be about—”
“Purchasing a casino, yes.”
Levi’s heart stuttered. He’d always thought about owning his own gambling joint someday, a sort of wistful dream that any card dealer might have.
Two months ago, he’d been broke, scrambling to pay back the final investors of Vianca’s scam and hold the Irons together.
Now, he had the whole city within his grasp.
“Well, thank you for considering me,” Levi said smoothly, despite his stomach twisting into excited knots. “I’ll give you a ring at some point. I have some ideas that might interest you.”
