“Legend says Iris stayed alive for two days until Innocence was hanged next to her. That she lingered that whole time on the gallows, waiting for her lover to join her.”
—A legend of the North Side
LEVI
His six weeks were over.
Levi shivered as he walked down the gaudy opulence of the hallway that led to Vianca’s office. He’d worn his best for this meeting, appropriate for one of the richest men in the North Side. The Irons operated in eighty percent of all the casinos in the city. He’d even been offered the chance tobuya casino.
It was enough, he assured himself.
It was enough.
It was enough.
He prayed Vianca saw reason, that this wasn’t just another one of her games to torment him. She ran an empire herself; she recognized when business sense forced you to set aside personal whims.
Nevertheless, Levi braced himself as he entered the elevator to Vianca’s private residence, preparing for everything he cared about to be stripped away.
The elevator doors creaked closed, and he sensed Vianca’s aura seeping in through the cracks, grazing the skin against his cheek. It positively filled the casino—every expensive cologne and designer hand soap was laced with her odor of vinegar, the purest of white walls or marble stained faintly green.
Levi walked into Vianca’s sitting room to find it empty and eerily still. It was identical to when he’d last seen it, except for one striking detail—the portrait of the Augustine Family now had a tear across it, forcibly removing Harrison from the picture.
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 thoughtheywere 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.
