Well, she wouldn’t push him into something he would only regret.
“I should go meet with Lola,” Enne said, as an excuse. It was silly to let her feelings get in the way of the help she needed, but she couldn’t remember last night and feel anything less than humiliated.
“You don’t need to leave,” he told her weakly.
“Don’t I?” she asked, her words somewhere between a question and a challenge.
“What will you tell Bryce? What sort of associates are you looking for?” Levi asked. “Or are you expecting to find others who follow your finishing school curriculum?”
She gritted her teeth. “No, but—”
“If you’d like, I’m sure you can make them call you a lady, rather than lord.”
The comment shouldn’t have struck her like it did. She’d heard those jokes before. But in that moment, seconds after his stinging rejection, she decided she didn’t need this sort of help.
Muck Levi’s jokes, she thought to herself, not even cringing at the curse. She’d already decided yesterday not to be ashamed of who she was. When Enne did hire her gangsters, she would do so in pointed toe heels. She would shake hands for business deals in lace gloves. She would claimherselfa palace.
Enne stood up. “I should head back.” Levi made to get to his feet, but Enne quickly stopped him. “Don’t rush up and hurt yourself. You’ve been enough help today.”
“Have I?” He bit his lip. “Don’t answer that. I know I haven’t. And I’m sorry. I... I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
Enne shouldn’t feel petty. Levi was her friend—and no matter how many times he claimed they were in this together, he was allowed to draw this line between them. But she was also allowed to be hurt.
“Goodbye, Levi,” she said, and then she walked out, in the direction of an empire of her own.
LEVI
The Catacombs nightclub wasn’t much to look at on the outside, all decrepit and centuries-worn. It’d once been a church to the old Faith, and the flying buttresses and unlabeled crypts along its walls still gave off the air of someplace sacred.
Levi only knew its owner, Narinder Basra, by reputation—the Catacombs was the most famous nightclub in the city after all. And while Harrison trusted Narinder enough to recommend him to Levi as a contact, Levi wasn’t sure he could trust anyone while he had a three-thousand-volt bounty on his head.
Not that I have much of a choice, he thought as he rapped on the back door.
The music inside paused. A moment later, one of the musicians—a violinist, which seemed a strange choice for a dance club—answered the door, and a cloud of pungent smoke escaped from inside. He ran his eyes over Levi with a bored expression and spoke with his cigar between his teeth. He didn’t seem to recognize Levi’s face. “We’re not open.”
“Is Narinder here?” Levi asked.
“Who’s asking?”
“A neighbor.”
The musician rolled his eyes and opened the door.
The Catacombs was an apt name for this place. The decor varied somewhere between macabre and distastefully irreverent. Surrounded by chandeliers of human bones, clacking and vibrating with each note of the music, the stage stood where the altar once had. The band was a half orchestra—complete with a grand piano, a saxophone, a variety of strings and woodwind instruments, even a harp. Skeletons unearthed from their crypts had been cemented to the walls, piece by piece, casting unnatural red and purple shadows in the light from the stained glass ceiling. The pipe organ in the back had been painted ivory, its gold crowning lined with teeth.
It was pretty over-the-top, even for Levi’s taste. “Cozy,” he commented sarcastically.
“I’ve always thought so, too.” The voice came from the bar, where a lone young man sat on a stool drinking a mug of coffee. He had dark brown skin with a delicate face and straight black hair tied at the nape of his neck. Beneath his jawline, on the left side, was a tattoo of a pair of dice.
Levi’s voice dropped somewhere deep in his stomach, and he gaped at him, speechless. No matter how drunk he’d been, he never forgot a face. The memory of him felt like the trace of lips against his neck.
“Neighbors, indeed,” Dice murmured. “All this time you’ve claimed Olde Town, yet only now we officially get to meet.” His eyes roamed over Levi’s body, pausing on places he’d previously claimed himself. “Don’t you look dashing with your designer suit and matching black eye.”
Levi cleared his throat. “You never mentioned, um—”
“My name? No, I didn’t.” Dice smiled wickedly. “I’m Narinder Basra. I own this place.”
Levi had met Dice—Narinder—at the Sauterelle, a burlesque cabaret in the Casino District where he and Enne had gone searching for information on Lourdes Alfero.
