LEVI
The party erupted into cheers as Levi entered, and the loudest among them was Tock.
Levi rubbed his eyes, certain she was some kind of trick. Her party dress was damp, her short hair frizzy and air-dried, and she wore a blanket draped over her shoulders. Apart from a bandage on her right elbow, she otherwise looked fine. The Irons crowded around her, screaming and slapping her on the back.
“How are you here?” Levi sputtered.
Tock wrapped her arm around his shoulder and raised her Gambler’s Ruin. “To Pup!” she shouted.
“To Pup!” the room chorused. Levi was too excited and relieved to cringe at the sound of his nickname. Glasses clinked, and every Iron rushed to congratulate him or shake his hand.
The next fifteen minutes were a whirlwind. Before Levi knew it, he had a glass of something cold in his hand. Music started playing as Tock explained her spectacular rescue—how she’d fallen into the Brint and was dragged to shore in the arms of a handsome whiteboot who’d mistaken her for a victim in her sequined party dress. And so while Levi had walked the mile home in zigzagged, backtracked patterns in case they were followed, Tock had received a personal escort.
“Pup! Pup!” the Irons called, pounding their fists onto card tables like a drumroll. He turned around, a thrill shooting through him. It seemed unbelievable that only two and a half weeks ago, these same gangsters had cursed his name. As he turned and climbed onto a poker table, whiskey glass in hand, he could barely remember why.
Levi had always been the Iron Lord, but now, it finally meant something.
Before he could begin his speech, the door across the room opened, and Jac walked inside. He was dressed in the swanky plaid suit Enne had bought for him, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and his arm wrapped around a girl Levi didn’t recognize.
Levi’s chest swelled with pride. The Irons were all here.
He lifted his glass in a toast.
“Twenty-five years ago,” he started, “revolutionaries tore the Mizer palace down and marched across Revolution Bridge. And all this time, they’ve left the North Side to burn.”
Hollers chorused throughout the room. Levi swigged the rest of his drink before continuing, then wiped the whiskey off his lips.
“The South and the North,” he mused. “No matter how many parks and universities they build, none of it matters. The North reigns. The capital of the Republic isn’t New Reynes—it’s the City of Sin.” Boots thumped on the floor, and glasses clinked in cheers. “But who owns the North Side?”
No one responded, and Levi hadn’t expected them to. The answer was no one—the North Side was divided. But he’d convinced every lord to bet on his wager, and so soon the gangs would be united. And the Irons would be rich.
“The whiteboots killed eight people, people the papers have labeled as gangsters,” Levi said. “And now the Irons have claimed vengeance.” He raised his glass again to Tock across the room, and the others cheered for her. “Scavenger and Ivory didn’t think this was possible. They bet against us, but we all know what happens when you play against an Iron.”
“You get played!” a few dealers shouted.
He raised his now empty glass. “Why beat your enemies when you can own them?”
As everyone toasted for the last time, Levi’s eyes fell on the only group that hadn’t joined in—specifically, on the girl in the middle, laughing over a martini glass of something pink and bubbly. As he stumbled off the table, Levi got it into his head that he should thank her. She’d helped him pull off his stunt tonight—maybe even saved his life. He remembered how cleanly her bullet had torn through the Houssen’s combustion engine, even while it was in motion. When had she learned to shoot like that?
As he passed through the crowd, receiving slaps on the back and applause all around, the door opened once more. Narinder walked inside, dressed plainly in an oversize black shirt. It wasn’t exactly a party outfit, but Levi figured he had enough swagger for the both of them. He delayed his plans of gratitude and walked toward the musician. Narinder was always good-looking, but tonight, he seemed almost painfully so. Burning with victory and whiskey, Levi pulled him in for a kiss.
But as Narinder drew away, Levi realized that he wasn’t really looking at him. He was looking at Tock, relief relaxing the tightness of his expression.
“You’re late,” Levi said, grinning and twisting his fingers through Narinder’s belt loops.
“Do you think we could talk in private?” Narinder asked.
Levi frowned. This was his party, and Narinder knew how much this meant to him.
“We could have a drink first,” Levi suggested.
“You’ve already had too much to drink.”
Levi was buzzed, not drunk. He was just in a good mood. “Fine, but I don’t know why you’re in such a rush. The Catacombs can live without you for a night.” He followed Narinder out into the hallway and toward one of the empty spare rooms. The parts of Levi that were tipsy realized what exactly they could get up to in such a place, and he was suddenly in less of a hurry to return to the party.
“Do you have a death wish?” Narinder asked him. His face was unreadable as Levi slid his arms around his waist.
“It’s the opposite. I wish tolive.” He could hear an edge in Narinder’s voice, but if he were really angry, he wouldn’t let Levi press himself against him. He wouldn’t let Levi trail his lips from his tattoo down his neck. “I can tell you don’t like it,” Levi said teasingly. He felt the tension in Narinder’s shoulders disappearing. “But I can also tell youdo.”
