Clay shoved to his feet. “Don’t be a prick. The only reason you agreed to help her was to antagonize me. I am trying to be civil about this.”

“Wrong, and you are being a sanctimonious bastard. You ran her off, told her she was a distraction and now you don’t like that she’s gone to someone else. Too fucking bad, Clayton.”

Florence had told Mulligan about her last conversation with Clay? What else did Mulligan know?

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Clay muttered and ran a hand through his hair. This was humiliating, coming to his rival and having to grovel for access to a woman who’d probably never speak to him again. And Mulligan was loving every minute of it.

“Not certain the girl will care. She seems perfectly happy here, helping me with my books and learning the trade. I have plans for her. And, now that we know she likes men on the rough end of town, I’m going to see if she’s amenable—”

Clay didn’t think. Fury twisted his brain and he launched himself over the desk at Mulligan. Before the other man could react, Clay had his hands around Mulligan’s throat. “Don’t you dare touch her,” he snarled.

Mulligan sat perfectly still, his expression like granite. “One shout from me brings ten men through that door who will rip you apart. Be very careful in what you do next, Clayton.”

“Hard to shout after I tear your throat out,” he growled.

Mulligan’s features softened, his mouth hitching. “I’ll give her back, but I also want to buy into that casino you’re building on the east side.”

Clay blinked, his grip loosening in his surprise. Mulligan pried Clay’s fingers off his neck and smoothed his vest, while Clay dropped down into his chair. “How did you—?” He bit off the idiotic question. Of course Mulligan had learned of Clay’s plans for Seventy-Ninth Street.

“I don’t want much,” Mulligan said. “I’d be an investor, of course.”

Clay pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Agreeing to this meant he was giving Mulligan a foothold uptown. Mulligan would use it to try to take over, expand his empire north of Forty-Second Street. Run Clay out of business.

The possibility sat between his shoulder blades like a boulder, pressing down on his spine. Goddamn this city. It was crawling with grifters and thieves, a cesspool of filth and crime from which there was no escape.

Was Clay really expected to go into business with Mulligan and risk his enterprise in return?

He knew the answer. For Florence, yes. He would sell his soul to the devil to get her free of Mulligan. He didn’t like it, but what choice did he have?

He shoved aside his frustration and hopelessness. “Fine. It’s still a few years off, however.”