Florence’s stomach clenched, dread gathering in her chest. She couldn’t handle a lecture at the moment. Sitting here with Justine, listening to the needles move, was soothing and mind-numbing. Her father would only yell at her. “Must it be now?”

Mama’s expression remained unchanged. “Now, Florence. Right now.”

“Why?”

“Please stop asking questions and come with me.”

Resigned, she put the yarn in the basket and shoved off the mattress. She followed her mother through the corridor and down the steps. She’d never seen Mama move so quickly. What was going on? “Is it Mamie? Is everything all right?”

“No, this has nothing to do with Mamie.”

That meant this probably had to do with her. Florence bit her lip and tried to remember that her family loved her, even if they didn’t understand her. At least, that’s what Granny always said.

Her mother pushed open the door to the office and sailed inside. Swallowing hard, Florence followed. You can endure another lecture. Soon you’ll move out to run your own casino. Don’t let them—

She came to an abrupt halt. In a chair across from her father’s desk sat Clay.

Here. In her family home.

What in God’s name was he doing here?

Her gaze flicked from Clay to her father. Daddy’s expression was decidedly dark, his mouth pinched as if he’d sucked on a lemon. The air in the office was thick with resentment and disapproval.

She made no effort to draw closer. “I don’t understand. What is happening?”

“Florence, come sit.” Daddy gestured to the chair next to Clay. “Mr. Madden has something he wishes to tell us.”

Her feet started for the other side of the room, though her brain was stuck on the fact that Clay was here. The set of his wide shoulders draped in black cloth was familiar, yet she only felt pain and anger at the sight.

After she’d lowered herself into the chair her father said, “There, Madden. She’s here. Now, let’s get this over with.”

Clay didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze trained on her father, his expression unreadable. She couldn’t guess as to what he was thinking or what this was about. “I am not one to prevaricate, so I’ll come right to the point. I have decided to return the deed for the Seventy-Ninth Street property to your mother.”

Florence’s jaw fell open but her father gave no outward reaction at all. He merely stared at his adversary over the width of the walnut desk, the rise and the fall of his chest his only movement. “I don’t believe you,” he finally said.

“It hardly matters if you do or don’t.” Clay lifted a thick shoulder. “I’ve already returned the deed to your mother along with my apologies.”