Noise from the casino floor drifted up as a shoving match erupted between two patrons. Clay wished he were down there to throw punches, burn off some of the energy crackling in his veins. But to what end?

“I’m so tired,” he told Anna. “I don’t want to do this any longer.”

“Stay awake, you mean?”

“No. This.” He swept a hand toward the crowd below. “I’ve achieved everything I ever set out to do. The money, the power, the revenge . . .”

“Yet, it hasn’t made you happy, has it?”

“No.”

In fact, he was more miserable than ever before. At least in his youth he had revenge to plot as a way of distracting himself from his despair. Now he had nothing. Just regrets and heartache.

“If you want to win her back, find a way to fix it.”

“There is no undoing the past, Anna. We both know that. We make choices every day that affect our future in ways we can’t begin to predict.”

“So true. In Akron, when I was fifteen, I never thought letting the butcher’s son peek under my skirts would lead me to owning one of the most exclusive brothels in New York City. But it did.”

He angled toward her, resting a shoulder on the wall. “I never heard this story. What happened?”

“My father caught us, called me a harlot and kicked me out.”

“That is fucking awful, Anna. I’m sorry.”

“It certainly felt awful at the time. However, I moved here and met a benefactor. He was wealthy and decent. I learned I liked sex and could make a living at it. You know the rest.”

Yes, he did. Two of the city’s wealthiest men had fought over her, one eventually shooting the other, and Anna had become a legend in the Tenderloin. Her bordello was one of the most popular in the city, catering to mostly upper-class men and politicians.

Clay sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I’ve lost her. The one good thing in my life and I ruined it.”

“You’ve always figured out how to get what you want, from supporting your family to this casino and your revenge on Greene. So decide what you’re going to do today to change your future.”

Clay had no idea how to win Florence back. He hadn’t ever been in a relationship before, not one with serious feelings involved. And he’d already played his best hand, the return of her grandmother’s house. “What would you do if you were me?”

“Grovel.”

He frowned. Words were not his strength. Writing or speaking his thoughts had always proven difficult. He was a man of action. A man of numbers. If the reconciliation relied on his conversational skills, he was doomed.

Anna must’ve seen something in his face. “That could also be some kind of gesture.”

“I tried that already. It didn’t work.”