Not as unusual as Florence Greene, however. The girl was surprising. He hadn’t met many society women but he had to assume that opening a casino for ladies put her in a class all by herself. She’d never pull it off, of course. Duncan Greene would lock her up and throw away the key before he allowed that.

But it would be damn fun to watch her try.

Clay would assist her in any way possible. If it meant aggravating her family, Clay was fully on board. The past twenty years had been about two things: making money and ruining Duncan Greene. The groundwork had been laid some time ago but, in another six months, Clay’s plan should come to fruition. When the dust settled, Duncan’s family home would be obliterated. Destroyed. Just as Clay’s had been.

Eye for an eye. Like for like. That was Clay’s way—and there was nothing Duncan could do to stop it.

A dark smile twisted his lips and he threw open the door to his office, ready to get back to work. He paused just over the threshold. A red-haired woman was perched in his chair, her booted feet propped on his desk, a lit cigar in her mouth. Sighing, he continued inside and shut the door behind him.

Annabelle Gallagher. One of Clay’s few friends and investors. She owned the brothel next door to the House, providing a service to the fancy fat cats that Clay was unwilling to undertake himself. He did not peddle in flesh, though Anna’s girls were willing and well cared for. It was her business, one he did not judge. God knew she’d never judged him for the way he’d earned his money over their decade-long friendship.

A secret tunnel below ground connected their buildings, providing access in case either business was ever raided by the Metropolitan Police. Hard to imagine that happening at the Bronze House, however, considering the second-highest officer in command was also an investor here, but Clay liked to be prepared for anything. He hoped the tunnel remained permanently unused, except for trips by Annabelle.

She exhaled and let out a stream of smoke. His good Cubans, damn her. “Hello, Clayton.”

“Slow night?”

“No. We’re quite busy, actually. I did hear an interesting rumor, though. Thought I’d come over and see for myself.”

He dropped into the armchair across from his desk and reached for the humidor. Normally he enjoyed visiting with Anna, but he was edgy tonight. Two cheaters in his casino and lusting over Florence Greene had soured his mood. Bearing the weight of an empire certainly could wear a man down. “And what rumor was that?”

“That you let a woman gamble in your club tonight.”

“Wrong.” He took his time to select a cigar and snipped off the end with a silver cutter.