Clay paused, unsure how to respond. His mother now lived in Philadelphia, away from the filth and bad memories of Manhattan. His father had walked out when Clay was eleven, after their house had been stolen and destroyed by Duncan Greene. A year later, cholera stole Clay’s brother, Franklin, from them. But he didn’t wish to share that with anyone, especially not Florence Greene. To her, gambling was a lark. Something exciting and forbidden to dabble in.

For Clay, gambling was everything. His very lifeblood. Hundreds depended on him to keep the games running, the drinks flowing, the cards turning. And he’d done it, happily, for more than a decade to gather wealth and power. Soon he’d have enough of both to ruin Duncan Greene.

Once he did, he’d be free of his need for revenge. Free to pursue a future just for himself, perhaps one not so dangerous.

Absolutely free.

The possibility of it was dizzying.

“Clay.”

Clay’s head snapped up to find Jack in the open doorway. “What is it?”

“Big Bill is here.”

“Shit.” Why would the assistant superintendent visit tonight? Payouts had been taken care of yesterday, Clay’s network of coppers and politicians well compensated for looking the other way on his empire. This was the very last thing he wanted to deal with now. “Where?”

“I put him in your office.”

“Any ideas?”

He and Jack had been friends for so long they were able to communicate in a few words. Better for Clay, as he’d never been exactly loquacious. Jack shook his head. “None. No reports of any trouble yesterday.”

So all the payments had been made, no complaints shared by their couriers. “I’ll come down.”

“What would you like to do . . . ?” Jack tipped his chin toward Florence.

Clay clenched and relaxed his hands, thinking. If she was going to open a casino, she’d need to know how to deal with those in power. New York City was a cesspool of corruption and one must wade through the muck to get anywhere here. There was no downside to giving this lesson so early. Hell, it might even scare her off this entire venture.

“Let’s give her the eyehole.”

Jack’s gaze widened then he scowled. “Are you certain? That seems like a bad idea.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Jack cast a pointed look at Florence, then back at Clay, as if to comment on how close the two of them were standing. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Fuck off.”

“What are you two talking about?” Florence asked.

“Allow me to apologize for Mr. Madden,” Jack said to her. “He sometimes forgets his manners.”

“That’s quite all right. I’ve heard worse.”

Jack’s expression held a note of warning as he looked back to Clay. “I’ll return to the floor, if you don’t need me.”