Clay’s lips twisted in what Florence suspected was satisfaction. “Bill, you don’t seem to understand how this works,” he said. “You were brought on as an investor to protect my casino from the police and political meddling. Which makes you my investment, one that I watch over very carefully. Because the second you are no longer useful to me, or you work against my interests, I will replace you with someone else.”

“I’d like to see you try,” the other man shot back. “There’s only one man higher at the entire department and he’d never sell himself out to the likes of you.”

Clay shook his head, as if Bill wasn’t understanding. “There’s also the commissioners. Do you honestly believe I don’t already have influence there, as well?”

Clay had bribed one of the police commissioners?

“And that’s not even touching City Hall and the judges. I need you, Bill, but you are not irreplaceable to me. No one is.”

Gooseflesh broke out on Florence’s skin. He was so cool. Calm. Threats rolled off his tongue the way society men doled out compliments. And why do I find that so appealing? She was riveted, more excited than she’d been in eons. What was wrong with her?

“I don’t believe you. Without me, you’d be out of business within a week.”

Clay smiled coldly at that, the look so full of dark menace that Florence couldn’t understand how Bill wasn’t cowering in a corner. “That sounds like a threat. Are you threatening me?” He sounded positively gleeful at the prospect, as if he hoped the answer was yes.

She licked her lips. The air was stifling in the tiny closet, and a trickle of sweat rolled down her chest and between her breasts. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off Clay. He was utterly fascinating.

“You don’t want to make an enemy of me, Madden.”

“Or . . . ?”

“Or you can kiss this casino goodbye. You’ll find yourself sitting in a nice cell in the Tombs instead.”

Prison? Goodness, the idea of Clay behind bars felt wrong, like those wild bears chained up at circuses.

Clay reached inside a drawer, flipped through some papers, then tossed a packet onto the desk. “And what do you think will happen to that nice renovated brownstone if the Bronze House folds?”

Bill leaned in but she couldn’t see his reaction to whatever was on the papers. “You . . . You hold the banknote on my house?”

A sound of surprise erupted from her throat, so Florence covered her mouth with her hand. Checkmate.

“I consider it an investment in my investment.” Clay took a drag on his cigar and blew out a long stream of gray smoke. “Now, you’re going to stand up, walk out of here and we’re both going to forget this conversation ever took place.”