“She’s asked me to mentor her. I cannot do it by letter or telegram.” He shrugged. “No one’s forcing her to come here.”

“I know there’s no convincing you to do the right thing and refuse her entry, so I won’t even try.”

“Good. Let’s move on and discuss more important matters. Where are we with the architect?” On the advice of one of the city’s top attorneys, Clay had decided to carry on building his casino on East Seventy-Ninth Street, whether Mrs. Greene sold her house to him or not. Surely once construction started, she would wish to escape the neighborhood—at which point Clay would swoop in and buy the house for far below what he’d first offered.

Then he’d smash the house to the goddamn ground.

Everything comes full circle, Duncan, you miserable bastard.

Jack said, “He’s bringing the final plans over the day after tomorrow.”

“Excellent. The sooner those plans are filed, the sooner I get my hands on that house.”

Jack came to his feet. “And the sooner Miss Greene finds out what you’re up to. Something tells me she isn’t going to like it.”

Clay stubbed out his cigar in the tray and reached for a stack of paperwork. “It’s none of her business.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” He started for the door. “Listen, Mike has everything under control downstairs, and it’s mostly cleared out. I’m headed over to Anna’s for the night.”

“Ah. Mrs. Gregson?” Jack had been seeing Anna’s widowed cook for the better part of six months.

“Yes. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Enjoying the tender attentions of his lover, no doubt. “I won’t. See you tomorrow.” Clay would cut off his own arm before disturbing Jack’s tiny slice of happiness.

When they met, Jack had been traveling on the boxing circuit. Clay had offered Jack three times his yearly boxing earnings to quit and oversee the poolroom’s security, back when Clay operated just the big one on the Bowery. Jack agreed, and the two had soon become business partners. It was the best decision Clay ever made. Jack was smart and fair, respected by employees and good with customers. Clay had no patience for dealing with either; he scared just about everyone. Helpful when taking on corrupt coppers and cheaters, but undesirable in every other situation.

He couldn’t help his prickly nature, though. He’d been burned too many times by associates, customers—even bed partners. Elizabeth, his only longtime lover, had presented herself as a widow, eager for some fun with a younger man when Clay was nineteen. But she’d been jumpy around him. Even after seven months of seeing her she’d tensed each time he made a sudden movement. She hadn’t stayed for conversation, either. Once they got off together, she would dress and hurry from his apartments.