You’re acting like a fool. Just tell her not to come back.

Not yet. He needed insight into her actions. This was her third night visiting the Bronze House in ten days, and the house’s take on those three evenings had dipped significantly. How long could this go on before her presence ruined his business?

Jack was right. It was past time to find out what she was up to. “Fine, bring her to my office.”

“Finally,” Jack said. “Now maybe you’ll stop making everyone miserable around here.”

“I’m the owner,” he snarled. “Anyone who is unhappy with me may find employment elsewhere—and that goes for my second-in-command, as well.”

Not bothering to smother his laugh, Jack walked away. The sound grated over Clay’s nerves, but instead of lashing out, he kept his gaze trained on the woman below. He’d noticed she liked roulette and mostly bet on red. Funny color, red. Brought to mind hearts and flowers, flesh and blood. He preferred black, like mud and coal. Rot and ruin. Like the stain on his soul.

Had she any idea of his history with her father?

He doubted it. If she had, she’d stay very far from the likes of Clayton Madden.

The crowd soon parted to make way for Jack’s hulking form. She looked up from her chips, a flash of annoyance on her face before she masked it with politeness. Jack said a few words and, without missing a beat, her head swung toward the balcony, eyes locking with Clay’s. He sucked in a breath, the impact of her greenish-brown irises like a blow. A ridiculous reaction, he chided himself. She couldn’t see him, not where he stood in the shadows.

Even still, he took a step back then turned on his heel.

He gave himself a mental shake. He would not be cowed by her. No one, man or woman, had ever gained the upper hand with Clay. A beautiful uptown debutante certainly wouldn’t be the first to succeed.

It was past time to put Florence Greene in her place.

Finally, Florence had gained Mr. Madden’s attention.

She followed Jack, the casino’s manager, deeper into the darkened corridors, anticipation crawling through her veins. She hadn’t come to the Bronze House to win money, though she’d done that quite handily.

No, she’d come here to learn.

Not the games, of course. Those she knew. Nor had she wanted to observe how a casino operated. Rather, she’d wanted to observe how the city’s best casino operated. From one man, the casino’s enigmatic owner, Clayton Madden.