Anyone who’d played a hand of cards or thrown a pair of dice in this town knew his name. Madden owned poolrooms, policy shops, craps games . . . He was the ruler of all gambling activity in town. It was said that everything he touched turned to gold, an empire that neither the police nor Tammany Hall could topple.

The Bronze House, however, had turned Madden into a legend.

Renowned as the most exclusive and fairest of all the casinos, the Bronze House was where the elites went to drink champagne, eat caviar and gamble. All the games were aboveboard, the dealers too well compensated to skim. Madden treated his staff and patrons well—unless they double-crossed him. Those who dared to work against Madden’s interests were dealt with swiftly, irrevocably. In manners so horrific they were merely whispered about. Florence had heard stories about bones broken, houses burned. One enemy had supposedly been weighted down with cement and chains, and then dropped into the East River.

As a woman, she’d known her presence here would attract attention. Had planned for it. Embraced it. Part of her had expected to be tossed out within moments of arriving. Yet, she’d been allowed to stay. More than once.

And he’d watched her.

Somehow, she had sensed him up there, in the dark balcony, staring down at her, despite not knowing what he actually looked like. Not many did, apparently, as he never left his club unless absolutely necessary. While the casino operated, he remained in the shadows and Jack handled the problems on the floor.

Now Madden wished to meet her. Even though this was what she needed, Florence had to admit it terrified her.

Daddy liked to tell all three Greene sisters, Show no fear. Men are afraid of women they cannot intimidate. So she stood a little taller and pressed her shoulders back. She would face him bravely or not at all.

A large wooden door with a single brass plate loomed at the end of the corridor. Embossed on the plate, bold lettering read Do Not Enter. She suppressed a shiver. No fear.

Jack stopped and turned. The smooth, dark skin of his forehead creased slightly as he studied her. “Do you scare easily, Miss Greene?”

“Certainly not.” At least, she was trying to appear that way.

A slow smile spread across Jack’s face. “Yes, indeed. You might be just what we need around here.” Before she could ask what he meant, he threw open the door and swept his arm out in a courtly gesture. “After you.”

Playing along, Florence gave a royal dip of her chin. “Thank you, sir.”

The room was brightly lit, a cheerful fire crackling in the grate. Eastern rugs covered the floors, and dark wainscoting adorned the walls. A large desk sat at one end, two small armchairs opposite. It was a cozy space, one well used.

And it was empty.