“The house always wins in the end,” Alistair said, patting him on the shoulder. “All right, I think we should split up. Doris, you play faro, I’ll take the poker room, and Sam you go to the slots. Doris, give him a couple of extra chips to use.”
Doris sighed but did as he asked.
“What am I doing, exactly?” Sam asked.
“Chat up anyone who seems like a regular. But also keep on the lookout for a door, probably unmarked, that might lead up to the office. It’ll most likely have a guard on it to keep anyone from disturbing the boss—or trying to take him out.”
As he made his way to the slot machine room, Sam looked around at the crowd, the booze, the jewels. The chips being raked into the hands of dealers. There was no question The Black Rabbit was a goldmine for Ursino.
But Alistair’s parting words chilled him. Was it really worth it, to make so much money if the price might be your life? Gangsters gunned each other down all the time, their brutal deaths making lurid headlines for the newspapers.
Eldon had been savagely murdered. Ursino couldn’t feel entirely safe in his own place of business. The Gatti family had to keep Sullivan happy, or risk getting raided by the police at any moment. Or, if Ursino was truly interested in taking over Sullivan’s territory, being drawn into a gang war.
If Sam kept at hexwork, especially if he bonded with Philip, he’d be drawn into their world just as Eldon had. Was that what he wanted for his life?
He found an empty seat and sat down in front of the slot machine. He looked to each of his neighbors, hoping to strike up a conversation. None of them so much as glanced at him; instead, they fed in a steady stream of chips, pulling the lever again and again, as if hypnotized by the rolling images.
He put in a chip and pulled the lever. Lemon, bell, cherries. Sighing, he reached for another chip.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “Mr. Cunningham?”
Startled, Sam looked up and found a large man in a dark suit looming over him. The man’s nose appeared to have been broken multiple times, and he had fists the size of a cured ham.
“Y-Yes?” Sam asked.
“Mr. Ursino would like a word.”
They’d wanted into Ursino’s office…but not like this. Sam glanced around, searching for either Alistair or Doris, but of course they were still in the other rooms.
“This isn’t a request,” the man clarified.
Oh God. Ursino might have sent someone to murder Eldon. Was Sam about to be next? Someone must have recognized him—but who? Should he yell for help, and if he did, would Alistair or Doris hear him in time?
The man shifted his hand from Sam’s shoulder to his arm, hauling him to his feet. He was marched out of the slots room, back to the vestibule, and then through a discreetly hidden steel door.
His heart pounded and his palms went slick. If he was murdered tonight, how long would it take for Alistair and Doris to realize he’d disappeared? Unless they’d been spotted as well.
Beyond the steel door was a set of stairs to the second floor. A steel trap door was set into the ceiling, though Sam didn’t know why it was there, since it was well out of reach of the stairs.
The stairwell led to the balcony. Sam didn’t get much time to look around before his captor opened a door and shoved him inside. “Here he is, boss.”
The office was sumptuous, decorated with fancy vases, a chandelier, and several paintings in gilded frames. The desk in front of the window was enormous, matching the massive man standing to one side of it. He had a thick head of brown hair, brown eyes tinted with amber, and wore a suit tailored to perfection. Easily six and a half feet tall, he bore a layer of fat that—unlike in Sam’s case—was clearly underlain with even larger muscles.
“This him?” he asked.
Sam hadn’t even registered the other people in the room. One was a pale woman so thin her bones showed beneath the wispy fabric of her beaded dress. The second was a much smaller man, one who was dishearteningly familiar. It was the same goon who had accosted him twice outside Eldon’s house.
Well, that confirmed it was Ursino who was after the hex. Now Sam just had to survive long enough to tell Sullivan.
“That’s him,” the goon said, glaring. He stood stiffly, as if in pain—Alistair’s claws must have done some damage.
Ursino nodded. “You can go. You too, Lena—I’ll let you know when I need you again.”
The pair retreated, and Sam was left alone in the office with Ursino. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Cunningham?” Ursino asked, strolling to the liquor cabinet.
“I d-don’t drink,” he stammered.
“You do now.” Ursino poured two fingers of amber liquid into a pair of tumblers. “I find bourbon is a civilized drink to discuss business over.”
Maybe he wasn’t about to be murdered after all. Sam accepted one of the tumblers with a murmur of thanks. Ursino watched him through narrowed eyes, so Sam steeled himself and took a gulp. He expected a raw burn, but the bourbon was deceptively smooth, sliding down his throat to warm his belly.
Not like the harsher stuff he and Jake had downed that fateful day in 1911. After the accident, men rushed Jake to the nearby doctor’s office. The image of Jake lying on the examination table, his head visibly dented, brought bile to Sam’s throat. He forced it down; if he threw up on Ursino’s carpet, he doubted the man would take it with good grace.
“Have a seat.” Ursino settled himself behind the desk and took a sip of his drink. Sam sank into the chair Ursino had indicated, clutching his tumbler between shaking fingers. “Let me be blunt, Mr. Cunningham. You have something that belongs to me.”
“I don’t!” Sam protested. “I’ve searched everywhere for Eldon’s hex, but it’s not in his house.”
“Look somewhere else, then.”
“I would if I had any clue where else to look.” Sam’s pulse hammered in his throat, and the bourbon still sat uneasy on his stomach. “I swear to you, I don’t have it, and I don’t know what Eldon did with it.”
Ursino let out a long sigh. “Then we have a problem, don’t we? Your cousin owed me a substantial amount of money. When it came time to collect, he promised me the hex in exchange.”
“How much did he owe?” Sam asked without much hope.
“Ten grand.”
Sam felt faint. Even if he bonded with Philip and started work as a witch tonight, he’d never come up with that kind of money. How could Eldon have gambled away a fortune like that? “Oh.”
“So you see my problem,” Ursino said, his small eyes watching Sam from across the desk. “I can’t forgive a debt like that, or else every chump in Chicago will be in here trying to take advantage of me.”
Sam took a deep breath. He didn’t want to challenge Ursino, but he needed answers. “Is that why you killed Eldon? To make an example of him?”
Ursino’s eyes widened; Sam had caught him off guard. “Killed him? Why would I do that?”
Sam blinked. “You…didn’t?”
“Of course not.” Ursino snorted. “Your cousin had a valuable hex that he was going to deliver to me. Why would I kill him?”
“So if you didn’t…then who did?”