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Juliette stepped toward the door hesitantly. Her hand came down to rest on the round knob. “Hello?” she called, her voice hoarse. “Is someone—”

“What are you doing there?”

Juliette jumped, snatching her hand away from the knob of the door. The frame had stopped shuddering. She swiveled around.

“Oh, me?”

The man who stood before her wore a fedora cap, his suit more Western looking than what everyone else down here was wearing. He had to be someone important, along the lines of Zhang Gutai’s rank rather than a mere assistant who answered the phone.

“I’m here to see your chief editor for important business,” Juliette continued. “I got a little lost.”

“The exit is that way,” the man said, pointing.

Juliette’s smile grew cold.

“Official Scarlet business,” she corrected. “My father—Lord Cai—sent me.”

There was a moment of pause as the man digested her words, wariness setting in. Juliette had perfected the art of dishonest guiles; she hid her identity when necessary, then wielded it like a weapon when the time came. Only the man suddenly looked a little amused, too, much to Juliette’s chagrin. Still, he nodded and gestured for her to follow him.

There was one more floor above the first floor, and the man spared no patience in hurrying Juliette along. He ascended the humble brown staircase three steps at a time while Juliette clacked up slowly, looking around. This staircase, with its thick handrails and long, polished panes, had the potential to be sweeping and decadent, if only the Communists were not so intent on giving the appearance of seeming grounded with the common people. Everything in this building could have been glorious. But glory was not the point anymore, was it?

Juliette leaned over the banister of the second floor with a sigh, peering at the frenzy of papers and typewriters below. When the man gestured at her impatiently from ahead, she grimaced and kept walking.

The man turned a corner and directed her into a spacious waiting area. There were two rows of chairs here, both pressed up against opposing walls and facing each other in front of a closed office door. Juliette finally understood his amusement. There was already someone sitting on one of the yellow chairs, legs stretched out in front of him.

Roma lurched upright.

“What are you doing here?” they demanded in unison.

The man in the fedora cap quietly removed himself. As soon as he was out of sight, Roma launched out of his seat and grabbed Juliette’s arm. She was so offended he dared touch her that she couldn’t react for a long second, not until Roma had already moved them to a corner of the waiting space, the wall cold against Juliette’s back.

“Let go of me,” she hissed, shaking her arm from his grip. Roma must have obtained the same information that she had. He wanted to know about Zhang Gutai’s involvement in the madness.

Juliette bit back a curse. If the White Flowers got answers before she did, they would treat their findings like they treated the black market. They would do everything they could to secure a monopoly upon the information, pay off and kill sources until there was no way for the Scarlets to obtain what they knew. That way, only the White Flowers were safe, assuming there was a way to stop this madness. That way, the city only stacked up with the bodies of their enemies. Then people would begin to switch loyalties.

Then the White Flowers would be victorious. And the Scarlets would suffer.

“Look,” Roma snapped. “You have to leave.”

Juliette blinked rapidly, her head rearing back. “I have to leave?”

“Yes.” Roma reached up, his expression dripping with derision, and flicked one of the earrings dangling from Juliette’s ear. The pearl swung against her skin, brushing her jaw. Juliette barely stifled the whoosh of breath that threatened to escape, barely stifled the stream of fire she wanted to breathe from her throat.

“Play dress-up somewhere else,” Roma went on. “I was here first.”

“This is Scarlet territory.”

“These people are Communists. You have no sway over them.”

Juliette gritted her teeth, hard. Indeed, the Scarlet Gang had no control here. Her only consolation was that Roma didn’t appear too happy himself, which meant the White Flowers had no sway over the Communists, either. For the time being, this neutrality was a good thing. The man in the fedora had shut his mouth immediately in learning Juliette’s identity, precisely to avoid any unnecessary aggravation with the Scarlet Gang. But tiptoeing on thin ice wouldn’t last forever. The Communists’ very model of progress was overthrowing Shanghai as it was now—as it was for gangsters to thrive: sinful, profitable. Given the choice between killing all the capitalists and killing all the gangsters, they would choose both.

“Our relationship with the Communists is, as always, none of your business,” Juliette said. “Now, if you would be so kind, get out of my face.”

Roma narrowed his eyes. He took her command as a threat. Perhaps she had intended for it to be one.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

God, the nerve. Juliette straightened to her full height. They weren’t that far apart, she and Roma—he barely held half an inch over her when she was in heels. “I won’t say it again,” she hissed. “Get out of my face. Now.”