Chase set the violin case on the table. "You know why I'm here."
The speakeasy was called De Tit — a name no one could quite translate, but everyone felt in their bones. It sat beneath a forgotten laundry mat, its entrance a sliding brick disguised as a mailbox. Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of honeysuckle perfume. charlee chase belle de tit
The room went silent. The jazz band stumbled. The ruby flickered once, then dimmed. Chase set the violin case on the table
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