"A Pair of Aces" voted Club Calvi's Readers' Choice and first book of the summer
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Club Calvi has a new book.
Voters selected "A Pair of Aces" by New York Times Bestselling coauthors Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray as the Readers' Choice.
In a video message to Club Calvi, the authors described their novel as a uniquely New York tale. Two women on opposite sides of the law, one black, one white, who come together to bring down the mob and the most fearsome mobster, Lucky Luciano.
"A Pair of Aces," a novel of historical fiction, is based on the work of Eunice Carter. She was New York's first Black female prosecutor and was instrumental in the conviction of Luciano in the 1930s. "A Pair of Aces" reimagines Carter working with Polly Adler, a madam who owned a brothel during that time.
Benedict and Murray also co-authored the New York Times bestselling books "The Personal Librarian," and "The First Ladies."
Murray is the author of the 2024 Club Calvi Readers' Choice book "Harlem Rhapsody."
You can read an excerpt of "A Pair of Aces" and get the book below to read along with Club Calvi.
Club Calvi books may contain adult themes.
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"A Pair of Aces" by Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray
From the publisher: Eunice Carter, assistant district attorney for the City of New York and Manhattan's first Black female prosecutor, has her sights set on the one and only Lucky Luciano, head of New York City's five largest organized crime families. Other prosectors have tried to bring down Lucky, but they've all focused on the crime syndicate's traditional businesses—bootlegging, gambling, loan sharking, and drug dealing—or tax evasion. No one has thought to approach the mob through its role in prostitution. Until Eunice. But she can't get Luciano alone.
Polly Adler has worked long and hard to build up her high-class brothel business. Her client list is filled with well-known names, both the famous and the infamous, who all know her booze is top-notch, her music first-rate, her food exquisite, and her girls the best. But Lucky has gone too far, putting her girls in danger, and Polly finally sees the chance to end his reign once and for all.
Together, Eunice and Polly fashion a case utilizing a network of women. Bridging the enormous divide between them and risking their own lives, they assemble evidence bit by bit, under the nose of the man they're trying to convict. It is this very alliance—of two women from vastly different worlds—that launches the most sensational trial New York City has ever seen.
Marie Benedict lives in Pittsburgh. Victoria Christopher Murray was born in Queens and lives near Washington, D.C.
"A Pair of Aces" by Marie Benedict & Victoria Christopher Murray (ThriftBooks) $23
Excerpt: ""A Pair of Aces" by Marie Benedict & Victoria Christopher Murray
New York, New York
April 4, 1935
The sharp clip of heels on concrete echoes throughout my cell, growing louder with each step, and I brace myself. The fast tempo isn't the lazy thunk of a guard's boots or even the confident, slightly bored stride of a lawyer's dark tan Derby shoes. No, the staccato, metallic sound is unusual for the corridors of the 30th Precinct Station House, and yet, I should be able to identify it. After all, I've spent many a long hour listening to the clatter of shoes as they cross bedroom floors to engage in all manner of debauchery.
I start to get concerned, and then I have it. Only the heel of a woman's oxford pump could make that sort of solid but somehow dainty rat-a-tat-tat. With its elegant, womanly heel curving into a narrow point and its sensible perforated top designed to resemble a man's oxford dress shoe, the oxford pump is the shoe of a woman who stands between two worlds. The shoe of a woman who means business but hasn't entirely surrendered her femininity. Among other things.
But now I'm even more curious. Because it's strange that the sort of person who'd wear those shoes would be in this jail. The 30th Precinct Station House jail is for drug addicts, streetwalkers, and thieves. Unless, the woman in the oxford pumps is a rare female lawyer.
With this thought, a new sort of worry sets in. Could she be here for me? When I was booked into the station, the charge was listed as pandering, or "facilitating prostitution." But what if they're planning on squeezing me for information on Dutch? Do the cops know that he and his thugs were in that hotel suite with us—just before Mad Dog Coll was murdered?
My heart begins thudding in time with her step. Not that an onlooker could tell. They'd see a petite, well-manicured, composed woman of an indeterminate age in sky-high heels. I pull my fur stole tight around my shoulders like a shield. I've worked long and hard to build up my business—traveled far from Russia with its poverty and its pogroms and endured far worse on the shores of this so-called Golden Land—and I have no intention of returning to a desultory existence.
So when the clatter of heels grows louder and abruptly stops in front of my cell, I do not look up. Neither of us speaks for a long moment. Finally, she clears her throat. "Miss Adler?"
There, between the steel-gray bars of my cell, I peer first at her shoes: two-toned oxford pumps. I have to suppress a self-satisfied smile. I knew it. Working my way upward, I take note of the sensible stockings and the navy worsted wool skirt, the coordinating jacket cinched at the waist with a cordovan leather belt that matches her shoes. All as I expected for a woman lawyer.
Then my eyes reach her attractive face with its symmetrical features, and nothing is as I guessed. Because the woman standing before me is the rarest of creatures. Not only is she a woman in a man's world, but she's a colored woman in a white man's world. I've forged my way in a man's world, too, but nothing quite like this.
"Who's asking?" I answer when my eyes meet hers. My tone is barbed, because I've got to be very careful to whom I speak and what I say. I've got to protect myself.
"Assistant District Attorney Eunice Carter," the woman answers.
A colored female assistant district attorney? I thought I'd never see the day. In fact, it occurs to me that the only one I've ever heard of is the woman Dewey hired for his special group of lawyers dedicated to fighting the Mob. My stomach lurches at the thought that this Eunice Carter could be one of Dewey's and that she might be here specifically to get me to talk about Dutch and the role he played in the murder of Mad Dog. Why else would she come here now?
I will myself to stay still, stay silent, and I remind myself that it isn't necessarily about Dutch. After all, the name Polly Adler is known in and of itself, and arresting me for pandering is a feather in the cap for any cop or assistant district attorney. I must wait for this unusual woman to play her cards.
She's patient and steely, though, and can play the waiting game, too. Our eyes are locked—hers deep, dark brown and mine a coppery shade. Just when I think I might break first, she says, "I'm here to talk to you about your work."
"And what work would that be?" I ask.
"I understand you run a house of prostitution," she says matter-of-factly.
"I don't know what on earth you're talking about." I shake my head as if her comment is ludicrous.
"Actually, I've heard that you run the most prestigious house of prostitution in the city. Apparently, you're so famous that the phrase 'going to Polly's' has become a euphemism for engaging in the sort of illicit fun you offer."
I will not be lured in by her compliments; I wasn't born yesterday.
When I don't speak, she continues. "Miss Adler, I am not here to gather evidence for the pandering charges that have been lodged against you. I'm only interested in learning how your business operates. I promise."
She seems earnest, and honestly, I'm relieved that she's not asking any questions about Dutch or the Mob. But it's clear this Eunice Carter doesn't understand anything about me or my business if she thinks I'll roll over so easily. I keep my lips sealed.
"Miss Adler, I'd be grateful for any information you might be willing to share. It must be a thrill to run an establishment as well-known as Polly's."
Here she goes with the flattery again. I've got to shut this down. "Assistant District Attorney Carter," I say, enunciating every syllable. "I don't know a thing about running a 'house of prostitution.' My arrest is a big mistake. I'm just a lady who was out on the town for a few drinks with some friends. But I will tell you something for nothing. No girl wakes up in the morning wishing to spend her life as a whore."
Excerpted from A Pair of Aces by Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray Copyright © 2026 by Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.