Chapter 2 Kane
KANE
PRESENT DAY
Kane Durante was having a hell of a week.
He might have laughed about it, had anger not been simmering at his core like chronic indigestion.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t laughed once in the past three days.
Not genuinely, at least. His laughter had become something dark and ugly.
An unnerving sort of sound that tended to precede unpleasantries.
Perhaps that was why Tom Watson continued to watch him with such infuriating apprehension.
“Relax, Tommy.” Kane spat the order through teeth currently holding a clay pipe in place. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Ward’s former doorman shifted his weight.
Rather than lending comfort, Kane’s words seemed to have the opposite effect.
Red-haired with a smattering of freckles, Tom was pale at the best of times, but he looked positively wan as of late.
Still, he’d been quick to accept Kane as Alexander Ward’s successor, which was more than could be said for some of the blokes who had worked for the kingpin before his untimely death.
Burned to death in a house fire was the story Kane had settled on that first night he’d addressed a group of Ward’s men. Went to make good on a threat to that Horseferry pawnshop owner, and the place went up with him inside it. Bad luck. Reckon he had a bit of drink in him at the time.
Kane didn’t know how believable it was, and he didn’t particularly care.
Truth be told, he didn’t care about much these days.
Killing Ward seemed to have shaken something loose within him.
It was as if a wall had abruptly been erected between himself and his emotions.
He hadn’t meant to put it there, and yet it dominated his mind nonetheless, a towering structure through which he could almost—almost—see how he ought to have felt.
But the image was foggy, unattainable. Emptiness was easier.
He relied upon that emptiness now, crossing his arms as he watched Adam Cromwell and Elijah Atwood drag Russell Davies across the threshold.
They stood in the grand entryway of the manor Ward had been staying in prior to his death.
It was an impressive building, occupying the better part of a city block near St. George’s Square by the wharf.
The kingpin had moved around regularly, using threats or blackmail to clear out any former occupants.
He always transferred the lodgings back in the end, though, alongside the promise of a favor.
That was simply the way Ward had been—a gentleman.
He took and he took, but he knew the power of providing something in return.
After all, he’d taken Kane’s life, but given him a new one.
“Davies!” Kane said pleasantly, reaching past his holster to put both hands in his pockets. “There you are.”
The large man glowered at him. His face was already bruised where it loomed between Adam’s and Elijah’s equally broad frames.
In a way, it was fitting. The last time Kane had seen the man, it had been through eyes clouded by whiskey and vertigo, his head spinning as Davies delivered blow after blow to his face.
Ward’s doing, of course. The man had been inextricably loyal to the kingpin.
It was him Ward had brought to punish Kane after learning of Zaria’s involvement in the plan to steal the necklace.
“Durante.” Davies spat a glob of spittle and blood onto the floor. “You pathetic little fuck. Think you’re tough, do you, now that you’ve claimed the crown?”
“Not particularly,” Kane said, rocking back on his heels.
“They’re fairly tough, though.” He inclined his head at Adam, who directed an uppercut to Davies’s chin.
There was a grunt, then a stream of curses that rivaled even Kane’s vocabulary.
Cromwell cut a threatening figure with his wide shoulders and closely shaved blond hair, but he was rarely violent unless ordered to be.
It was fortunate that he’d been quick to transfer his loyalty from Ward to Kane, because the paradoxically soft-spoken boy wasn’t the kind of person you wanted as an adversary.
“You can muck me up all you like,” Davies snarled once he had caught his breath, “but the crew will never accept you as Ward’s replacement.”
This time it was Elijah who threw the punch. Really, it was him Kane had to thank for Adam’s allegiance. Where Elijah went, Adam tended to follow.
Kane watched impassively as Davies spat out a broken tooth, then grinned.
“Seems some of them already have. I know you’ve been trying to turn the others against me.
Spinning tales about how I don’t have the guts, the smarts, to do what Ward did.
Telling them I’ll run this crew into the ground.
That I need to be taken care of. And who do you reckon would step up then, Russell? You? Do you fancy yourself a king?”
Crimson dripped down the other man’s chin, lost in the coarse hair of his beard. “You don’t have what it takes, Durante. Do you know what you do with an animal that can’t hack the job it’s meant for? You put it out of its damned misery.”
“So you admit I’m meant for the job.”
At that, Elijah cracked a smile. With his dark curls, tall frame, and discerning gaze, he was one of the cleverer crew members.
Among the crew there were two frames of thought: First, that the boy Ward had favored and protected was his natural successor, and as the kingpin’s assumed confidante, was the best chance of ensuring a smooth transition.
Not to mention that Kane had cultivated a reputation over the years.
One of a smooth-talking, untouchable con man who wouldn’t hesitate to pull a trigger.
And pull the trigger he had—more than once, Ward had used Kane to punish those who proved a disappointment.
Davies, though, thought differently. He was one of few people Ward had relied upon to punish Kane.
And so he’d cultivated a small group who believed something else entirely: That Kane was a sorry, unworthy excuse for a kingpin.
An overconfident little shit who’d stepped into a role he didn’t deserve.
Though it had only been three days, that opinion seemed to be spreading. Kane knew it was only a matter of time before Davies and his supporters mustered up enough brainpower to organize an attack. He needed to do something, and fast.
“Tommy!” Kane barked suddenly, making the red-haired man start. “Get the door, would you?”
Indeed, the device Ward had once used to alert him of potential visitors had begun to crow, an infuriating, high-pitched sound emanating from what Kane could only assume were the pits of alchemological hell.
Tom obliged, yanking the door open to reveal Vernon Yardley escorted by Raphael Aubert, Edward O’Reilly escorted by Anton Becker, and Gilbert Dale escorted by Liu Cheng.
Three men sympathetic to Davies’s cause, and three men loyal to Kane.
A number of others followed behind them, grimacing around clay pipes and looking either wary or confused.
Still more men filtered in from where they’d been playing cards in the drawing room, then leaned against the stairwell or in one of the adjacent doorways.
Kane couldn’t be certain of their loyalties; after Ward’s death, they’d continued on with whatever tasks he’d given them—or, alternatively, continued faffing around—as if nothing had happened.
It was too much to hope that wouldn’t change soon.
Kane yanked his hands from his pockets and brought them together in a clap that echoed through the cavernous foyer.
It was enough to command the attention of those who hadn’t yet quieted, and as all eyes landed on him he was reminded, yet again, of another day entirely.
A day in which he’d been among those standing at the edge of the room, face bruised, attention trained on Ward. A different room. A different time.
We know to reach out and take what we can, Ward had told him once. Because if we don’t, someone else is going to do it.
Well. That much was obvious. It was time for Kane to make his command clear.
He looked around at the gathered men, letting his gaze linger on those who dared meet it.
The action reminded him, absurdly, of something he’d heard about wolves: That prolonged eye contact was considered a threat.
That if you wanted to avoid a fight, the best thing to do was lower your gaze and back away.
Kane, however, did not intend to do anything of the sort.
“I appreciate you all being here,” he began, “whether willingly or otherwise. Now, I know Ward wasn’t one for group meetings unless absolutely necessary.
I tend to be the same. But I also know the last few days have left you with quite a few questions, so I thought it prudent to offer some answers.
” A hand lifted in his periphery, and Kane waved it down with an impatient slide of his arm.
“This isn’t an open forum, Solomon. I’m well aware of what the questions are. ”
The young Harvey Solomon let his hand snap back to his side, chastened.
“Whatever you expected from Ward, you can now expect from me.” Kane commenced a slow walk from one side of the room to the other.
“That means no interruptions. It’ll be a bit disorganized while we find our bearings, but that does not constitute an opening for you to act out.
If you wouldn’t say it to Ward, don’t say it to me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Don’t sell us a dog,” a wiry, red-nosed man guffawed, clutching a pewter cup as he leaned against the wall. “You might have some of ’em scared, but most of us have been around here longer than you. We’ve let you play at kingpin this weekend, but surely you can’t expect to replace Ward.”
Kane withdrew his dark market revolver in one swift motion, mind going blank as he pulled the trigger. Light streaked through the room, too fast to behold, as a guttural cry tore from the man’s throat.