Chapter 33 #2
“So, the Wollendorfs,” Zeph said after they’d reminisced on the past. “They are after you. Not serious yet, no. But willing to pay a lot to hurt your men. Intimidate you into some deal. We were paid, you understand. We were ready to deliver. So…”
“So, I will pay much more.”
“Easy, brother. It’s not about money. First things first, you need to speak with Handley.”
“And he is…?”
“Inigo Handley. Runs the Bankee Syndicate. He’s heard of you, of course. Never cared much. But now that you are under my protection, he’ll be interested.” Zeph winked.
Drasko laughed through his nose. “Your protection, huh?” He reached for Zeph and fixed his tie, adding, “Little gypsy.”
In a second, Zeph’s arm was around his neck in a playful headlock, despite Zeph being much shorter. Drasko’s hat rolled to the ground. The sound of cocked guns crackled behind them.
Zeph grinned as he ruffled Drasko’s hair and whispered in his ear, “I don’t care that you are the Diamond King. I will whip that gypsy ass of yours like Mrs. Borgh once did for stealing her stockings.”
With a laugh, he let go.
Unable to wipe a wide smile off his face, Drasko fixed his jacket and picked his hat off the ground.
They chatted some more about the old times and Drasko’s disappearance, his life in India and Zeph’s work for the Bankees.
“Times change. So do fortunes,” Drasko said.
Zeph snorted, giving him a side glance. “You don’t say.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night then,” Drasko eventually bid farewell.
“Done deal, brother. I shall talk to Handley.” Zeph studied him again, then shook his head in disbelief and gave his hat a tweak. “Lucky bastard.”
Drasko only laughed.
But another matter made him flex his fingers in annoyance as soon as the Bankees walked off.
He wasn’t a violent man anymore, but?—
Ah, there was always that “but.”
Competition and dirty tactics were the bittersweet taste of the diamond trade and the Wollendorfs’ signature card. So, Drasko would have to be diplomatically persuasive.
An hour later, his carriage pulled up to the lavish building on Park Lane.
“I am here to see Mr. Franz Wollendorf,” he said to the doorman. “I am Mr. Hugh, Bank of England. Urgent business,” he lied, knowing that the scumbag would not see him otherwise.
A minute later, a butler was leading him through a bright two-story hallway, decorated with Greek statues and luxury figurines encrusted with diamonds. The walls dripped with precious gems.
Drasko rolled his eyes in annoyance as they approached the music room, the banging of some rubbish piano tunes behind it.
“Mr. Wollendorf is entertaining Baroness Greyer and her daughter. And he is happy to see you,” the butler said, opening the doors.
Drasko walked in, right away spotting Franz Wollendorf. Despite having a wife somewhere, the coward held another woman’s hand to his chest. At the butler’s announcement, he stood up with a smile and turned to Drasko, only seconds later realizing who was in front of him.
His face twisted into an expression of horror.
“Mr. Wollendorf,” Drasko said, approaching. “A word, please.”
“But… How dare you!” Franz backed away, his eyes widening in panic, his face turning red. “No! This man!” His scared eyes darted to the butler. “I want him out!”
He had no choice or chance when Drasko, much bigger and stronger, grabbed him by the front of his vest, dragged him several feet away from the ladies, and only then punched him in the face, sending him flying onto the floor.
A female shriek and a sharp gasp came from behind him, but he didn’t turn.
“You don’t know how to fight, whether with your fists or your wits,” Drasko said calmly, cracking his knuckles and taking leisurely steps toward Franz.
The diamond rival was only years older than him but heavy and clumsy, whined in pain, and cowered away from him on the floor. “Only like a coward, behind my back.”
The butler was shouting in the hallway for help. The women whispered behind his back.
Drasko bent down and picked up the resisting Wollendorf by the scruff like a rag doll. He brought the man’s face closer to him.
“Now, I am not doing worse damage because we wouldn’t want to create a bad impression on the women present here, would we?
But you listen attentively. The Bankee Syndicate now works for me.
If needed, the Smethwick Syndicate will too.
So will the Yiddishers. The Metropolitan Police is getting paid by?
You guessed it, me. You so much as breathe in my direction, and I will make bullets rain on you.
You ever send anyone to hurt my wife? They will find you floating in the Thames. Understood?”
“By God, you are?—”
“God does not tell you that you are stupid. He shows you.”
Abruptly, Drasko let go of Wollendorf—simply unfolded his fingers, and the petrified man lost his footing, stumbled back, and onto the floor.
Drasko fixed his tie and turned his attention to the women, who held on to each other in shock.
With a smile, he walked up to them and offered his hand to the older one.
“My apologies for the disruption, my lady.” He kissed her hand most graciously, then did the same with the younger woman.
While Franz Wollendorf ran out of the room, blurting pathetic threats under his breath, Drasko did what he did best with women.
He held his gaze on them a little too long, bowed with utmost grace and a dazzling smile, and complimented the baroness on her dress and her most enchanting smile, which made the non-smiling baroness indeed smile.
Then he turned to her daughter.
“You are wonderful on the piano, miss,” he lied blatantly, cringing at his own words. “My wife, Grace Mawr, is an exceptional piano player. It would be her honor to hear you play.”
And when he was walking out the door, the two women whispered to each other.
“How truly graceful!”
“They say his wife left an earl for him. No wonder!”