The slum house was slightly less miserable than others Kane had seen, but only just. The narrow front window bore a long crack, and the door hung oddly off-center in such a way that he could only assume one of the hinges was broken. Dull light was visible inside. Kane took out his gun. According to Harvey, the homeowner didn’t carry a weapon, and Kane didn’t expect the rest of the occupants to be armed, either. In short, this ought to be easy enough.
Given the state of the door, he could have simply kicked it in, but that contravened one of the first lessons Ward had taught him: Always start with a veneer of politeness. Something about presenting a calm front, Ward said, unnerved people far more than immediate violence. So Kane lifted his fist to the wood and knocked.
A brief commotion ensued within, and the homeowner’s name was called. A moment later, the door swung open inward, revealing a tall tanned man with a stern brow. He frowned upon seeing Kane, mouth opening to form a question that trailed off when he registered the gun pointing at his chest.
“Good evening,” Kane said pleasantly. “You must be Mirko Petrov.”
He’d given considerable thought to killing the man in the interest of removing obstacles, but ultimately decided against it. Mirkowas a respected figure in Devil’s Acre; he owned a couple of functioning pushcarts thanks to his delivery job and was often willing to lend them out. The last thing Kane needed just now was to garner more hatred than a kingpin already dealt with.
Mirko raised his hands, eyes large in his broad face. “Who’s asking?”
There was no need to answer. A familiar figure swam into view behind Mirko’s left shoulder, scowling at Kane with more hatred—and fear—than even Davies or Yardley had been able to muster. “What the hell do you want, Durante?”
Kane still had a visceral reaction to hearing his true surname, but he’d decided there was no point in going by Kane Hunt any longer. Not when he intended to become notorious in this part of London. Instead of reacting in anger, he pasted on his most irritating smile. He could only imagine how he must look, framed by the shadows on the threshold, the top few buttons of his shirt undone beneath his open coat. “Julian Zhao. Just the person I was hoping to see.” He returned his attention to Mirko, indicating with the gun. “Take a seat at the table. Now.”
Mirko complied without argument, and Kane was pleased to see that George Zhao already occupied the other chair. His gaze flicked warily between his son and Kane as he processed the scene. “Jules, what in God’s name is the meaning of this?”
The table was pushed up against a wall, and Kane did a quick scan for potential weapons before advancing farther into the house, stepping sideways so as to keep all three men in his line of sight.
“Julian!” George said again, this time with anger edging his voice.
Kane spun to point the gun at him, making Mirko gasp and Jules start forward. “Quiet,” he warned George, then aimed at Juleswithout taking his gaze off the older man. “It’s thanks to you I’m here at all, Mister Zhao.”
Confusion permeated the room in the wake of his declaration. Jules was breathing hard, chest heaving. “We all know why you’ve really come, but Zaria isn’t here.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “I guess you picked the exact wrong time to show up, huh, Durante?”
Kane gave an exaggerated shrug. “Well, thisisembarrassing. Can you imagine? The only time since you moved here that Zaria hasn’t been around, and that’s when I decide to drop by. An almostimprobablestroke of bad luck.”
A vein pulsed in Jules’s temple as he picked up on Kane’s tone, uncertainty overtaking his features. Did the other boy really think Kane’s actions would be so poorly planned? Harvey had seen Zaria and Jules leave the house together. Harvey had seen Jules return to it alone, inexplicably escorted by a large man who didn’t linger. Kane wasn’t particularly interested in the man’s identity—it didn’t matter.
“I suppose by now you’ve heard I’ve been making the rounds,” Kane went on, pacing to the other side of the room, never lowering the gun. “Absurd, really, how many people in Devil’s Acre are owing.”
There was a beat of gravid silence.
“You’re the new kingpin.” Jules spoke from between clenched teeth. It wasn’t a question.
Kane’s smile grew broader. It had taken him some time to decide the best avenue for revenge. After all, Zaria didn’t have anything he wanted, and she didn’t hold her own life in very high regard. Throughout the course of their brief partnership, her objectives always revolved around a single thing: Julian Zhao. Her best friend, her brother in all but blood, and the only important person in her life. If Kane wanted Zaria to regret crossing him, Jules was the ideal target.
And Kane knew exactly where he needed to strike. Ironically, he had Ward to thank for that.
Behind Jules, Mirko Petrov’s tanned face was leached of color. He tripped over his words in his haste to mutter an apology, but Kane held up a hand. He wasn’t interested in anything Mirko had to say. George, conversely, looked furious. Kane had to hand it to the Zhao men: They weren’t cowards. They felt anger first, fear second. It made them relatable in a sense, but it also made them difficult to deal with.
“What does Zaria have to do with any of this?” George demanded, addressing Jules rather than Kane. “Why would the kingpin want to see her?”
“I don’t,” Kane answered, regardless, never tearing his calm gaze from Jules’s furious one. “I’m well finished with Zaria Mendoza. It’s your son I’ve come for.”
“Do you intend to kill me?” Jules spat. “Is that how the inimitable Kane Durante gets his revenge? Are you so cowardly that you didn’t want to face her? That you’d leave my body for her to find?”
At the mention of Jules dying, George started to rise, but Kane indicated with the gun for him to sit back down. “Fucking relax. I didn’t come here to end a life. As the new kingpin of Devil’s Acre, I’m seeing to it that Ward’s outstanding matters are dealt with. And if I’m not mistaken, Mister Zhao, the two of you had an agreement.”
Understanding hit George and Jules at the same moment; Kane saw it in their faces.
“Screw you,” Jules said, fingers flexing at his sides. “You can’t seriously want me to join Ward’s crew.”
“Mycrew,” Kane corrected him. “And I’m very serious indeed. I believe Ward was very clear in his terms: If your father didn’t pay up, you would put in the work instead. Unless I’m mistaken, no payment was ever made.”
Now Georgedidstand, all but vibrating with indignation. “I assumed that agreement became void when Alexander Ward died.”
“As the new kingpin, I decide which agreements remain in effect. Of course, if you have the money, this all goes away.”
