“I’m sure you know full well that my pawnshop burned down. I’ve got no money, and no longer am I operating any business on which dues should be owed.”
“Yes, the loss of your business was unfortunate,” Kane said blithely. “Yet losing it doesn’t erase your past debts. Do you have the money, Mister Zhao, or do you not?”
He knew they didn’t. He wouldn’t have come here otherwise. And from the expression on Jules’s face, the other boyknewKane knew. “The deal was that either my father would agree to give me up to the kingpin’s crew, or we would lose the pawnshop. Since the pawnshop is gone, you’ve already won.”
“Ah, but it only counts if your business is taken from you. Accidents don’t factor in.”
“You’re the one who started the fire, you bastard!”
“What?” This from George, who frowned at his son in bewilderment. At the same time, apprehension creased the skin around his eyes, as if he’d only just realized the depth of the trouble they were in. “Julian, what are you going on about?”
Kane let out a sharp laugh. If he was understanding correctly, George Zhao didn’t know that Kane or the former kingpin had been in his house that fateful day. He clicked his tongue. “Did youlieto your father, Julian?”
Jules ignored both questions, taking another step forward. “I think it’s very clear we owe you nothing. So get the hell out of here—you’re mad if you think I’m coming anywhere with you.”
“Since it appears you’re not used to these types of situations,”Kane said, “let me make things very clear: When someone has you at gunpoint, you do whatever they ask. If you don’t, they shoot you. Does that help?”
“You won’t shoot me. If you do, Zaria will never forgive you.”
Kane held up a finger. “First of all, I wasn’t going to start with you. I was going to kill your father while you watched, knowing all the while that you could have saved him. And secondly”—he held up another finger—“I could give afuckwhat Miss Mendoza thinks of me. She lost every ounce of my goodwill when she betrayed me. Now,make your choice.”
The slew of curses Jules uttered was virulent, but it only served to confirm that Kane had won. It should have felt good. He should have felt triumphant. Instead, he harbored only a vague sense of unease. He didn’t know how todoit, this job, and it seemed the only path available to him was to imagine what Ward would have done. That wasn’t difficult, given how many years he’d spent observing the man, but Kane felt like a weak imitation of a true kingpin. All he had were threats, violence, and threats of violence. Since he lacked Ward’s inherent ability to command respect, he supposed that would have to be good enough.
Bright spots of pink had appeared in Jules’s cheeks, and he shot a grim look in his father’s direction. “I suppose I’m going with him. Tell Zaria what happened when she returns.”
George’s nostrils flared as he sat there in helpless fury. Eventually he nodded, a single lift of his chin, before turning to Kane. “I thought no kingpin could be as much of a bastard as Alexander Ward. You’ve proven me wrong tonight.”
“I won’t lose any sleep over it,” Kane said, crossing the room a final time as he indicated the front door. “After you, Julian. And should you possess the urge to try anything funny, just remember I know exactly where to find your dear dad.”
Jules set his jaw. Ventured one last look at George and Mirko, the latter of whom still sat in stunned silence. He inclined his head at his father, the barest of nods. “Don’t worry about the money, and don’t feel guilty. No matter what he says, this isn’t about you. Take care of yourself. And Mirko? Make sure he takes care of himself.” Finally, Jules turned back to Kane, his tone acerbic. “You’re getting what you wanted, Durante. I hope it was worth it.”
Kane held the other boy’s glare without flinching. “Oh, I think it will be.”
Then he followed Jules out into the dark, letting the door slam hollowly behind him.
ZARIA
What the hell do you mean, Vaughan knows where my mother is?”
Zaria couldn’t quite wrap her head around Pritchard’s assertion. Even saying the wordmotherfelt strange—she so rarely used it in association with herself. Mothers were things that regular people had and she did not. Her mother was nothing more than a story. A short tale of a woman who’d delivered her, freshly born and squalling, to Itzal Mendoza after leaving him for another man.
Pritchard’s thin smile was knowing. “I really don’t know how I could’ve been more clear.”
“Then why should Icare?” Zaria said fiercely, fighting to keep her voice even. “My mother left me. She didn’t want me—never once attempted to make contact. What good would knowing her location do me?”
Pritchard lifted a hand, urging silence. “Calm yourself, MissMendoza. Angry though you may be, it is normal for a child to yearn for their family. I cannot imagine you are any different.”
“I’m not a child,” she shot back, but an ache had risen within her, scratching beneath the surface of her skin.
“Perhaps not any longer. But that yearning tends to persist until it’s fulfilled. You start to look for it in other places.”
Despite herself, Zaria thought of Cecile. The way she’d been desperate to find the woman after years of being apart, not only for information but for comfort. The feeling of knowing there was at least one adult in her life who cared for her. She was so accustomed to protecting herself, she sometimes forgot what it was to have someone like that. She saw it with Jules and his father, but her own had never done a particularly good job.
She remembered, in the crypt beneath St. John’s church, that fleeting moment of optimism. For the span of a single conversation, she’d been so sure things were about to change. That she would have Cecile to rely on once again. The prospect had eased something in her chest.
And then, almost as quickly as she’d reappeared in Zaria’s life, the woman was gone again. For good this time.
“See?” Pritchard said, and she became aware that he was scrutinizing her closely. His voice was softer than usual, almost like he was trying to imitate sympathy. She didn’t trust it for a second. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? Believe me, I understand. My own mother died in childbirth, and my father was a wealthy Welshman who never spared me a kind word. I relied more on the staff, on my tutors, than I ever did on either of them.”
