They had almost reached their destination when she spoke again, her gentle voice curling around him like tendrils of smoke. “I was so sure Croft would help you. I’m sorry he turned you down.”
“Whatever his reason, it’s more important to him than chasing after a killer.”
“Any idea what it might be?”
“No, but I intend to find out.”
7
Finn O’Leary wound his way through the narrow alleys that led to the house he owned on the corner of Great St. Andrew Street and Queen Street. He’d offered the owners more than the run-down place was worth with the stipulation they pack up and leave within the hour.
His reason behind the purchase was purely strategic. After carefully scouting the various parts of London, he’d chosen the heart of Seven Dials for his base. Surrounded by criminals, the location provided him a high level of security — a barrier few would dare cross to seek him out.
An icy gust of wind swept past him, bringing the putrid stench of refuse with it. He scrunched his nose and dipped his chin, hunching his back as he picked up his pace. The rain that had started an hour before had since turned the packed dirt to mud and left his shoes filthy. Droplets fell from the brim of his cap and sank their icy teeth into his nose and cheeks.
He brushed them away with the back of one hand and with the other, tightened his grip on the bag he carried. Food he’d purchased for himself and his men at a bakery several streets over. It had been fresh and hot when he’d bought it. He prayed it wouldn’t be chilled and soggy by the time he reached his destination.
The homeless huddled in corners and doorways, seeking whatever shelter they could find beneath various overhangs, earned a glare if he even bothered to glance their way. As far as he was concerned they could all rot. Work could be found if one was willing and able. Poorhouses were an option for those who weren’t. He saw no reason to throw away good coin or sympathy on those who refused to make an effort to get off the street.
With his meticulous plan for revenge already in motion, he had no mind for charity. To be honest, he was slightly surprised by how easy it had been for him to lure Croft back to Town. And now his wife was here too. A boon that allowed him to move things along more swiftly than he’d expected.
He turned a corner and crossed the street to avoid a cart blocking his path. If he’d had a choice he’d have stayed in Dublin, but duty had long since forced him to set his sights on London and the vengeance that awaited him here. Nearly two decades. That was how long he’d waited for this moment. For the right time to arrive, when he’d be old enough, strong enough, and experienced enough to take on the Crofts.
Only brash fools run head-first into a fight. Wise men stop to consider their options.
Papa’s words echoed at the core of his being. None had been cleverer than he, none more ruthless. He’d taught Finn the advantage of being patient, of gathering information, and using it to his advantage. To weaken his opponents’ defenses before choosing to strike.
With Croft’s import business under attack, he’d be forced to cover the cost of the stolen goods or risk losing the trust his clients placed in him. Either way, he’d be too busy fixing the problem to notice the next attack before it was too late.
Water splashed as Finn strode through one of the deeper puddles. The grey building up ahead invited him closer despite the peeling paint and tarnished windows. A fire would be burning inside. Finn had made sure of it.
He reached the partially rotted front door and banged on it with his fist while pressing up close to the wall in an effort to shield himself from the quickening downpour.
A brief wait and he heard the bolt slide back. He was already pushing his way inside before Brian Kelly was able to pull the door wide. A full head taller than Finn, his brawny lieutenant stood at nearly seven feet and was forced to duck when moving between the rooms in the house.
“Sustenance,” Finn declared, showing off the bag he’d brought while wiping his feet on a rag laid out on the floor.
Brian took the bag so Finn could peel off his jacket. “I should ’uv gone instead of yourself.”
“I was needing the walk.” Finn hung his jacket on a hook and pulled off his sodden cap. “Give me a minute to dry off and I’ll meet you in the parlor.”
Leaving Brian to manage the food, Finn plodded up the sagging stairs to the room he’d taken for himself. Small and sparsely furnished, it was made more dismal by the dim light seeping in from the grey outdoors. A metal frame bed took up most of the space along with the dresser that stood by the door. On top sat an ashtray, some samples of various tobacco, and a near-empty glass of gin.
He grabbed the glass and downed the last of its contents, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and started undressing. The clothes ended up in a heap on the floor since they’d have to be laundered anyway. From the dresser he removed a clean shirt and a pair of trousers along with a fresh cravat.
After pulling on the waistcoat that hung from a peg on the back of the door, he stepped before an oval mirror and combed back his hair until he was satisfied with his appearance. Despite his shabby surroundings, he prided himself on looking his best without drawing attention — to not stand out as someone with money although he had plenty of it.
Better to keep to the shadows when hunting prey and preserve the element of surprise. The edge of his mouth lifted into a partial smirk. While Croft had known Finn’s father, he’d never crossed paths with Finn and would have no idea of what to expect. Where Michael O’Leary had been both calculating and ruthless, he’d not been fueled by the loathing that ran through Finn’s veins.
Careful to lock his bedchamber door as he left, Finn returned downstairs and entered the parlor where the warmth from a crackling fire awaited. The three men Finn had brought with him from Ireland turned their gazes toward him.
“Some tea?” Brian asked, gesturing toward a pot that sat on the table. He’d brought plates which contained the pies Finn had purchased. One for each man.
Finn nodded and accepted the cup Brian gave him before directing his attention to Sean Gallager and Patrick Sullivan.
Sean, one of the many illegitimate children Finn’s father had sired, shared the same dark blond hair and a similar build. His features were softer, however, with a less defined jaw-line and narrower mouth with fuller lips.
By contrast, Patrick had a weathered face and a stocky body built for fighting. Two decades older than the rest of the group, he’d worked for Finn’s father, and had come to Finn directly with a request to help him take down Croft.
