1. Zane

Chapter one

Zane

T he inky darkness of the night envelops me as I stand in a foreign office, flanked by only two bodyguards for protection. While my focus should be on the scumbag before me, Desmond Graves, his hands planted arrogantly on his hips, my attention is drawn to the scene playing out in the background. On a nearby stage, three scantily clad girls dance and sway, their movements uncoordinated and clumsy. Yet, one stands out from the rest: a natural beauty with long, dark hair cascading down her back with legs that seem to go on forever. As a self-proclaimed "leg man", I admire her effortless grace and enviable flexibility. Memories of my late wife flood my mind, reminding me of what I've lost. But I push them aside, knowing I cannot let distractions like these cloud my judgement.

I hold the prestigious title of consigliere to Edward Thayer, a man whose iron-fisted control over the criminal district has left most of this city in his grasp. His greedy ambition knows no bounds, and it seems like the city has resigned itself to bowing down to his will. Some brave souls still refuse to be cowed by his influence. Like Desmond, the owner of a modest yet respectable club that has somehow managed to evade being swallowed up in a hostile takeover by Edward's son, Knox. The sole heir to the Thayer cartel, Knox, is just as power-hungry as his father, but he at least tries to maintain a fa?ade of morality. However, when that fails, I am often tasked with buying off anyone who poses a threat or challenge to their reign. It's become almost routine now - another day, another donkey rescued for the benefit of Knox's conscience. Both father and son may be verging on insane, but I suppose that comes with having all the money and power in the world at your fingertips.

As for Edward himself, our working relationship remains cordial enough, but I thank my lucky stars daily that I don't have to live under his thumb. Knox's escape is donkeys, and for Edward's wife Caroline, it's designer handbags. Whenever I have bad news to deliver to Edward, it's always wise to soften the blow with a new addition to Caroline's already extensive collection. Of course, at several thousand pounds apiece, I try not to be the bearer of bad news too frequently.

As a single father, I had to be tough to raise my two boys alone in this harsh world. But now that they are adults, I thought our struggles were over. However, Desmond Graves does not have the same excuse for his lack of responsibility. Since he hired our cartel as protection, he is expected to pay for our services, yet the money has not made its way into our hands. The frustration boils within me as I contemplate sliding the details of our contract under Knox's nose if he continues to delay payment. That man always seems to need a new distraction, and a hostile purchase of another club usually fits the bill.

Desmond tries to downplay his negligence with feeble excuses. "Surely collecting payments for such a small fry like me is beneath the great consigliere of the mighty Thayers?" he says mockingly.

I refuse to entertain his attempts at stalling any longer. "Indeed it may be," I reply coolly, gesturing towards the intimidating thugs flanking me. "That's why I brought along these gentlemen." Their menacing presence confirms my seriousness and sends a wave of fear through Desmond's eyes.

As I rose through the ranks and became Edward's trusted advisor, I left behind the petty dealings of the lower ranks. However, my current role is to cover for my son, Marcus. At eighteen, he got himself tangled up with a pretty young thing and became a father right out of college. A few years later, the mother of his child made a mistake, leaving Marcus as a single father. Now, in addition to being one of the three capos for the family, he carries the immense responsibility of raising his son. I can't take all the credit for how well he turned out - it was thanks to Edward's guidance and support along the way. Tonight, I had a choice to make: either cover this job for Marcus or be on babysitting duty. Don't get me wrong, I love my grandson, but tonight I want to get my hands dirty.

My attention keeps wandering to the girl on stage. She is undeniably pretty, with curves in all the right places and an alluring figure. However, her dancing leaves much to be desired - she moves about awkwardly as if she's at a high school dance instead of performing for a crowd. Despite her obvious beauty, there is something sad and unsettling about her - she looks old enough to know better than to be involved in this kind of life, yet still young enough to be taken advantage of and discarded before she hits thirty.

"She's pretty, isn't she." Desmond picks up on the girl that keeps stealing my attention.

I shrug it off. No one has managed to grab my attention before now. So why has she?

"She'll be a valuable addition once she's lost her v-card and learned some moves," Desmond smirks, his eyes glinting with a sinister plan. "But not on stage. I'm teaching her the art of lap dancing."

"Like hell you are." I snap as if this girl is mine to protect. I grunt in disbelief at my outburst. "Are you running a side business in prostitution?" I ask, trying to deflect my interest in her.

Desmond shrugs nonchalantly. "Not exactly. Andrew Green has something special in mind for her. All I do is provide him with names."

I nod, mentally noting Andrew Green as someone worth investigating. He's always lurking around a few of the bars owned by Knox, but he's careful not to break any rules—at least, not that we are aware of.

"Well, while you're finding me the money you owe, I have something entertaining to watch," I say, turning my back on Desmond to observe the young woman dancing on stage like a frantic bird.

"Fine," Desmond mutters dejectedly. Even he seems disappointed about being able to pay up. I was looking forward to beating the truth out of him before taking what he owed me. Being consigliere means no one dares challenge me, which can get quite boring at times.

With a defeated sigh, Desmond reluctantly hands over the cash he had been pocketing instead of paying his protectors as he should have.

A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I bait him. "I'll make sure to report back to Mr Thayer about how well-behaved you promise to be from now on, okay?" I taunt, enjoying the power I hold over him. "You'd hate it to be Gavriil who comes knocking next time, right?"

Flustered, he stammers out a response. "I-I didn't mean to fall behind. It won't happen again." The mention of Gavriil, our ruthless Russian torturer, is enough to make even the most disobedient of our associates fall into line.

Feeling bold, I demand the name and address of the pretty girl who caught my eye. For some unknown reason, I feel compelled to have this information in my possession. Perhaps it's just curiosity, or maybe a part of me has devious plans for her.

He scribbles her details on a scrap of paper and hands it over. I take it, crinkle it up, and stuff it into my pocket without a second thought. I know I'll forget about her once I'm out of here, just like I'll undoubtedly wash my jacket and ruin the paper. For the three seconds I hold the paper between my fingers, I can't help but imagine all the possibilities that come with having this girl's information at my disposal.