“I didn’t invite you to use it, either,” he said, trying not to think of her soaking in the white porcelain tub. It didn’t matter if it was his sanctuary—the mark of how different this life was from his old one. He didn’t need the image of her tawny limbs, or any other part of her, naked in the warm water. In his warm water.
He heard the sounds of sloshing, and a moment later the door opened. Esta was standing with one of his large towels wrapped around her. Her shoulders were bare again, and wisps of her hair that had fallen from where she’d piled it on her head were stuck to her damp skin. Water was still dripping down her neck and her legs, leaving puddles on his tiled floor.
For a moment he couldn’t think, much less speak.
“You have a bathtub,” she said again, and she made the word sound like something miraculous. Her face was scrubbed clean, pink from the heat of the water, and she was smiling at him as though he’d just saved her life. “I’m never leaving.”
Then she shut the door in his face. Again.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for a minute he had to focus on breathing. He had to remind himself that this would be worth it in the end. It would all be worth it when he walked out of the city a free man and left all of this behind him.
He turned without a word, grabbed an orange from the bowl on his kitchen counter, threw on his hat and coat from the stand by the door, and left, slamming the door behind him. He’d go to the theater. People there might eat knives, dance with bears, and shimmy across the stage half-naked, but at least they didn’t make him feel insane.
THE SCENT OF BETRAYAL
Paul Kelly’s
There was something about the warming weather that drove the desperate a little wild. With spring came more boats, and with those boats, more immigrants hoping to carve out their own piece of the rotten fruit that was the city. ?And as spring teased the promise of summer, tempers began to flare. Always with something to prove, the new crop of boys would try their luck with knives or guns as they worked to claim meager pieces of territory. Street corners. Back alleys. Nothing worth dying over, but they did just the same.
With his cane and uneven gait, it was nearly impossible for Dolph to go unnoticed by those who might not know any better. It would have been easier to use the cover of night to do what needed to be done, but some business required the stark light of day—to send a message that he didn’t fear anyone in the city. Not the Order of Ortus Aurea, whose constant presence kept his kind crawling in the gutters. Not the men at Tammany, who’d clawed themselves to the top of the city only to forget they’d been born in the slums. And not Paul Kelly, who seemed to be planning a move to establish himself as a true rival.
Kelly fashioned himself as a nob, and if it weren’t for that crooked nose of his, evidence of his days as a boxer, he probably could have blended in at the Opera. He sure spent enough to dress the part. But at heart, Kelly—whatever his adopted moniker might suggest—was a paisan. The fancy clothes, the well-heeled style, it was all a cover so he could pretend he was different from every other dago fresh off the boat, crawling through the muck of the city to make something of themselves.
When Dolph entered, Kelly’s men came to attention, their hands reaching for the guns they kept beneath their coats, but Kelly waved them off. “Dolph Saunders. Quel est votre plaisir?” he asked, slipping into perfect French.
So, he doesn’t want his boys to hear us, Dolph understood. “Il est temps de rappeler vos hommes.” It’s time to call off your men.
Kelly’s wide mouth turned down. “I’m not sure I can. My boys have been having a good time of it,” he said, nodding to John Torrio, who sat at the table across the room.
“They went too far setting that fire,” Dolph growled. “Six people died in those blazes, four of them children.”
Kelly gave a careless shrug. “You said you wanted pressure on Darrigan.”
“On Darrigan, yes,” Dolph said. “But killing innocents wasn’t the deal.”
“There aren’t any innocents in this town,” Kelly told him. He pulled a silver case from his inside jacket pocket and took his time selecting one of the thin, perfectly rolled cigarettes inside.
He had style, Dolph admitted, feeling tired and older than his own twenty-six years. Kelly was only a couple years younger than Dolph, but he had something that felt new. Kelly had a different style, one that drew the boys who filled the barroom around them. One that could be dangerous if it ever found a wider audience.
Dolph took the seat across from Kelly without waiting for an invitation. “That may be, but I have Darrigan now. Our deal’s done.”
Kelly took two long drags on the cigarette and let the smoke curl out of his wide nostrils. “You know, I got to thinking. . . . Why would Dolph Saunders need Harte Darrigan? And why would Harte Darrigan be sniffing around with Jack Grew, especially when Jack’s a member of the Order? I thought to myself, those two things can’t be coincidences.” He squinted a little as he took another drag. “So I asked myself, what do they know that I don’t?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dolph said easily. “Harte was mine first, that’s all. I wanted him back.”
“That’s a nice story.” Kelly smiled around the cigarette. “But I don’t buy it. ?You’re no stranger to taking what isn’t yours. Speaking of which, how is my dear sister these days?”
Dolph allowed himself a cold smile. “She sends her love. It comes with a blade and a handful of curses I couldn’t repeat in mixed company. Might offend the delicate sensibilities of your boys there.”
“Sounds like Viola.” He gave Dolph a challenging look. “She’ll betray you eventually, you know, and return to me. I’m family, and she knows the importance of family. Il sangue non é acqua.”
“I’m not sure she knows the truth of that.”
“She will,” he said, and the threat was clear.
“She’s under my protection.”
“For now,” Kelly said smoothly, and then shifted onto a new topic. “I’ve been hearing things around town about this big shindig the boys in the Order have planned—this Conclave at the end of the year. Word is, anyone who’s anyone will be there.”
“Only if you’re a member of the Order,” Dolph said.
Kelly’s expression never changed. “So maybe I’ll become a member.”
Dolph let out a surprised laugh before he realized Kelly was serious.
Kelly leaned forward, his expression determined. “I’m not like you, Saunders. I aim to be someone someday.”
“You’re already someone,” Dolph argued. “You control half the blocks south of Houston right now. You didn’t need the Order for that.”
“No, I didn’t need them, but it wouldn’t hurt to have that kind of power on my side, now, would it?” He smiled, a leering sort of grin that had all of Dolph’s instincts on alert.