"Haven't had your father's protection in months and we're doing just fine."

The wizened old barkeep wasn't interested in a word I had to say. But Glenn Casey never had been. As the owner and operator of the Golden Goose gambling den, Glenn preferred to keep a closer eye on his establishment than most. That meant he was here every night, playing the role of bartender and preparing to step in to settle any disputes or oust any cheaters when the occasion arose. I'd always respected the hands on approach and the toughness which the man had to back it up. But he had never respected my father or, by extension, me. I couldn't blame him, knowing the disreputable arrangements my father was always engaging in with the owners of London's seediest gambling halls.

I took my time looking around his place, taking in the peeling wallpaper and the shattered lanterns on more than a few tables, and nodded slowly.

"Seems like it," I drawled, keeping my hands casually in my pockets, my body language relaxed, unthreatened, unruffled. I'd learned that from my father when I was old enough to comprehend a basic sentence. Stay calm, stay collected, never let them see how badly you need it. "Still, my men could provide even more assurance, take on your security concerns, particularly on busier nights. Then you'd be free to enjoy time with your family or, perhaps, make some repairs around the place."

I gave a pointed glance to the pitiful lantern guttering upon a table nearby and Glenn's lips fell into a firm line. Jack Fleming shuffled uneasily on his feet beside me, giving a little cough of warning. Insulting a man's place of business wasn't exactly high on the list of things to do during a negotiation. I did not say a word to Jack but he saw the tick in my jaw all the same and I saw him straighten up out of the corner of my eye and knew he'd gotten the message. We were doing things my way now, a different way. He would either get used to it or get out. I'd given he and Philip Kelley, on my other side, as well as a dozen other men who had managed to escape the investigation into my family's affairs this past year, the same choice. All of them had chosen to rejoin me, to follow me and see where I might take them.

"Don't have a family," Glenn muttered now with a shrug. "And don't plan to. As for repairs, I can hire that out if I have a need to. "Better to hire a repairman than a thug."

I opened my mouth to answer but, at that moment, a raucous brawl broke out behind us. Two men lunged for each other over a card table, one of them getting his hands around the other's throat before the latter could make an offensive move himself. Glenn cursed and reached under the bar for his shotgun which he leveled at the two fighters over the bar itself. Jack, Philip, and I stepped casually out of the way, watching with almost bored expressions as the men at the card table tried to kill each other.

"Knock it off, the both of you!" Glenn shouted but the men were too far gone and his warning fell on deaf ears. He cursed and slammed the shotgun down on the counter, rounding it and storming over to them. I reached for the first one, the one with his hands around his opponent's throat, and attempted to pull him off of his other patron. But the man only released the other's neck long enough to throw an elbow in Glenn's direction. The owner took a hard shot to the chest and went down on his behind in a huff.

I snapped my fingers and Jack and Philip moved. They strode easily to the two men brawling on the floor and lifted them by the scruff of their necks, pulling them apart as if they were no more than ragdolls. I raised a brow and turned to Glenn.

"A monthly payment of a set amount to be negotiated at a later date," I drawled. "No more taking a percentage of your earnings. It's unfair and it motivates you to lie. This is your business. You run it. Let my guys do what they do and pay their salary. That's all I ask."

Jack reached out a hand, helping Glenn to his feet as Philip pushed and shoved the fighting men out to the back alley. Glenn sniffed, rubbing an arm under his nose, and gave a single, curt nod.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Casey," I said, nodding back to him myself and buttoning my lapel as I strode toward the back alley door, Jack following in my wake. "Again."

We met Philip out on the street behind the Golden Goose a minute later. The two brawlers stood nearby but waited until the door behind us was closed to speak.

"Hell, Frank, you didn't have to damn near choke me to death," my man, Jimmy said, rubbing his throat and hissing in pain.

"Had to look convincing," Frank replied with a shrug as Philip smiled, shaking his head.

"You didn't have to convince me," Jimmy argued.

"Well done, men," I told them. "We got the contract."

They grinned at me, Jimmy still rubbing his neck. He'd have a bruise tomorrow without a doubt.

"What now, boss?" Jimmy asked, always the more talkative as the two.

"Hang around Bethnal Green tomorrow. I might have use of you."

They nodded, grinning like madmen, as I walked away from them, heading back down the alley to the main street beyond. Jack and Philip followed without a word, abandoning my side only when I crossed into the wealthier part of town where I would not need their guarding and where their tattered overcoats and scruffy beards would stand out among polite society. They left me with only a nod in my direction before striding off to wherever they had been staying during their months of unemployment. I had no doubt it was some hovel or other and, while I had every intention to pay them a fair wage once everything was in order, I was still firmly mired in the phase of rebuilding a business and couldn't risk being seen to entertain unscrupulous thugs at my father's estate again after having just returned from a mysterious absence abroad.

I knew the police were still watching me. I couldn't see how they wouldn't be given the fact that I was the only member of my family they hadn't been able to stick any evidence against in order to put away like the others. My theory was proven the moment I stepped into my family home to find Chief Detective Ryland standing amongst the servants stripping the wallpaper and removing the furniture. He turned his gaze away from a maid carrying a bucket of paint into the dining room and looked to me as I entered.

"Aiming for a change?" he asked, brow raised.

"Something like that," I answered.

He nodded, watching as two more servants lifted the couch and carried it away.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of having the Chief Detective of the London police in my home?" I asked when it was clear that he wasn't planning on volunteering the information himself.

"You know, I was the one who led the investigation against your family, don't you?"

"I know."

"With assistance from Miss Porter and Mr. Langley."

Hardly any from Langley, I thought, but decided it best not to speak that particular comment aloud.

"Now that you're back," Ryland continued, ignoring my obvious disdain for the subject of the conversation. "I felt compelled to come and see you myself. And to warn you. We're keeping an eye on you, Mr. Keene. On all your comings and goings, on whatever business you choose to engage in now that you're back. I hope that it's all on the up and up, that you're planning to make something legal out of all these riches around you."

The Chief Detective glanced up at the dangling crystal chandelier.

"You have nothing to worry about with me, Chief Detective," I told him because I had to, because there was nothing else to say, and because I knew he wouldn't believe me no matter what I said. I was a Keene after all.

Ryland nodded slowly, watching me as if he could see the truth of every deception written plain across my face.

"I hope that's the case," he told me, slowly. And then his expression fell grave, his friendly smile faltering. "Alexander Langley and Charlotte Porter mean something to me, to this city. So if you have a mind for vengeance–"

"I would never hurt Charlotte," I growled.

"No," he agreed, nodding. "But that wasn't the full scope of what I said, was it?"

Langley. He wanted me to promise him I wouldn't seek revenge from the man who belonged to the woman I loved, the man who had ruined everything I had ever had and taken her as well.

I said nothing. I wouldn't make that promise. The Chief Detective knew I wouldn't. So, with nothing left to say between us, he sighed.

"We'll be watching, Camden," he reminded me with a frown, donning his hat as he strode toward my front door and stepped out into the blinding sunlight beyond.

Ryland's words bounced around in my head even after he was gone. I clenched my fists at my sides, furious that he would have the audacity to come here, that he would even suggest I would ever go after Charlotte, ever try to harm her. And that pitiful, knowing look in his eyes. As if he understood my suffering, as if he knew what it was like to love someone who didn't love you back and to be betrayed by her so spectacularly. I clenched my fists, I grit my teeth. But it wasn't enough. With a howl of rage, I kicked the paint bucket nearest me. It toppled, white liquid running over the stained wood floors, ruining it like everything else about this house had so thoroughly ruined me.

A maid gasped and then ran forward to right the bucket, to clean the mess. I held up a hand to stop her.

"Leave it," I commanded and then whirled on my feet and made my way up the stairs to my back.