“Half past twelve,” the voice of Miss Sinclair confirmed on the other end of the telephone line. Her tone carried a haughty quality that Liam would've detested under normal circumstances, but from this young woman it was so obviously a performance that he found himself amused. “Lovely. Looking forward to it. Bye, then.”

The line went dead.

Liam stared at the receiver in his hand, nonplussed. She'd hung up. That prim, proper little toff had hung up on him. Him. William Mercer. The gall of her. She either had no regard for her own safety, or she had a backbone of steel. Perhaps both.

With an incredulous chuckle, Liam returned the handset to its cradle. “Cheeky girl,” he remarked under his breath.

He lit a cigarette and stood up from his desk, crossing the polished wooden floorboards of his office to the wide second-story windows that overlooked Deansgate. His office in town wasn't as comfortable as his study at Warwick Hall, but the view was certainly more intriguing. Still so early in the morning, and already the street was congested with motor vehicles and pedestrians alike. So many people, so many places to go. Money to make, money to spend, goods and services to exchange. Most of those transactions would occur here, at one of the Mercer family's many businesses. Nearly every business located on Deansgate was owned or operated by the Mercers — though few people in Manchester knew which, how many, or under what names and titles.

That was how Liam liked it. The long arms of his family's influence were felt everywhere, but there was still an air of mystery palpable enough to keep people guessing. Never show all your cards, Liam's father had habitually recited, before he took off for good. Keep 'em wonderin' if ya got that royal flush.

A compulsive gambler of fate as well as money, Liam's father had accomplished fuck all since his accidental formation of the Deansgate Streeters all those years ago. Not a man to be looked up to. Still, his advice had stuck. As a result, Liam preferred to show as few of his figurative cards as possible. Not even Ransom and Jackson knew about every ace up his sleeve.

Leopold Rothschild had provided one such ace the previous evening. A very telling ace. Rose Sinclair was in for a surprise.

A sharp knock sounded on the door.

“Aye?” Liam called out, puffing on his cigarette.

The door opened and the sight of a tall, leggy brunette greeted him. She tossed her head and strode across the threshold, a pile of notes in hand. “G'morning, Liam,” she said in her typical brusque voice. “Enjoy your impromptu day off yesterday?”

“Mornin', Kitty,” he greeted his secretary. He shook his head at her choice of words; her brash mouth knew no limits. “Didn't ‘enjoy’ it, no. Had some business to attend to.”

“Business that had to be conducted away from your businesses?” she questioned, not bothering to mask the judgment in her tone. “You're takin' the piss. That's a day off.”

“What good is it bein' your own boss if ya can't take an unplanned holiday on occasion?” Liam posed. He exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. “I'm me own boss, Kitty. I'm your boss, too. Remember that? So, leave the attitude at your flat and tell me what I missed.”

“Ya missed plenty,” she stated. With a dramatic flourish, she released the stack of papers from her hand, causing a conspicuous smack of impact as they hit the surface of his desk. “Got enough telephone messages there to keep ya busy all day. Mostly questions and RSVPs for your fundraising benefit. Plus a heap o' documents for ya to sign regarding the ownership merger with Holcroft Distillery. Hope ya weren't planning to step outside these four walls before closin' time, 'cause that ain't happening.”

“Got a lunch appointment,” Liam said simply.

Kitty balked. “Lunch appointment? What're you on about? There's nothin' in your appointment diary for the lunch hour.”

“Just came up,” he said, offering her a blasé shrug in the stead of an explanation. “Spur o' the moment type thing.”

She made a little disgruntled sound through her nose and tossed her head. “Whatever ya say, Will. You're the boss. Speakin' of, your first appointment is here. Did y'know Mickey Sullivan was back in town?”

“Aye,” Liam said, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk. “He's late, in fact. Was s'posed to be back a week ago.”

“Havin' too much fun drinkin' and whorin' in the States and missed his steamer?” Kitty guessed.

“That's what I'd wager, aye,” Liam replied. “Never could trust Mickey to be punctual.”

“He's been on the other side of the Atlantic for ages, it seems,” Kitty remarked, her hand on her jutted hip. “Can't remember the last time I saw him.”

“I can,” Liam muttered. Mickey was a devoted worker and ally, but he possessed an odd brand of barmy energy that always drained Liam. Therefore, when Liam had needed one of his boys to go to the States for reconnaissance on the Prohibition, Mickey had been the obvious choice. “Send him in, eh?”

“Won't be a moment,” Kitty acceded as she made her way toward the door. At the threshold she paused and turned back. “Oh, nearly forgot: the factory on Bridgewater Canal had another resignation yesterday. Marty Cole. Young chap. Y'know him?”

“Aye,” Liam said, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “Strong lad. Lotta energy. He resigned?”

“He did,” Kitty confirmed.

“Why?”

“Couldn't say,” she answered with a shrug. “When I asked him, he was real tight-lipped about it. Simply said that he got a better offer and had to do right by his family.”

“Better offer,” Liam repeated, his tone flat. “Heard that one before.”

Kitty watched him from the office doorway, her expression cautious. “He went to work for James Gallagher, y'think?”

Liam's eyes hardened. “Aye. That's what I think.”

“Hm. Gallagher gonna become a problem, y'think?”

“He already is, Kitty,” Liam responded, his tone terse. “Y'know as well as I do. But he's a problem for another day. Send Mickey in.”

“Sure thing, Will,” Kitty said. With a swift nod, she departed.

Driven to distraction, Liam took a seat in the leather chair behind his desk and ran his hand along his jawline. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. James Gallagher and his goddamn operation. In town less than six months, and the man already had an automotive factory, a textile mill, a gambling den, three pubs, and who knew what else to his name. Where the hell had he come from? And where did he get off poaching workers from the Mercer family businesses? Liam had attempted to set up a meeting with him on more than one occasion. Gallagher had declined, stating he was ‘too busy.’

At that moment, Kitty reappeared in the doorway, Mickey Sullivan by her side. He wore a tweed suit jacket and matching tie, and pulled the newsboy cap from his head as soon as he saw Liam.

“Mickey for ya, Liam,” Kitty announced.

“Much obliged, Kitty,” Liam replied.

“Many thanks, milady,” Mickey quipped, a wide, boisterous grin on his round face. He attempted to kiss Kitty's hand, but she snatched it back and pivoted out of his reach. Making no effort to be subtle, Mickey watched her backside as she strode away.

“Shut the door and sit down, Mickey,” Liam instructed.

Mickey did as he was told, all the while letting out a piercing whistle. “That Kitty Ross workin' as yo' secretary?” he asked, grin still firmly in place.

“Y'know it is,” Liam responded, suppressing an eye-roll.

“Almost didn't recognize her, what with that modest dress on!” Mickey declared. He wiggled his bushy eyebrows and took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Liam's desk. “She cleans up nice, eh? Who'd have thought? Bet she's still more fun after business hours than during, though, yeah? Bet she stays late for ya some nights, does she? Lucky bastard!”

Liam felt his eye twitch. Mickey had been in the room with him for less than a minute, and he was already exhausted. “Kitty doesn't do that kind o' work anymore, Mickey. She's done with it.”

“All of it?” Mickey asked. He blinked stupidly. “Even for you?”

“And what's that s'posed to mean, eh?”

“Oi, Liam, c'mon now. Everyone this side o' the River Irwell knows she's always carried a torch for ya,” Mickey said. “Any man could buy her for an hour, but she woulda fucked you for free.”

Liam loosed an impatient sigh. “That's enough, Mickey. Kitty is me secretary now. Runs me office. Nothin' more.”

“Right. Good. Shame, though. Bloody shame, takin' a workin' girl that talented off the street. Flexible she was! Creative, too,” Mickey reminisced, running his index finger across the stubble on his chin. “Spent alotta quid on her over the years, no mistake. Worth every shilling, too... But, oi! Good on you, Will! Givin' her a reputable job an' all. Good on you. And her, for keepin' it.”

“Glad ya approve of my hiring decisions, Mickey,” Liam said, his tone flat. “I'll sleep better from now on.”

Mickey cleared his throat and offered Liam a sheepish smile. “Erm, yeah, sorry 'bout that, Will. Sorry. Got carried away. Bein' in the States so long, y'know, been missin' British women.”

“And you can buy yo'self a British woman as soon as ya leave, Mickey,” Liam sighed. “But right now I need to hear about your time in the States. What ya gleaned regardin' Prohibition most of all.”

“Right! Yeah! O'course,” Mickey agreed. “Got all the information ya want. First of all, you were right: people drink more 'cause of the ban on alcohol, not less. Underground speakeasy pubs everywhere, if ya know where to look or who to ask. And the women! Fuck, Liam! They drink as much as the men! More, some of 'em. Seem to like the clear liquors, though. Prefer gin and vodka to whiskey and bourbon. Your gin'll sell like hotcakes over there, I reckon!”

Liam leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his midsection. “Good to hear.”

“Liquor production is dicey in the States, so the owners of these underground establishments are keen on overseas partnerships,” Mickey continued. He reached into the lapel pocket of his suit jacket and fished out a small leather notebook. “These bootleggers specifically are interested in buyin' from ya,” he said, opening the notebook and showing Liam a list of names and telephone numbers. “Mostly in New York and Boston. They go through booze like the world's endin', Will. Ya wouldn’t believe how much!”

Liam perused the list with a nod of affirmation. “Good. Well done, Mickey,” he praised his crewman. “Timing couldn't be better. We're just a couple days away from finalizing our merger with Holcroft Distillery. We'll be manufacturing gin by the barrel in their cellar come the end of the week.”

“Brilliant!” Mickey declared. “So soon? How'd ya pull that off, eh?”

A small, pleased smile broke the solemn line of Liam's lips. “Had Jackson marry Edmond Holcroft's daughter,” he disclosed. “Apparently, the sweet young lass had some trouble keepin' her legs together, as bored, rich girls often do. Her parents wanted an advantageous marriage for her before it got out to polite society that she was ‘damaged goods.’ So, Mr. Holcroft is now Jackson's father-in-law, and my business partner.”

Mickey's eyes bulged to twice their normal size, and he slapped his knee in hilarity. “Goddamn, Liam! That's brilliant! More impressive even than you matchin' Ransom up with Salvatore Ginovesi's daughter.”

Liam tipped his head in recognition. “Only thing better than a lucrative marriage between people is a lucrative marriage between businesses. These powerful men with only daughters are at a disadvantage, as their daughters can't inherit. Their sons-in-law, however, can. And I got brothers and cousins in spades.”

Ever the Merry Andrew, Mickey grinned and bobbed his head up and down with comical vigor. “Happy to lend a helpin' hand, ain't ya, Will?”

“O'course,” Liam drawled.

“The Ginovesi arrangement workin' out alright?”

“Winning situation for everyone,” Liam confirmed. “Peace established between our two families, the Ginovesis receive protection for their people and textile mills, and we receive a hefty cut of their textile profit each month. Some of my most inspired work, if I do say so me'self.”

At that moment, there was a sharp rap on the door, and Kitty poked her head in. “Liam, your brothers are here.”

“Not late for once. Good,” Liam remarked.

“Mmm.” Kitty grimaced and lowered her voice to a hiss. “Jackson brought his wife.”

Liam expelled an irritated huff. “O'course he did. She insisted on taggin' along, I'm sure.” He ran his hand across his brow. “Alright, Kitty. Send Ransom and Jackson in. Keep the newest Mrs. Mercer entertained at your desk, will ya?”

“Keep her entertained?” Kitty scoffed. “For fuck's sake, Liam. What am I s'posed to do with Tuppence-bloody-Holcroft-Mercer? Child care ain't part of my job!”

“Child care?” Mickey repeated, his head swiveling back and forth. “Just how young is this bird?”

Liam ignored him in lieu of fixing his secretary with a hard stare. “Kitty…” he cautioned.

“Ugh, alright, alright,” Kitty relented. “But ya owe me an extra hour's wages.” With a significant eye-roll, she vanished from sight.

A moment later, Liam's two younger brothers strode through the door, removing the fedoras from their heads in practiced unison.

“Will!” Ransom bellowed in greeting, throwing his arms wide. “Alright? Oi, and Mickey Sullivan? Who let this wanker in here?”

Mickey jumped up from his seat and engulfed Ransom in a brotherly hug. “Ransom! Been too long!” he declared. Releasing Ransom, he then embraced Jackson. “Jackie-boy! Heard I missed yo' wedding! My condolences and tardy congratulations!”

Jackson's clean-shaven face broke into his signature grin, and he slapped Mickey on the back with exuberance. “Thanks, mate! Ya didn't miss anythin' ya woulda enjoyed, though. Too many toffs, not enough booze.”

“Get bent!” Mickey cried, incredulous. “Not enough booze? At the wedding of a family that owns a distillery?”

“Ironic, ain't it?” Jackson asked with a smirk. “But it's the truth.”

“Honest truth,” Ransom piled on. “Band was all hoity-toity, too. No good for dancin'. Was bored off me arse! Me wife liked it, o'course. Y'know how Italians are; they'll dance to anything.”

“Bollocks to that,” Mickey declared, shaking his head. “What about this bird, then, Jack? Married life treatin' ya alright?”

Ransom began to guffaw, hearty and loud, but Jackson pulled a face.

“Tuppence is one o' the most irksome girls I've ever met in me life,” he stated. “Like bein' married to a show poodle. Never stops yappin'. Wants to follow me everywhere. Though half the time I think it's just 'cause she's sweet on Liam.”

From his chair behind the desk, Liam let out a little sniff of impatience. The fact that his brother's new wife fancied him was no secret. Tuppence made little effort to conceal her attraction, watching Liam with wide, lovestruck eyes whenever they occupied the same room, whether or not Jackson was present. Even after the arrangements had been finalized, she'd boldly asked why she and Liam couldn't be wed, as he was a widower, and therefore unattached. It was his widowed status that had ultimately saved him from the spoiled, vapid chit, as Mr. Holcroft agreed with Liam that it was ‘unseemly’ for him to marry again so soon after the death of his wife.

Ransom would've been the most obvious choice in Liam's stead, but his marriage to Luisa Ginovesi was widespread knowledge.

Jackson, however, was not and had never been married. Although thirty to her nineteen, he was the closest of the Mercer brothers to Tuppence in age, and the least likely to lose his temper with the antics of the juvenile heiress. Perfect solution.

Ransom was still in the midst of his taunting chortles. “For how much she gets under your skin, ya sure seem to like fuckin' her a lot, Jack!” he announced, elbowing Jackson in the ribs.

Jackson swatted his arm away. “Keep your voice down! And what the hell else am I s'posed to do with her, eh?” he prompted. “She ain't exactly a sparkling conversationalist. I'd have an easier time tryin' to discuss business with Liam's son!”

Liam tilted his head to the side. “My son is three.”

“Exactly my point!” Jackson cried. “Y'see the problem?”

This only made Ransom laugh harder. “Sounds like she's perfect for ya! Couple o' attractive, vain dimwits!”

“Vain?!” Jackson repeated. “That's rich! Who you callin' vain, Ransom?”

Next to Ransom, Mickey indulged in a chuckle at Jackson's expense, as well. “Ya do spend more time on that hair o' yours than any girl I know!”

“Shove off! Me?” Jackson cried. He reached up and ran his hand over his freshly groomed blonde locks. “What about Ransom? He's got a separate comb just for his bloody mustache!”

“I do! Honest truth!” Ransom confirmed. “Tiny thing. Carry it 'round right here in me pocket!”

“Pretty boys, the whole lot o' ya!” Mickey proclaimed. He pivoted in a circle, pointing to each of the Mercer brothers in turn.

Liam cleared his throat. “Fascinating as this kind o' womanly gossip is, ya think we can get back to the matter at hand?”

His brothers and Mickey stared at him like he'd spoken a foreign language, and Liam suppressed a sigh. If not for his own personal ambition and intellect driving the family businesses toward legitimacy, he and the men in his employ would still be the Deansgate Streeters. Nothing more. A common street gang strong-arming their way through obstacles for a series of small, illegal victories. With the lone exception of his elder sister, Liam's family and mates didn't share his hunger to conquer. However, in battle there were generals and there were foot soldiers. The foot soldiers required constant orders to reach their potential, but could be every bit as useful in attaining the preferred outcome.

“Aye. Whatever ya like, Liam,” Ransom agreed, his heavy brow creased in confusion. “What...was the topic at hand?”

“Women?” Jackson guessed.

“Personal groomin'?” Mickey suggested.

“Nah, wait... Drinkin'!” Ransom exclaimed, looking quite proud of himself.

Liam ran his hand down his face. “Cold, colder, and lukewarm,” he deadpanned, pointing at Jackson, then Mickey, then Ransom. “We need to finish discussing the merger with Holcroft Distillery, and our off-book gin production in their lower levels.”

“Right,” Jackson said, his head bobbing up and down in remembrance. “Right! Why wait to get our own liquor manufacturing license when we can piggyback on the Holcroft's. Right, Will?”

“So, you were paying attention,” Liam remarked. “Good. Have a seat, lads. I want us all on the same page before we leave this room.”

【♜】【♞】【♟】

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ VOTE! ☆