Glacier Club

At two in the morning, a stretch Lincoln sat beneath the flickering streetlights at the entrance to Bowery Street.

A man holding an umbrella stood by the hood, smoking and occasionally glancing at his watch.

Before long, two figures emerged from the curtain of rain.

"Nice weather today."

"A damn fine day of sunshine and gentle breezes."

William, who was walking ahead, gave the answering password.

"You're finally here. Your clothes are ready. Change into them."

The man hurried over and pulled the car door open.

His eyebrows twitched hard twice as he watched their mud-smeared leather shoes step onto the car's carpet.

"Don't forget to put the hoods on, too."

Before driving off, the man reminded them once more.

Half an hour later, the car stopped outside a club in the Diamond District.

William and Stuart climbed out. In their suits and polished shoes, they looked no different from the wealthy patrons coming and going, except perhaps for the black hoods over their heads, covering their eyes and ears and leaving only their mouths and noses exposed.

A group of burly men took charge of them, sweeping detectors over their bodies. Once they were cleared, the men opened the door and let them through.

Unable to see, William found his hearing especially sensitive.

The patter of rain on the roof disappeared. As the door opened, a growing bass beat gradually took over his eardrums.

He walked forward with security guiding him, passing wafts of perfume and stale alcohol, along with the soft scrape of playing cards against tables.

As the elevator doors closed, the men's chuckles and women's coy, ingratiating voices were shut outside.

When his hood was pulled off, a young man with slicked-back brown hair stood before him.

His cream-colored suit stood out sharply in the dark red private room.

Was he Maroni?

No. The voice on the phone had been relaxed and raspy, the kind of sound that only came from vocal cords loosened by age.

Of course, what he wanted to know more urgently was where Stuart had gone.

William looked around.

"You're awfully cold. Do I have to greet you first?"

William heard the superiority in his tone and answered with a curt question.

"Where's my man?"

"That fellow hasn't earned the right to take part in this conversation... Still, I'm very interested in who he is. A new lackey you picked up in the slums?" The young man paced around William with his hands behind his back, making no attempt to conceal the contempt in his eyes.

"My dear little brother, aren't you getting ahead of yourself? Father only said he might restore your surname. He never said he would hand you the family and its businesses. So eager to recruit your own men-what ambitions are you hiding?"

So he was an impatient mob princeling, worried that a bastard son would steal his position.

Having worked out who he was, William saw even less reason to be pleasant.

He promptly found a seat, crossed his legs, and rested his interlaced fingers on his knee.

Charloes Maroni's expression turned ugly. Until now, William had always been ingratiating around him, begging him to put in a good word with their father.

Now, after landing nothing more than a thankless assignment, he had somehow found the nerve to put on airs in front of him.

"William Hans!"

He put extra emphasis on the surname.

"Don't forget where you came from."

"I hear people keep talking about whatever they lack. Bloodline, birth-you've brought them up more than once. Does the Maroni Family's bloodline make you feel inferior?"

Charloes was momentarily lost for words.

His instinct was to explain the superiority of his bloodline, but doing so would only let William dictate the conversation.

That would run counter to his original intention of putting William in his place and asserting his authority.

He struggled to steady his breathing, but his trembling body betrayed the impulses inside him.

Maroni watched all of this from the adjoining room.

He had only gone to use the bathroom, yet had unexpectedly witnessed this clash between the brothers.

A flicker of excitement passed through the fat man's eyes.

He suddenly realized that the bastard son he had once despised and loathed seemed to have a side he had never known.

Whatever the truth, however, he had to intervene in this covert struggle. Otherwise, Charloes-the successor he had painstakingly groomed for years-was about to lose.

The concealed door swung open.

Sal Maroni held a hot towel, slowly and elegantly wiping each finger.

What William saw was a man who radiated danger.

Maroni was short, stocky, and solidly built, his neck almost merging with his shoulders. Apart from the rose tattoo on the inside of his wrist, his most striking feature was his pair of cauliflower ears.

Cauliflower ears were also known as boxer's ears. Only years of street fights or boxing training, with cartilage shattered and rebuilt, could forge such twisted, vicious-looking ears.

Charloes lowered his head and stepped aside. William also stood to show respect.

"Sit down. Pour yourself a drink! You're home here. Make yourself comfortable."

Maroni walked to the desk beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, clipped the end off a cigar, and lit it.

As his first draw made the cigar glow, lightning streaked through the dark clouds.

"I heard Norman came to see you. Sneak into Falcone's cocktail party and steal a document-that's the job he gave you, isn't it?"

William nodded.

"That document records his dealings with Falcone over the years. My guess is he's lined his pockets enough and wants to escape Falcone's control."

"What would you like me to do?"

"Bring it to me, and tell Norman the plan failed."

"You want to use it to bring Norman down, but that will inevitably put me under suspicion and investigation." William voiced his concern, and Charloes shot him an incredulous look.

Had this brat gotten so full of himself after accepting one undercover assignment that he dared question Father?

Fortunately, Maroni showed no sign of anger.

"Yes, but don't forget that the whole point of putting you undercover in the police was to bring Norman down. This is a shortcut. Once you finish the job, you can return to the family..."

Maroni stood and slowly walked over to William.

"Hold out your hand."

He looked directly into William's eyes and gave the order in a tone that brooked no argument.

William obeyed, and a burning cigar tip was pressed into his palm.

Hiss!

His eyebrows twitched with the searing pain, but he did not pull his hand back.

"Remember, this is only a little warning. Never question my decisions."

Maroni leaned close to William's ear.

One moment, his eyes had narrowed with a vicious gleam; the next, he was smiling again, taking William by the hand and leading him to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He took out gauze and antiseptic to clean and bandage William's hand.

Combining kindness with intimidation was certainly an effective tactic. No wonder Charloes had been molded into such a twisted, jealous creature.

Maroni understood human nature and knew how to control his subordinates, yet knew nothing about raising his children.

Of course, there was another possibility.

This was exactly the result he wanted: the feeling of controlling everything, whether the other person was a subordinate or his child.

"Now let's deal with the second matter and see whether this little sidekick of yours is reliable."

Maroni clapped his hands, and security pushed a hooded man into the room.

"Mmph... mmph!!"

Muffled whimpers came from beneath the hood.

Charloes could not hold back a derisive snort.

Maroni, too, raised his eyebrows smugly.

"He seems to have a lot to say. Let's hear him out."

Maroni crooked a finger, and the hood was yanked off.

The face William saw was unfamiliar.

That wasn't Stuart?!

After a brief moment of shock, his gaze settled on the face of the security guard who stood partly concealed behind the man, his head lowered the whole time.

Beneath the shadow of his cap's brim, Stuart wore a cold sneer.