Peter Hancock

It’s 1928, and people are living large. Why? Because they can.Dancing and partying—the only problem? Alcohol isn’t allowed. That’s right, alcohol has been banned.The making, the selling, and, of course,the drinking.Peter sat in a hidden bar, cigarette in hand, whiskey in the other.He watched as people drank their money away. Once, he had been a poor man,without a single penny to his name.Now, he was rich and powerful.Bringing the cigarette to his lips, he took a slow puff, a smirk forming as more people entered his domain.Who would have thought a guy in his early twenties could rise to success so quickly? His men,hired to keep things running smoothly,escorted drunks out and ensured their location remained safe.He was getting bored when one of his new clients walked in."How can I help you?"His voice was smooth, his presence commanding.He was easy on the eyes, and he knew it.The deal was simple—hide an illegal transport of goods.Since he was good at it, and it helped him expand, he had no qualms.His business? Transportation and alcohol.But he was already thinking about new ventures.His latest project, a warehouse to store his merchandise, was underway.He had named it Hancock Dock.The name made him proud.The music shifted, pulling his attention.Rising from He looked up— her.He rubbed his lower lip,the cigarette still between his fingers.With a sharp whistle,he signaled to his men.Leaning in, his voice was low as he whispered instructions, his eyes never leaving her."A pretty lady after my own heart," he mused, placing the cigarette between his lips.Overdramatic as ever, he brought a hand to his chest in mock swoon.His men disappeared into the crowd, but anyone watching knew he had whispered something.important.Smoke thickened in the air, mingling with laughter, shouting, and jazz filling the room.It felt like nothing in the world was wrong.His gaze tracked her, intoxicating.He felt drunk, and he hadn’t even finished his drink. Rising from his seat, he followed.