Copyright

Published by AVON

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

A Paperback Original 2019

Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2019

Design by Alison Groom © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photographs: Portrait © Nick Starichenko / Shutterstock

Background © Shutterstock

Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the publishers.

Source ISBN: 9780008287313

E-book Edition © January 2019 ISBN: 9780008287320

Version: 2018-12-13

Dedication

To everyone who has experienced loss

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Lex Talionis

Epigraph

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part Two

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

One Week Later

Chapter 55

Acknowledgments

Exclusive Extract of Sinner

About the Author

Also by Jacqui Rose

About the Publisher

Lex Talionis

You must show no pity. Your rule should be life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.

Deuteronomy 19:21

PROLOGUE
Alcuni anni fa …

Some years ago …

Standing by the grave in the pouring rain, Alfie Jennings felt the cold droplets running down his neck and inside his coat collar. He turned slowly to his friend Abel Gray, who until recently had been an unshakable force, a powerhouse amongst men. Wealthy and driven, a man at the top of his game. Selling and supplying weapons, Abel had been ruthless when it mattered, when he had to be, but at heart he was loyal and generous. But as Alfie looked at his face, drawn and haunted, he could see Abel now was nothing but a broken man.

‘Are you going to be all right, Abel? Cos I can stay if you like.’

‘I’ll be fine, Alfie, I’d rather be left on my own anyway, but I appreciate you coming.’ Abel paused as he reached out to touch the headstone gently. His voice hoarse, he added, ‘We both do.’

Alfie shrugged uncomfortably. He was the only one who had come; over the last few months, Abel through his trauma and sorrow had pushed everyone away who cared, but Alfie was determined Abel wouldn’t do that to him, no matter what he said, no matter what he did.

The two of them went back a long way, first business associates before becoming firm friends, so there’d been no question of him not making the trip to Abel’s isolated thirty-acre country home. The estate, which sat on top of a hill, was tucked away in the New Forest of southern Hampshire, and Abel had insisted the burial take place within the grounds. But it still cut Alfie up to see him like this. The once physically imposing presence, the once sharp mind, all felt like they were crumbling, fading away in front of his very eyes. Sighing, he gave his friend a sad smile.

‘I’ll get off then, but Abel, if you need me, you know where I am mate. It don’t matter what time of night or day it is, just call … And I’m sorry, truly I am. She was really special.’

As Alfie Jennings walked out of sight, Abel dropped to his knees, tears and rain mixing in the wet earth as he began to scrape away at the soil of the freshly filled grave. ‘No, no, no, no, no, baby, no, it’s all right, I’m here, I’m here … I’m coming, Natalia. I’m here.’

And as the rain poured down and Abel frantically dug, his fingers beginning to bleed, he remembered that night as if it were only yesterday.

‘I’ll ask you again, what did you do with my money?’

Panicked and desperate, Abel shook his head, his vision blurred as he stared through the stream of blood that ran from his head. ‘I told you, I don’t have it, I’ve no idea where it is.’

Nico Russo pulled out a blue handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed away the beads of sweat that sat on his olive skin like dewdrops. His eyes as dark as ravens, he gazed impassively at Abel, bloodied and tied to the chair. He spoke again, his voice unnervingly calm, heavy with a North Jersey–Italian twang. ‘You need to speak up, I can’t hear you, but it sounded like you were saying you don’t have my money.’

With blood bubbling from the side of his mouth and the gash so deep on his forehead the bone of his skull was exposed underneath the flapping skin, Abel spluttered his words through lips that had been carved wide open, fear wrapping round him like a tight restraint. ‘I don’t! I don’t have it, Nico! I never did!’

‘Is that right?’

Abel nodded, flinching at the pain shooting through his body. He looked at Nico, pleading with him, desperate to persuade him somehow that he was telling the truth. ‘Please, I swear. I can’t tell you something I don’t know.’

Nico Russo, a second-generation Italian-American who was built as powerfully as a herculean god, shrugged, his mop of unruly curly black hair pushed back far enough for Abel to see the deep lines of a frown appear. ‘If that’s the way you want it, so be it.’

‘It’s the truth, Nico!’

As he walked closer to Abel, Nico’s words were rolled in sadness. ‘You’ve been like family to me, and that’s why this hurts me so much.’

‘Nico, please, I’m telling—’

Nico’s fist swung hard, striking and perforating Abel’s eardrum. He breathed heavily and raised his hand to point at Abel. ‘Never interrupt me, you know better than to show a lack of respect like that. Non mancarmi mai di rispetto. Never disrespect me. You understand? Never ever. Mai e poi mai.’

Agony shot through Abel as he felt the warm fluids drain out of his ear and down the side of his face. Barely capable of moving his head from the pain, Abel muttered his reply in Nico’s mother tongue.

‘Sì. Sì.’

‘Good. However, that still leaves us with the problem of where my money is. So, you give me no choice … Salvatore! Salvatore!’

The wooden door to the cabin opened a few moments later. Salvatore Russo’s features were more delicate than his elder brother’s, but there was no mistaking the prominent sharp nose that determined the Russo family bloodline.

‘Sì, Nico?’

Nico smiled, something he rarely did and rarely cared to do. ‘You can bring it in now. Let’s have some fun.’

With hatred and fear burning in him, Abel watched as Salvatore, always eager to please his older brother, nodded. ‘Okay. No problem, Nico.’

As Salvatore stepped outside again, Nico turned back to Abel. ‘You’ve no one to blame but yourself. It pains me, but I won’t let anybody, not even you, who I loved like my own brother, steal from me.’

‘I told you—’ Abel’s words were cut short as a woman was dragged inside by her hair and flung to the ground, knocking over one of the wooden chairs in the sparse, dimly lit cabin. She scrabbled to the back of the room and pushed herself up against the wall.

Nico turned to her and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. ‘Natalia, it’s good to see you, though these are difficult times we all find ourselves in, but I hope we can come to some sort of an arrangement soon. How is your mother, by the way? I hope she got the flowers I sent her last week.’

Terror rushed through Abel. ‘Let her go! Let her go! I told you, I don’t know where your fucking money is! Jesus Christ, Nico, you sick bastard!’

Nico, bending down to Natalia – whose face, along with her clothes, was covered in blood – stroked her hair, whispering softly. ‘Natalia, you know what needs to happen now, don’t you, but all this could’ve been avoided if he’d only told me what I want to know.’

‘Please, please, Nico, let me go!’

Nico pressed his fingers against her lips. ‘Natalia, it’s no good begging me. It’s out of my hands now. It’s him. Your fiancé you need to beg. Why don’t you ask him to tell me where he’s put it, Natalia? Then all this can just go away.’

Trembling, Natalia stared at Abel, her eyes filled with fear. ‘Just tell him. Tell him what he wants, Abel. Tell him where the money is.’

Nico gestured, chuckling. ‘You heard the lady, tell me.’

Tears rolled down Abel’s face as he stared at Natalia, love and anguish ripping through his body. ‘I don’t have it! I never did! I swear, Natalia! Nico, please don’t do this! Do what you want with me but leave her … Please God, just leave her.’

Nico stared with leisurely contempt. ‘Cosa farai per amore. In Italian that means, what will you do for love? It seems, Natalia, even for love your boyfriend won’t give me back my money. Va bene. All right … Salvatore, care to join me?’

Nico Russo nodded to his brother as he began to undo his trousers as he stood above Natalia. ‘Watch and remember that this was your choice, Abel. All you had to do was tell me the truth. The blame lies with you, and only you.’

‘Don’t you touch her, you hear me? Don’t you fucking touch her!’ Abel struggled against his restraints, each movement sending shooting pains rippling through his body as Natalia, crying and shaking, begged him over and over.

‘Please, Abel, please! Just tell him where the money is! Tell him! Abel, help me! Help me, Abel!’

‘I swear I don’t know, Natalia. Jesus Christ!’

As Nico continued to stand above Natalia smiling, Abel, helpless, stopped struggling, his heart breaking as he realised what was about to happen.

Smirking, Nico spoke in a lulling tone. ‘Now, I want you to be nice, Natalia, you hear me? And Abel, you need to watch this. Don’t close your eyes, because each time you do, I’ll make sure it’ll get a lot worse for her. Capito? Understand? I want you to always remember this.’

Natalia whimpered in terror, then, and without warning, Nico slammed her against the wooden wall. ‘I said, be nice, and then I want you to be nice to my brother Salvatore. Such a pretty little thing, Natalia. You deserve so much better, but in the meantime … Baciami, Natalia. Baciami.’

Natalia stared, frozen.

‘I said, kiss me, Natalia!’

Nico’s fingers caressed her neck as he leant into her chest, kissing it gently.

‘No, Nico! No! Please, don’t! Please … Just tell him! Abel! Abel! Please, just tell him!’

Swallowing his bile, Abel’s voice broke under the weight of his torture. He sobbed as he spoke, crying out. ‘I swear, Natalia, I don’t know … I just don’t know.’

Then, knowing he had no choice but to watch the nightmare unfolding in front of him, Abel whispered, shaking, though his words were drowned out by Natalia’s screams. ‘You shall pay for this, Nico. One day I shall have my revenge. Avrò la mia vendetta.’

Suddenly, Abel’s hand hit something hard, breaking his thoughts, taking him away from the memory that crushed his every breath. With the rain beating down, he brushed off the last bits of soft earth and threw the mud-covered white lilies to one side to reveal the lid of the casket.

‘I’m here, Natalia, I’m here. I won’t leave you in the dark, I promise … I promise.’

And as Abel wept, inconsolable with grief and guilt and love, he gripped the gold handle of the cherry wood casket and began to pull.

Part One

1

Cabhan Morton, a man with trouble on his mind, stepped out from the private luxury wooden lodge into the chill of the summer evening. Shivering in his white linen shirt, he watched the shimmering waters of Grand Lake, nestled at the bottom of the Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.

He let out a long sigh, feeling and pushing down his anxiety as he walked across the deserted glazed timber boardwalk against the backdrop of the snow-tipped mountains. The town of Grand Lake – a tiny community of about five hundred people – was the perfect place, away from prying eyes and ears, for the annual meet-up of the Russo brothers and the extended family. And foolishly, stupidly, through his own doing, he found himself at the heart of them.

If only he’d listened to the warnings; although if he were honest, he’d known the risks of getting involved with the Russos, but at the time he hadn’t cared, hadn’t wanted to listen to anyone. He’d just wanted to escape England then, and all the pain that came with it, but now, now was a different matter.

With his heart rushing in his chest, he glanced back at the lodge, checking no one was coming as he pulled out his phone and dialled a familiar number. He listened as Franny Doyle’s voicemail clicked in straightaway. He needed to speak to her urgently, before it was too late.

‘Franny, it’s me. I’ll try to call you back later, but it’s not looking good at the moment. Seems like Salvatore’s going to make it difficult for me to leave. I’m not sure what I’m going to do … Look, I’ll speak to you soon.’

Scrolling down his contacts, Cabhan hesitated. He stared at Alfie’s number, chewing nervously on his lip. Alfie had been the loudest objector when he’d come to work with the Russos, to the point he’d told him that if Cabhan did join them, Alfie would cut him out of his life, and that’s exactly what had happened. But now he was desperate, so what choice did he have?

Resolute, Cabhan pressed dial, psyching himself up, but this time the phone rang twice before he heard Alfie Jennings chirpily inviting him to leave a message.

Frustrated, he cut off the call as a loud burst of laughter made him spin around. From the shadows, he watched Bobby and Salvatore Russo walking down the stairs of the luxury hideout, deep in conversation.

He’d been here too long. Far too long. And he wanted out, the quicker the better.

There were several reasons why he wanted to go back home, maybe not to Ireland, but at least to England. The main one was to take his beautiful daughter, Alice Rose – the daughter he didn’t know he had until four years ago – away from this life. Because apart from Franny, whom he loved like his own, and Franny’s father, Patrick, Alice, with her gentleness and innocence, was simply the best thing that had ever happened to him. She was by far the best part of him, and he was determined to take her back home to family. To Franny. Even to Alfie. To everything that had once made him feel safe.

Though, trying to get the Russo brothers to let him go was another thing entirely. He knew it’d be at a price, the problem was he wasn’t sure what that price would be, and he didn’t trust them, not one bit. So much so that, much to Alice’s tears and protests, last year he’d moved her from the school she loved to a small, secluded convent in rural Iowa, in secret. Although at the time it’d felt like an extreme measure, somehow the Russos not knowing where Alice was made him feel better, allowing him to sleep at night.

Salvatore’s loud, coarse New Jersey drawl cut through the air.

‘Hey, Cabhan, hey, Cabhan, what the hell are you doing out here? We’ve got our guests to think about.’

‘Just making a call.’

Shrugging, Salvatore looked to his brother Bobby as he continued to speak to Cabhan.

‘You can’t make the call inside? I thought we were all friends here? Family. What’s so goddamn secret you need to hide out here?’

The cold stare Salvatore turned on him made Cabhan feel uneasy. Since he’d told the brothers he’d wanted to leave, suspicion and paranoia had set in, especially with Salvatore, who ran the main branch of the family business along the East Coast.

Cabhan’s soft Irish lilt coated his words as he tried to sound calm.

‘No, not at all, I didn’t want to be rude. I thought I’d just check in with Franny and Alfie, see how they are. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to them. The time difference doesn’t help. Apologies if I was out of line.’

Salvatore, his steroid-pumped muscular frame blocking out the light from the lodge doorway, continued to stare. ‘Give me your phone.’

‘What?’

‘I said, give it me.’

Hesitantly, Cabhan – his face strained, his black velvet skin paling slightly – walked across to Salvatore and placed the phone in his outstretched hand.

He spoke evenly. ‘Like I say, Sal, I was just calling home. See for yourself.’

Salvatore, holding eye contact before breaking it to scroll through Cabhan’s call log, pressed last number redial. Staying silent, he put the phone to his ear, listening as the voicemail clicked in.

‘This is Alfie, I can’t answer right …’

Salvatore’s laugh startled an old man standing by the door. Loud and menacing. He grabbed hold of Cabhan’s shoulders, shaking him hard, pressing his flushed face into Cabhan’s. His breath sweet and sickly, stinking of cigars. ‘See what you’ve done to me, Cabhan, you’ve made me a bag of nerves. All this talk of you wanting to leave makes me edgy. Can’t understand what the problem is. Why the big change? Maybe I should start looking over my shoulder.’

Cabhan, feeling the hard bone of Salvatore’s forehead pushing on the bridge of his nose, knew better than to try to pull away. He also knew better than to show any weakness – showing any sign of fear to the Russos was just an invitation for them to go in with full force. The other thing he knew was that somehow he had to play this perfectly.

Nervously but hoping, praying that it didn’t show, Cabhan kept his voice as light as possible. ‘It’s not personal, Salvatore. You know that. I just miss home. No big deal.’

Salvatore stepped back, looking up into the night sky. ‘Not personal?’

‘That’s right, Sal. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Giving me a job and welcoming me as part of the family, but that’s the point, I miss my family. Franny. Alfie. Like I say, it’s not personal.’

Salvatore nodded, closing his eyes before whipping out a pistol from his pocket, smashing it and pressing it hard into Cabhan’s face. ‘And neither is this.’

Cabhan’s hands shot up in the air as he stumbled back, fear gripping him. ‘Sal, please.’

‘Get on your knees … I said, get on your fucking knees, unless you want me to put a hole in you now.’

‘Sal, please, Jesus Christ, you and me, we go back a long way. Ti rispetto, ti voglio bene, Salvatore, tu e la tua famiglia.’

Another burst of laughter came from Salvatore. ‘You say you respect me? You love me and my family?’

Working hard to push down his panic, Cabhan nodded. ‘I do.’

Salvatore flicked off the safety catch of the gun. ‘Yet you want to leave and go back home. To me that doesn’t sound like a man who loves and has loyalty to his friends. And a man who doesn’t have loyalty is a dangerous enemy.’

Bobby Russo, his temper as violent and volatile as his brother’s, had the ability to recognise discretion was sometimes needed. He spoke up as he watched more and more of their guests, curious about the commotion, come outside.

‘Sal, why don’t we sort this out tomorrow? We’re celebrating. We’ve all had a good year. We’ve got the rest of the family to think of. They don’t need this. Put the gun away. Cabhan was only calling Franny and Alfie. That’s all. Nessun danno fatto. No harm done … Good? Bene?’ Bobby kissed his brother on both cheeks. ‘Bene?’

Salvatore stared at Bobby, slowly nodding, his face showing a thousand thoughts. He answered slowly. ‘Sì. Bene.’

A grin spread across Bobby’s pockmarked face, the handsome Russo genes not having passed down to him. ‘That’s right, Sal. All good. No harm! Nessun problema. No problem!’ Bobby broke his hold, grinning at the guests. ‘Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen! Please, continue to enjoy, we’ve talked business too long. Now we celebrate.’

Helping Cabhan to his feet, Salvatore slapped him hard on the back then pulled out a gold cigarette case from his pocket. He snapped it open, revealing several grams of finely cut cocaine along with an engraved toot. ‘Have a line with me, Cabhan.’

‘No, I’m fine.’

The ice ran back into Salvatore’s words. ‘I said, have one.’

Cabhan, realising he had no other choice, took the toot, bending over the cigarette case as Salvatore watched him snort a line.

‘Again … Have another.’

Cabhan hesitated slightly, but it was enough for Salvatore to step forward, his face pulled into a frown. ‘Problem?’

‘No, of course not, I—’

‘Cabhan!’ Alexandra Russo, Salvatore’s spoilt sixteen-year-old niece, shouted loudly, breaking up Cabhan and Salvatore’s conversation as she swayed her curvaceous body down the stairs.

‘Cabhan, I want a lift home, now! I’m tired!’

Salvatore raised his eyebrows, chuckling nastily as he headed back towards the other guests with Bobby.

‘You better do as she says, Cabhan. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and that includes not giving her a lift home … We’ll talk tomorrow.’

Staring angrily at Cabhan, Alexandra drawled in the same New Jersey twang as her uncles.

‘In fact, give me the fucking keys, Cabhan. I’ll drive, and you can keep me company.’

Looking back at Alexandra, Cabhan hid his disdain whilst attempting to sound courteous.

‘Ally, I’m happy to take you home, you know I am, but it’s probably best if I drive.’

Ally licked her lips seductively before her face screwed up in annoyance. She poked Cabhan hard in his chest. ‘Don’t ever try to fucking tell me what’s best, especially in public, or I might have to go and get my uncle Sal to teach you about respect. Capito?’

Evenly, Cabhan answered, remembering the last occasion Salvatore, on Alexandra’s orders, had paid him a visit to remind him of the Russos’ definition of respect. That particular visit had landed him two weeks in the Lower Manhattan hospital. ‘Oh, I understand, Ally. You’ve made your point very clear … as you always do.’

A large smile spread across Ally’s face. ‘Then what are we waiting for, let’s go.’

As Salvatore Russo watched them drive away, he smiled to himself, because although he’d been outvoted by the rest of the Russo family on permanently disposing of Cabhan, he was sure once he’d spoken to Nico that might change. After all, Cabhan had been privy to the family business and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t start shooting his mouth off once he’d left. And the one certainty about dead men was that they couldn’t talk.

2

Ally Russo gripped the wheel of her bright red McLaren GT – a sweet sixteen gift from her beloved uncle Sal. The wheels of the performance car gripped and burnt up the road as she took the corners of Highway 34 – Trail Ridge Road – at speed, winding up the Rockies as heavy mist began to obscure the surroundings, making it impossible to see the vast expanse of craggy mountains and aspen forests.

‘Ally, for God’s sake slow the hell down!’

Enjoying hearing the panic in Cabhan’s voice, Ally shouted back, laughing as she did so, her Jersey twang emphasising the mockery in her voice. ‘Are you scared, Cab? You a mama’s boy who can’t handle the speed? Why don’t you try and grow a pair already?’

Cabhan, keeping his eyes on what was left of the road as the visibility worsened, shook his head, the high-purity cocaine he’d snorted earlier making him edgier than normal. ‘No, I just value my life, and yours, come to think of it.’

Accelerating as she took the hairpin corner of Fairview Curve, Ally glanced across at Cabhan arrogantly as the deep roar of the supreme engine purred effortlessly into a higher gear. The force thrust the powerful car forward, causing Ally to lose grip on the steering wheel.

‘Ally!’ Cabhan yelled as he leant over, grabbing hold of the cream leather wheel, helping to regain control of the McLaren as it snaked dangerously into the sea of mist.

A slight look of fear passed over Ally’s face before she took hold of the wheel again with a laugh. Relief mixed with adrenalin pumped out of her as she exhaled. ‘That was a close one. What do they say, driving a fast car is better than sex …’ She paused before glancing across again at Cabhan, purring, ‘But I guess that all depends on who you’re having sex with. You never did accept that blow job I offered you. What do you say, Cab? How about tonight …?’

Not interested in girls the same age as his daughter, especially a spoilt brat like Ally Russo, Cabhan’s tone was hostile. ‘Just pull the fuck over, you’ll get us killed.’

Ignoring Cabhan, Ally continued to drive as the weather conditions worsened, the switchbacks on the road getting tighter with the five-hundred-foot drop, without guard rails, inches away from the screeching car’s tyres. Below the road the mountain verge dropped away quickly into nothing but air.

‘I said, pull over!’

‘Fine, spoil my fun!’

Reluctantly, Ally slowed down, when suddenly a massive impact from behind shunted the car forward, causing the McLaren to swerve, running it up onto the stony edge of the road, smashing the car’s axle along the rock-scattered terrain.

Panicking as the rear wheels began to lock, Ally screamed whilst Cabhan quickly glanced in the passenger mirror, but in the thick of the mist he couldn’t see anything.

‘Ally, you—’ He suddenly stopped, feeling the first prickle of panic as blinding giant beams of light cut through the fog and a gigantic juggernaut appeared behind them.

Another huge bang propelled the car closer to the edge. Still screaming, Ally began to cry hysterically. ‘Why aren’t they stopping, Cabhan?’

Panic swirling through him, Cabhan spoke urgently. ‘They can’t see us and won’t be able to feel the impact of the car in that massive truck. Ally, quick, you’ve got to blast the horn … Blast it!’

But as Ally sounded the horn, the juggernaut caught the back end of the car again, this time ploughing it forward, skidding the McLaren out of control. Ally fought frantically to keep hold of the steering wheel, which violently whirled through her hands as she choked on her tears.

As the McLaren bumped through the rocky terrain at the edge of the mountain, the low front spoiler ripped off as the car began to slide.

‘Ally!’ Cabhan screamed as his neck snapped forward, the front wheels hitting the edge of the precipice at well over a hundred miles an hour. The car hung suspended in the air for a moment before it crashed back down, smashing against the side of the mountain with bone-shattering force.

Further and further down the side of the mountain face the car fell, rolling and twisting, tumbling and flipping, bouncing and turning with Cabhan and Ally’s screams echoing through the darkness until finally they came to a sudden stop. The impact sounding like roaring thunder.

The inside of the car seemed to be dripping with blood. Cabhan found himself jammed up against the door. Attempting to pull himself out of the wrecked vehicle, he crawled forward, and an excruciating pain exploded within him. He cried out as a torn piece of metal was embedded deeper in his calf, tearing open his flesh.

Knowing he had to try to get help, Cabhan, with sweat and blood covering his face, used all his strength, yelling out at the pain but refusing to let it stop him as he scrambled out of the car.

Panting with exhaustion, he looked around. They were under the mist now, allowing him to see clearly. The car had landed on a wide rocky shelf, three hundred feet down from the road they’d been driving along, with the drop below them another two hundred.

Stumbling round the car with his leg oozing, Cabhan bent down to where Ally lay, her face almost obscured by cuts and blood. He whispered her name. ‘Ally, Ally, wake up! Come on, honey, wake up. It’s okay, I’ll get help. I’ll get you out of there.’

Noticing part of the car’s seat was pressing down on her chest, Cabhan took hold of Ally’s shoulders, attempting to pull her into a better position, when suddenly her head, severed by the crash, rolled towards him. He recoiled, retching and scrabbling backwards towards the edge of the sheer drop. ‘Oh shit, oh God. Please, no! Ally! Oh Christ!’

His hand shook as he quickly dragged his mobile out of his pocket and tried to focus on the numbers. He dialled 911, holding his side to halt the flow of blood, but he abruptly cut off the call before it connected. His gaze rested on the boot of the McLaren, which had torn open. Within the panels of the car, Cabhan could see several large packages of cocaine. His gaze crossed along the ground to more packages that had been scattered around. Urgently, he began to press another number. Salvatore. But another glance at Ally stopped him. There was no way he could speak to Salvatore now.

Cold, his body beginning to go into shock, Cabhan shook as he scrolled through his phone, then holding his bloodied hand against his ear he waited for his call to be answered.

‘Franny! Franny! It’s me. I need your help! I’m in trouble!’

3

‘Cabhan, hey! How are you doing?’

‘Franny, Franny, you’ve got to listen to me!’

Smiling, Franny twirled round as she tried to get a better signal in the heat of the Spanish sun. ‘Cab, I can’t hear what you’re saying. Hold on a minute, let me go somewhere else.’

Eager to speak to Cabhan, Franny Doyle walked away from the busy market street in central Marbella looking for a quiet spot to take the call. It’d been a couple of weeks since they’d spoken – which was unusual for them – so she certainly didn’t want to have to ask him to call back later. ‘One minute.’

‘Franny, just stop, Franny!’

Oblivious, Franny continued to walk around the corner to a quiet spot, which was drenched in the morning sun, her chestnut hair blowing in the warm sea breeze. ‘That’s better. I can hear you—’

Cabhan cut into Franny’s words. ‘There’s been an accident.’

Panic rushed over Franny, but she quickly pulled herself together. ‘What? Are you all right? What happened?’

‘I’m okay, well, kind of, but … but Ally’s not.’

‘What do you mean?’

There was a pause before Cabhan said, ‘She’s dead, Fran.’

‘Oh my God! How? Where are you?’

‘Franny, my battery’s going flat but I’m in a mess.’

Sitting down on a bench along the promenade with the sun beginning to get hotter, Franny was filled with worry, something she always fought so hard not to show or even to feel.

‘Cab, what’s going on?’

‘Ally was driving and we came off the road. The car’s totally trashed and, well, I managed to get out …’

Not understanding the timeline of events, Franny shook her head. ‘Why didn’t you call me before? When did this happen? Did they check you over in the hospital?’

‘No, Fran, just listen to me, for God’s sake. It’s only just happened.’

Stunned, Franny asked, ‘Are the emergency services there?’

‘No.’

‘But you’ve called them, right?’

‘No.’

Puzzled and hating to feel out of control, Franny raised her voice. ‘Then you’ve got to! Cab, what are you doing? How do you know Ally’s dead? She might still have a pulse. Jesus Christ!’

On the other end of the line, Cabhan held his emotions together. He spoke matter-of-factly. ‘No, Franny, she’s dead all right.’

‘I don’t get it. Why aren’t you calling anyone? What are you playing at?’

‘If you’d fucking listen, maybe you’d understand.’

Franny, upset for Cabhan, knowing that he’d never normally speak to her like that, said, ‘I’m sorry, Cab, go ahead.’

‘No, I’m sorry, Fran, I just don’t know what to do. The car’s panels have come off and inside them there must be at least ten … twenty kilos of cocaine. I’ve also taken a few lines of coke myself and if they decide to do a blood test, well …’ He trailed off before adding, ‘So you see, I can’t call the police.’

Closing her eyes for a moment as she took in the enormity of the situation, Franny breathed deeply, calming herself, knowing that Cabhan needed her to be strong. She could hear her father’s voice in her head, telling her that it wasn’t emotions that won a war, it was action. It wasn’t weakness, it was strength. It was having a heart of stone, no matter what. It was never allowing yourself to feel anything at all.

And with her father’s teaching in mind, Franny pushed down any sort of dread and began to take control.

‘First, Ally was driving, not you, they’re not going to do any checks, so the only thing we’ve got to deal with are the drugs. But that’s okay too. All you’ve got to do is hide them somewhere, then once you have, call 911. Get help. It’s an accident, Cab, the police won’t start searching the area, will they? It’ll be all right. I promise.’

Franny could hear the panic in Cabhan as he answered. ‘Fran, you don’t understand, there is nowhere to hide them. We landed on a ledge when we came off Trail Ridge Road.’

Knowing the road well and how precarious it was, Franny’s stomach went into knots, but again she rose above it. After all, she was a Doyle and, as her father, Patrick, always drummed into her, it wouldn’t help anybody to break down and cry. ‘You’re lucky to be alive, Cab.’

‘Fran, look, my battery’s beeping, I’m going to cut out any minute.’

‘Then you’ve got to listen to me, you’ve just got to get rid of the coke. You hear me? Break open the bags and throw it away.’

‘I can’t, Fran, it’s probably worth about three million dollars with a street value of more. Salvatore’s not going to accept that I just threw away his coke, especially after he finds out his niece is dead.’

‘What else can you do, Cab?’

‘Fran, they’ll kill me. You know what the brothers are like. They’ll chop me up in pieces and feed me to their dogs if I can’t replace their coke. I just haven’t got that kind of money.’

‘I have.’

‘What?’

Chewing on her bottom lip, Franny repeated what she’d just said. ‘I have. I can get you two million pounds.’

‘I … I … don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything. Just promise me when you put the phone down you’ll get rid of the coke and then call 911.’

‘Fran, I can’t take your—’

‘I said, promise me!’

With overwhelming relief, Cabhan whispered, ‘I promise.’

‘Good. Because I’m not going to lose you, Cab. I love you. Throughout my life you’ve always been there for me, and now it’s my turn to be there for you. And when I put this phone down, you’re going to get help and I’m going to get on the earliest plane and come out there. Book yourself into a hotel room, lie low for now and call no one.’

‘But what about Salvatore? I’ll have to tell him about Ally.’

‘No, leave that to the police. What you’ve got to do is once you’re off that mountain, get hidden and stay hidden. We’ll face Salvatore together … I’ll see you soon.’

As the line went dead, Franny closed her eyes, taking another deep breath. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for Cabhan. She’d known him all her life and regarded him as her second father, even if that ‘anything’ was taking the two million pounds Alfie and Vaughn had entrusted to her. The money that was meant to start their new business in England. The money they were waiting on and the money she was supposed to smuggle out of the country the day after tomorrow. Two million pounds. Alfie and Vaughn’s two million pounds. The men’s entire fortune.

At Malaga Airport waiting for her flight to Gatwick, which would then take her on to Denver, Colorado, Franny Doyle pulled out her phone and began to text.

Please don’t be angry, Alfie, but something’s come up. It’s probably better if u don’t know what. But trust me when I say I wish it could be different. I won’t b coming to England. One day you’ll understand why I’ve done this. If it’s any consolation, I do love u. F.

Hearing her flight call, Franny turned off her phone. She wouldn’t allow herself to have any regrets. This was something she just had to do and, if Alfie loved her the way he said he did, well, then he’d just have to understand. Two million pounds’ worth of understanding.

4

Alice Rose skipped through the freshly cut meadow counting the white fence posts as she twirled around the trees, moving rhythmically in the warm Iowa breeze. This was her very favourite time of year, when all around her was an explosion of colours and scents.

The problem was, though, the happiness she felt often distracted her from giving a prayer of thanks for everything she had, and she knew that was wrong. Sinful. Her mother had warned her and her friend, Isaiah Thomas, on a daily basis what would happen if they forgot to say their prayers. She would be damned to eternal hell, cursed into everlasting fire prepared for the Devil and his angels, and that was something she certainly didn’t want to happen.

Shivering at the thought, Alice decided she needed to try harder to remind herself that none of it would be possible without the good Lord’s grace, especially a day like today. Only this morning her father had called to say that Franny was coming to visit them and, even though she missed Isaiah, she couldn’t help but feel excited that Franny was making the trip.

The love she felt for Franny was the same love she’d felt towards her own mother; she was good and kind and compassionate. God-fearing values, as her mother would say. Then, delighted just at the idea of Franny’s trip to see her, a surge of pure joy ran through Alice. She jumped in the air, spinning around, feeling like the warm winds were sending her soaring towards the sun.

‘Alice! Alice! Is that any way to behave? I don’t think the Lord would approve of such behaviour, do you?’

Alice’s long corkscrew curls tumbled over her beautiful brown face, chaotically dotted with freckles. She grinned at Sister Margaret, a nun whom most of the other girls found to be stern and unyielding, as she made them recite and write verses from the Bible each day, sit in silent reflection of their sins for hours on end – everything Alice’s mother had done, and so Sister Margaret made her feel safe, reminding her of the world she’d grown up in.

Still skipping and spinning, coming across as much younger than her sixteen years, Alice laughed warmly, her words holding the purest sincerity. ‘Sister Margaret, I think the Lord would be delighted that I’m celebrating what he made. After all, weren’t you the one who taught us that this is the day that the Lord hath made, and therefore we should rejoice and be glad in it?’ She paused, tilting her head thoughtfully before adding, ‘Psalms 118, verse 24.’

‘Alice Rose, I hope you’re not being insolent?’

Panting and with her cheeks glowing, Alice walked across to the nun. She smiled, looking slightly puzzled, her tone a blanket of kindness. ‘No, of course not, Sister Margaret! I was only saying that today like all days is a blessing …’ Alice stopped, furrowing her eyebrows before adding, ‘Am I wrong?’

Sighing, Sister Margaret, slightly ashamed of her grouchiness in the face of such godliness, smiled back, taking Alice’s hands in hers.

Even though Alice was sixteen, she worried about the child; she wasn’t cut out for the world they lived in. She’d been sheltered, brought up in a loving but strict religious community, and as much as Sister Margaret wished it wasn’t the case, Alice’s background was a huge obstacle, coming with far too many challenges for a teenager required to live in modern society.

‘No, I’m the one who’s wrong, doubting your integrity, I should know better. And it’s true, today is a blessing, like children are a blessing; a gift from God, and you, Alice Rose, are certainly that.’

Alice grinned, blushing at the nun’s compliment. ‘Thank you, Sister Margaret … anyway, I’d better get on.’

Skipping off, Alice wrinkled her nose, wincing as she heard the nun ask, ‘Alice, what have you got in your hands?’

Swivelling around and dropping the mobile phone in the long grass, Alice decided that seeing as she had a good reason for not being entirely honest, the Lord would forgive her, and therefore she didn’t have to feel guilty about what she was about to say. ‘Nothing.’

Sister Margaret’s tone was severe. ‘Alice, you do know what the Bible says about lying and liars, don’t you?’

‘I do, Sister Margaret … A false witness will not go unpunished, and he who breathes out lies will perish. Proverbs 19, verse 9.’

‘It also says their throats are like open graves, with their tongues they deceive and the venom of poisonous vipers is under their tongue.’

Paling, Alice stared at the nun as she whispered, ‘Romans 3, verse 13.’

‘Exactly. So I’ll ask you again, what have you got in your hands?’

Swallowing hard and resolving that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea not to be completely truthful, Alice brought her hands from behind her back, shaking at the thought of the snakes.

‘There’s nothing in my hand.’

Sister Margaret held Alice’s gaze. ‘Tonight in chapel, you’d do well to say an extra Hail Mary.’ And with that the nun walked away.

Feeling deflated, Alice watched Sister Margaret disappear before daring to pick up the phone. She hadn’t wanted to lie and she hadn’t even seen it as a lie … well, not really, not like a real one anyway.

Normally, she didn’t mind that they were only allowed their phones for a short time in the evening when supervised by the Sisters, but what she had to do, she didn’t want anyone else to know about; she wanted it to be a surprise. So when she’d taken her father’s call in Sister Margaret’s office this morning, she’d also taken the opportunity to grab her phone out of the box they were kept in and slip it into her pocket.

Trying to push the feeling of guilt aside, Alice walked towards the far meadow where Mac, the convent’s old dapple grey pony, was grazing.

Tearing a large handful of grass, she walked towards him, talking warmly. ‘Here, boy, here you go … Come on, Mac, look what I’ve got for you.’

Lifting his head for a moment then turning away uninterested – quite satisfied with the grass already in his paddock – Mac sauntered off, leaving Alice to sit down by the large basswood tree.

She sighed deeply, worried about her father. He’d sounded strange – stressed – when they’d spoken this morning, and although she’d asked him if everything was all right and he’d told her he was fine, she knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

Perhaps he was working too hard, maybe business was bad … Not that she knew exactly what it was he did. Something to do with selling insurance was all he’d said when she’d asked. But it was obvious he was not feeling his best, which was even more of a reason for her doing what she was about to.

She wanted to do something special for him, something nice for his birthday next week. After all, he deserved it. He was always thinking about her or about Franny, making sure that everyone else was all right, and often neglected himself. So, this year she decided that she was going to make a fuss of him, and hopefully that might cheer him up.

Pulling out a piece of paper from her pocket, Alice began to dial a number. It rang twice before being answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello.’

‘Who is this?’

‘My name’s Alice Rose. You don’t know me, but I’m the daughter of Cabhan Morton.’

5

The splattering of blood covered the shower walls as Nico Russo stamped his boot into Don Lombardi’s face. Don was a small-time crook who’d spent most of his life in and out of penitentiaries, but it was obvious to Nico that the one lesson prison life hadn’t taught him was the most basic lesson of all: never steal from your own. So now he had to remind Don of exactly what happened to anyone who skipped that class.

‘Hey, Don, had enough yet? What was that?’

Nico jumped in the air, bringing his foot down from a height. The weight and severity was so great that Don’s mouth immediately flooded with blood while his front teeth were pounded out of his gums. Nico stamped his boot further towards the back of Don’s mouth, pushing the rest of his teeth out of the way.

Avoiding the jets of water from the large communal showerheads, Nico crouched down, panting from the exertion, inches away from hair-coiled soapsuds that mixed with Don’s body fluids on the cracked tile floor.

Nico’s tone was calm, reassuring. ‘Don, mio amico, my friend, I want to give you the chance to tell your side of the story. I want to know if it’s true what they said you did.’

There was silence save the running water and the gurgling noises from Don Lombardi struggling to gasp for air. Nico pulled a face. ‘I’ll ask you again. Is it true that you stole the phone? Tell me.’

Sighing, Nico forced one hand in Don’s mouth, yanking it open before putting his fingers between Don’s bleeding gums to keep it open.

Bringing his eyes up to his men, Nico nodded. ‘Give me them.’

Then without a word, a tall dark-haired man who stood impassively by the shower entrance handed Nico a pair of scissors from out of his trouser pocket.

Turning his attention back to Don, Nico said, ‘You see this, Don? This is what happens to people who disrespect my friends by stealing from them. Respect to me is more important than family. Rispetto. Respect. The one thing I ask of all who know me, because without it, we are all just animals … And as you have nothing to say to me, you won’t have any need of this.’

Don Lombardi shook his head with terror as Nico yanked at his tongue, digging the sharp scissors through the flesh as he began to extract it.

‘Nico! Nico, do you have to do this in here?’

As Don choked and convulsed on the floor in an agony beyond pain, Nico threw the severed tongue to one side before looking up at the prison warden. Officer Johnstone was just one of several on his payroll. In fact, most of the correction officers in the facility, whether voluntarily or by various levels of coercion, were on his payroll in some way or another. It made for an easier life, making the hellhole he was in slightly less of a hellhole.

Armed and dressed in a dark green uniform, Officer Johnstone glanced down at Don Lombardi, his manner casual, almost weary. ‘Get this cleared up. You hear me, Russo? And for Christ’s sake, make sure someone takes him to medical.’

Standing up, Nico brushed down his clothes, running his hands under the icy showers to wash away the blood. He turned to smile at his men, though his tone was ominous and taunting, something Johnstone didn’t fail to miss. ‘You heard him. Clear this mess up. Capito? Understand? We’d hate to upset the officer, wouldn’t we?’

‘Good, make sure you do by the time I get back.’

Watching Officer Johnstone leave, Nico thought, as he seemed to every moment of every minute of every day, that he’d been behind bars far too long. Eight years too long after one of his men had turned informer. A hazard of his trade and a reason to rule his empire like Satan himself.

Johnny Milano had worked for him for over twenty years, but he’d squealed to the FBI like a sow on heat. And despite the fact he’d given Johnny his first break – had let him in to the heart of the Russo family and even paid for the cocksucker’s wedding to some two-dollar stripper from Long Island – Johnny Milano had repaid him by telling the feds everything he knew about the drug deals, the money laundering, the illegal shipping, the prostitution, the smuggling, the whole goddamn lot.

But Nico had had a tip-off from someone on his payroll in the bureau and consequently managed to cover most of his tracks. The FBI couldn’t find anything that was going to stand up in court relating to any illegal activity, but ironically what they did find was in connection to tax evasion linked to some of the family’s legal businesses.

The IRS had thrown the book at him and he’d been given fifteen years, and it looked like he was going to have to serve all fifteen. The parole board didn’t seem interested in letting the head of the Russo family back out on the streets.

Though he’d sure as hell made Johnny Milano pay. Johnny had thought the FBI witness protection would keep him safe, but there was no such thing as protection for rats. No hiding place. His men had searched and they’d found the whole of the Milano family. The mother, the grandmother, the children, even the pet rabbits, along with the two-dollar stripper from Long Island. No one escaped revenge. Revenge had been Johnny Milano’s executioner and it would be anyone else’s who dared to cross him.

‘Nico.’

Breaking his thoughts, Nico looked up to see Chris D’Amato, his cellmate – and a good friend – walk into the shower room. ‘It’s for you, Nico.’

He held out a mobile phone.

‘Who is it?’

‘She says her name’s Alice Rose.’

Nico Russo whirled the pool of blood – yet to be cleaned up – with the tip of his boot. He leant against the tiled wall, feeling the damp go through his prison shirt. Of all the calls he’d imagined he’d have, this certainly wasn’t one.

His voice was low, calm. Warm. ‘Hello, Alice Rose, I’ve heard a lot about you.’

‘Have you?’

‘Yes, from Cabhan. Though I haven’t seen him in a while.’

On the other end of the phone, Alice was eager. ‘So do you work with him?’

Kicking Don Lombardi’s severed tongue to the side and signalling to Chris to pick it up, Nico smiled. ‘You could say that. Anyway, to what do I owe this pleasure?’

Feeling happier, Alice’s tone was light. ‘I don’t know if Dad told you, but it’s his birthday next week.’

‘No, Alice, he didn’t tell me.’

‘Well, I was hoping to have a surprise party for him, do something nice, invite all his friends and work colleagues. Is that silly?’

‘Why would it be? I don’t think you ever get too old for a birthday party, do you? Well, I know I don’t, I’d want a party even when I’m too old to blow out the candles.’

Delighted that Nico felt the same, Alice giggled. ‘Obviously, he doesn’t know I’m phoning you.’

‘Obviously.’

‘And I know this is a lot to ask, but I was wondering, hoping, you could come. I’m going to get as many people together as I can, and we’ll have the party in the school hall. It’s only small, but I’m going to make some decorations, so it’ll look nice. I just want to make him happy. Will you come?’

As Alice held her breath in anticipation, Nico looked up at the clear blue sky through the thick prison bars. ‘Alice, I’d love to, really I would, but the problem is, I’m a bit caught up here and won’t be able to make it. I’m sorry.’

Disappointed, Alice said, ‘And there’s really no way?’

‘I’m sorry, honey, no way at all, but I tell you what, I could get my brothers to come. Salvatore and Bobby. They’d like that. They work with your dad, too.’

‘Do they?’

Using the tip of the bloodied scissors to pick out a crumb in his teeth, Nico nodded. ‘Yeah. Your dad’s like family to us. He’s got a special place in all our hearts … You know, I’m so pleased you called me, Alice, this has really made my day. How did you get my number, by the way?’

There was a pause before Alice sheepishly admitted, ‘Last time Dad came to see me, I took his phone so I could write down all the contacts. Is that really bad of me?’

Nico winked at Chris D’Amato as he watched him drag Don Lombardi up onto his feet.

‘No, Alice, I wouldn’t call that bad. Believe me, I’ve done a lot worse myself.’

‘You have?’

Nico chuckled, his tone teasing. ‘Oh yes, Alice, things so bad I’d be in a lot of trouble if I told you.’

Alice giggled again, enjoying the conversation.

Nico continued. ‘That’s better, it’s good to laugh at ourselves, and besides, I’d say it was clever what you did. If you hadn’t, well, you and I wouldn’t be speaking now, would we? And I’ve got an idea you might like. Why don’t you leave it to me to invite the people your dad would want at his party? You don’t want to have people there he doesn’t get on with, do you?’

‘No, of course not. Would you really do that?’

‘Absolutely, I’d do anything for Cabhan. But you need to tell me where you are so I can tell my brothers and make all the arrangements.’

‘Thank you, Nico, thank you so much! It’s going to be brilliant. And you won’t tell Dad anything about it, will you?’

‘You have my word. Lo prometto. I promise. We wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, would we? We want to give him a birthday he’ll never forget.’

6

Franny Doyle yawned as she made her way along the glass-panelled corridor of the Sheraton Hotel located in downtown Denver, Colorado. She was hot and tired after travelling for the past two days. It hadn’t helped that her flight had been a particularly turbulent one, or that opposite her – in the usually staid business class – a very large, noisy Greek family had insisted on breaking into the occasional champagne-fuelled song. Then, to make matters worse, the cab driver who’d picked her up from the airport had, for some inexplicable reason, shouted at every passing car before refusing to make his way around the roadworks, causing her to get out and walk the whole of the mile-long pedestrian strip in the searing Denver heat. Still, at least she was here, and ultimately that was all that mattered.

As she walked along the thick brown swirl carpet, grateful for the air conditioning that blasted out near sub-zero temperatures, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket, letting her know she had a voicemail.

She listened as she waited for the lift to make its way down from the twenty-second floor. It was Alfie … again:

Pick up, for God’s sake! I don’t know how many bleedin’ messages I’ve left, but you can’t keep ignoring me. For fuck’s sake, Franny, why are you doing this to me, darlin’? Just call me and let’s sort this out. I get that you could be mad at me. Maybe I didn’t give you as much attention as I should’ve done, or maybe you think I don’t tell you that I love you enough. But I do love ya. From the minute I knew ya, I started falling for ya. But Jesus, Fran, whatever it is I’ve done, don’t take it out on our future. Vaughn’s future. You want me to come and find you, Franny? Is that what you want, darlin’? To show you I care? Cos I do, but I just haven’t got time for these fucking games at the moment!… Franny!

Stepping into the lift, Franny clicked off the phone, smiling sadly to herself as she fought hard not to feel the devastation and guilt of what she was doing to him, because there was no getting away from it, she loved Alfie with all her heart, he was her soul mate. But the fact was, she just couldn’t afford to let her feelings for him change what she had to do, no matter how hard it was.

She knew he was hurting as well. The variety of messages from him since she’d texted him about the change of plan had ranged from calm to bewilderment then to anger before returning to calm in a merry-go-round of mystified emotions.

She didn’t blame him. Not one little bit. How could she? She’d taken his and Vaughn’s money, and the only explanation he’d had was a short, swift text. He deserved better, but she couldn’t explain, mainly because he wouldn’t understand. Yes, he’d appreciate the principle of it – caring and looking out for family – but she knew that Alfie saw this money as his one chance, his last chance at making it back on top, so there was no way, if he’d had his choice, he’d let her spend it on getting Cabhan out of trouble.

And of course, Alice Rose. Sweet Alice Rose whom Cabhan had only learnt of in the last couple of years.

Alice had been conceived following a brief affair Cabhan had had during a short business trip to the States sixteen years ago. Although Alice’s mother, Clara, and Cabhan had parted on good terms – friends even – and had kept in contact over the ensuing years, Clara had never told Cabhan anything about Alice until it’d been completely necessary for her to do so. And that had only been in the most extreme situation, when Clara had been diagnosed with a rapidly progressing form of multiple sclerosis.

Cabhan had been thrown into the deep end: he had only learnt he was the proud father of a beautiful young girl two months before Clara had died. Alice, of course, had been devastated. The other thing she had been was naïve for her age, having grown up in a tiny farm community in George County, Mississippi. Clara had not only protected her from the world, but had brought Alice up in a highly religious environment, which was certainly at odds with Cabhan.

Though not knowing how to get through to a teenager who had not only lost her mother but had been brought up as if God were her best friend, Cabhan had asked around and found a small and exclusive boarding school at a girls’ convent – as nuns and the religious community were something Alice understood. Business allowing it, Cabhan had visited her every day, then after a while a smile had slowly returned to Alice’s face.

What followed was the blossoming of a beautiful loving bond between Cabhan and Alice Rose. He loved Alice as Alice loved him. Completely and absolutely. In fact, Franny didn’t know anyone who’d met Alice and hadn’t fallen in love with the sweet, innocent, kind-hearted girl, who somehow had been shielded from the world turning upside down.

Suddenly, Franny shook herself out of her thoughts. She didn’t want to start feeling sentimental, she had a job to do: somehow she had to get Cabhan out of the mess he’d found himself in, before the Russos began to point the finger of blame.

Quickly looking along the corridor, making sure no one was coming, Franny tapped lightly on door 493. ‘Cab! Cab! It’s me.’

It took less than thirty seconds for Franny to hear the locks of the hotel room unbolt. Then, looking stressed and tired, Cab opened the door, giving her a quick, grateful smile before his expression immediately turned pensive as he glanced up and down the hallway. ‘You made sure no one followed you?’

Saying nothing, Franny nodded as she walked into the large Presidential suite, which looked out west across the city, over the Broncos’ ‘mile high’ stadium to the snow-capped Rocky Mountain National Park.

She turned to Cabhan, who was pouring himself a large bourbon at the bar in the corner of the freshly decorated room, and gently spoke, her large emerald eyes imploring him and full of kindness. ‘How about you leave that drink for a minute until you give me a hug … It’s good to see you, Cab.’

With her mane of thick, glossy chestnut hair falling over her beautiful face, skin like a porcelain doll, she smiled at Cabhan, though it was tinged with sadness. For a long time now, he hadn’t been himself. He’d been withdrawn, troubled, and each time they had spoken she’d also got the sense he was on edge. Nervous. She’d even go so far as to say he seemed afraid, and the man she’d known all her life had never been afraid of anything. But that was before. Before he’d started working for the Russo brothers.

She’d warned him. Begged him to think carefully about getting involved with them, because she knew, knew how dark and dangerous they were. Her father – who at one time had done business with the brothers – in the end refused to do so, which spoke volumes, because the game they were in was filled with sewer rats, scumbags, thugs, but the Russo brothers? They were on another level entirely. They had no moral code. Anything went. She’d heard the stories and wished she hadn’t. Nico, Salvatore, Bobby. All three brothers as twisted and dark as each other.

But there’d been no telling Cabhan back then. After what had happened with her father, he’d retreated and put a whole ocean between them. It’d hurt her and she’d missed him, but although she’d never been happy with him heading off to America, she’d understood that was Cabhan’s way of dealing with things. Though what she’d never grasped was why he’d gone to work with one of the most notorious families on the East Coast. The only reason she ever came up with was that it was some kind of self-imposed punishment, Cabhan’s guilt over her father; though when she’d put that to him, Cabhan had simply laughed it off.

Now, however, he’d realised that he needed to come home, and nobody could’ve been more delighted than her. It was the right thing to do for everybody, but after what happened to Ally, to get Cabhan away from the Russos would be harder than ever.

Welling up with emotions, Cab’s voice broke. ‘Fran, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come. Thank you. I’m indebted. I—’

She cut in. ‘Cab, stop. You don’t owe me anything, and truthfully, there’s nowhere I would rather be. Okay, maybe under different circumstances, but you, me and Dad, we were always a team, weren’t we? So, me being here certainly doesn’t need any thanks.’

Absentmindedly patting down his short, boxed Afro, Cab asked, ‘What about Alfie? Was he all right about you coming?’

Franny’s pause, although only a millisecond, was long enough for Cabhan, who knew her so well, to say, ‘You haven’t told him, have you? Franny, don’t ignore me.’

Franny’s tone was slightly irritated. ‘I’m not a child, Cab.’

‘That’s right, so you can start off by telling me why Alfie’s in the dark.’

Putting her bag down on the tangerine orange furniture, Franny decided to take a bourbon herself. ‘Look, it’s just best like this. The fewer people who know where you are, the better.’

Cabhan pulled on Franny’s arm, turning her round to face him. His Irish accent was always more pronounced when he was passionate. ‘Don’t give me that, Franny Doyle. This is Alfie we’re talking about. There’s no way he’d say anything to anybody. We both know that. So, come on, tell me what’s really going on.’

‘Cab, I love you, but I know what I’m doing, so leave it, please. Besides, I think you’ve got more to worry about than what I do or don’t choose to tell Alfie.’

Before Cabhan had time to reply, his phone – which was sitting on one of the dark wooden deck chairs on the balcony – began to ring.

Stepping outside, he gazed at it, his expression becoming strained again. ‘It’s Salvatore.’

‘Have you spoken to him since the accident?’

Cabhan shook his head. ‘No, you told me not to, but he knows about Ally. Actually, the whole of the American press seem to know. It was splashed across all the papers yesterday. The headlines all say the same thing: notorious crime boss’s daughter dies in accident. The only reason I left my phone on was in case you needed to get hold of me, but Salvatore’s been calling day and night. I haven’t listened to the messages, I thought it was probably best not to, though I doubt he’s wishing me well.’

‘Give it to me.’ Franny gestured with her hand, her manner and her authority reminding Cabhan of her father, Patrick. But then that wasn’t surprising: Patrick had taught Franny everything he knew about the business they were in. He’d started her off young, knee-high, showing her everything from how to pick pockets like she was the Artful Dodger to cracking safes and locks. And when she was old enough he’d gone on to show her how to run large business empires built on handshakes with dangerous men and dangerous deals.

Taking the phone, Franny looked at Cab, then, giving a tight smile and taking a deep breath, she swiped the answer button.

‘Salvatore. It’s me. Franny Doyle. You need to listen to what I’m going to say, because there are a few things we have to talk about …’

7

Salvatore Russo, holding the phone, kicked away the naked teenage hooker who seemed to think helping herself to his best cocaine was part of their deal. Watching her sprawled on the floor, he glared angrily as he sat at his gold-leafed kitchen table in one of his palatial homes in Fort Collins, northern Colorado, in only his cream cotton boxer shorts, which were straining at the seams and sticking to him like glue. His diamond-encrusted medallion, given to him by his father, hung amidst the sweat-drenched hair on his chest, and the oozing perspiration trickled leisurely from between the creases of his twenty-inch neck.

It was hot. Too damn hot, added to which the maintenance guy had given him a whole heap of bullshit along with some prissy smirk about how he wasn’t able to fix the air con until Monday. Two goddamn days away. Well, he’d teach the motherfucker about how it wasn’t possible to fix things. He’d make sure no doctor, no hospital, no surgeon could fix his goddamn legs and face once he’d finished with him and then he’d see who was smirking … Two goddamn days. The man was a jerk. And now, now, he had this bitch, this ball-breaker of a woman answering the phone like she was goddamn Capone.

Spitting at, but missing, the waste bin, Salvatore growled down the line as he gestured to the prostitute to leave the room.

‘Put Cabhan on … adesso! Now! I wanna know what the fuck he’s done with my coke.’

‘He’s not available to speak to you … but I am.’ Franny stopped, then, with her tone dripping in sarcasm, added, ‘And it’s good to see you’ve got your priorities straight.’

Salvatore, shaking with fury, hissed through his teeth whilst he squeezed his phone in both hands. ‘Fuck you!’

‘No, fuck you, Sal. I would’ve thought you’d have asked about Ally first, but I forgot, you’re a Russo.’

‘There’s nothing to ask, my niece is dead. Now if I were you, I’d go and sort your fucking period out and pass the phone to Cab. I don’t deal with women.’

Another pause before Franny, coolly and matter-of-factly, said, ‘That’s not what I’ve heard, Sal. I hear you deal in women all the time.’

Flickers of white light appeared in front of Salvatore’s eyes. Blind rage and fury surged through him as he felt his blood pressure go from baseline to sky-high. He pressed his muscular fingers onto his eyelids, massaging them, trying to find some relief from the stress.

‘Bitches like you need to be put in their place.’

‘And that’s why I’m at the top of my game. I’m in my place … So, are we going to keep going round and round in circles, or are we going to talk business? But I do want you to know I am genuinely sorry about Ally. Le mie condoglianze.’

Standing up, Salvatore began to pace around the large, expansive kitchen. He laughed scornfully. ‘Is that some kind of joke? I don’t want your fucking condolences. I curse them. You hear me? Like I curse Cabhan. He murdered my niece, and he’ll pay for that.’

Franny spoke firmly. ‘Salvatore, we both know that it wasn’t Cab who killed Ally. She was the one who was driving, not him.’

Mopping up the trickling sweat from his brow with the corner of a blue napkin, Salvatore opened the fridge and stuck his head inside for cool relief. ‘Let me tell you something, if you were standing next to me right now, I’d blow your fucking head off. My niece is dead. She was sixteen years old, yet you think you can disrespect her when she’s not even cold in the ground?’

‘No, Sal. I’m not saying it was her fault, I’m saying it was an accident. A tragic one, but she was driving nevertheless. They are the facts.’

Salvatore raised his voice along with his head, banging it hard on one of the fridge shelves, sending cooked meat and salad along with his temper up in the air. ‘Goddamn whore, pass me over to Cabhan! I wanna know what happened to my coke.’

‘He got rid of it.’

It was Salvatore’s turn to pause. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘Like I say, he got rid of it. Ripped the bags open and let it go.’

Incandescent with rage, Salvatore ran his arm along the breakfast bench, dragging and smashing the bowl of cut fruit along with bottles of olive oil and vinegar onto the marbled floor.

‘So Cab thought it was a good idea to play snow globe with my coke, like it was Santa’s fucking day out?’

‘It was a good job he did, otherwise the police might’ve been wanting to talk to you.’

‘Rat me out? That wouldn’t be a smart idea, he knows exactly what happens to rats and their families.’

‘No, he wouldn’t have, but it would’ve been pretty easy for the police to work out who it was they needed to come and talk to. He did you a favour.’

Salvatore burst into menacing laughter. ‘Some fucking favour. Do you know how much money I lost?’

‘Not exactly, but I’m willing to compensate you. Every dollar. So, what do you say?’

Salvatore stared out of the large window of his house, which looked out across the lawn towards the ornate water fountain. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Problem is it’s not your decision to make, is it, Sal? We both know who’s really in charge.’

‘Where you’re concerned, I am in charge.’

‘No, but you’re not. I want to speak to your brother. I want to speak to Nico. Make it happen, otherwise the offer’s off and you’ll be out of pocket by about three million dollars.’

8

Back in the heart of Essex, Lola Harding sat in Janine Jennings’ mansion worried sick. She’d had a sleepless night fretting about what she should do, about what she should think, and this morning she was still none the wiser.

Looking out of the bedroom window of the house, located just outside the pretty village of Wimbish, Lola groaned, the shot of rum she’d added to her morning coffee not helping. The problem was she classed herself as a close friend to both Alfie – Janine’s ex-husband – and Franny, knowing them both for as long as she could remember.

When she’d been a tom in Soho, they’d been kind and looked out for her, making sure none of the pimps gave her a hard time. And when eventually she’d turned her back on the street, becoming the proud owner of a café, Alfie, the number-one face at the time, had made it known that her café and her café alone was the only place to go. Consequently, customers flocked in, not wanting to get onto the wrong side of the irrepressible Alfie Jennings.

But time had passed and Soho had changed. Most of the faces, including Alfie, had moved away, leaving her alone. With business bad and it becoming too much to run the café, she’d closed up and the life she’d loved, had cherished, vanished overnight. It’d made her feel like there’d been a death. Loneliness had engulfed her, strangled her, and the days and weeks had been passed in her small flat, which soared high above the city, not speaking to a soul.

They’d been awful days and she’d sunk into a dark depression, but out of the blue she’d bumped into Janine at a supermarket, or rather she’d watched from one of the aisles as Janine gave the manager a tongue-lashing. It had made her laugh, reminding her that some things never changed.

Although she knew Janine well through Alfie, they’d never been particularly close, but that afternoon they’d had a cup of tea and a chat and reminisced for hours. By the end of the day a miracle happened: Janine, with her loud, coarse mouth, and her busybodying, troublemaking ways, had asked her to come and stay and she’d never looked back. Not once, and she loved Janine for that.

Despite being fraught with fights and quarrels, Alfie and Vaughn had recently moved into the house. They had come back from Spain to set up their business and Janine was allowing them to stay whilst they got back on their feet and re-established themselves as faces to be reckoned with.

But now there was trouble. Big trouble. Franny, who’d been so good for Alfie, made him grow up, had taken none of his bullshit or his womanising ways, had done what she thought Franny would never do – she’d taken his money and disappeared. Just like that.

She was supposed to have joined Alfie back in England, but instead she’d cheated him out of his money. And Lola had to admit it hurt to think that’s what Franny had done, because to her, Alfie and Fran were family, and family looked out for their own.

But the question she had to ask herself was why? Why would Franny do it?

Taking a sip of her coffee with the sun blazing through the window, Lola shook her head. She couldn’t stand to see Alfie – whom she loved like a son – so torn apart. She had to do something, somehow try to sort it out. Both Alfie and Franny were too important to her and, even though he’d told her to stay right out of it, telling her not to breathe a word to anyone, she needed to follow her instincts and do what was right.

Sliding out her phone from the pocket of her pink towelling dressing gown, Lola dialled a number. She moved across to her bed in the corner of the grey velvet room, listening to check no one was coming.

The phone rang several times before it was eventually answered by a sleepy voice.

‘Hello?’

‘Franny, it’s me, Lola.’

There was silence on the phone before Franny spoke again. ‘Hello, Lola. It’s good to hear your voice.’

‘You might not think that after I’ve said what I need to. I’ll get right down to the bones of it: I want to know what the hell’s going on. Alfie’s in a real state. His head’s all over the place. How could you do it to him? I thought you loved him. I thought you were different, and to tell you the truth, Fran, I’m shocked. I keep telling myself there must be a good explanation, a reason why you robbed him blind, but for the life of me I can’t think of one.’

Sighing, Franny quietly but firmly said, ‘Lola, I love you, you know I do, but this isn’t anything to do with you.’

Not remembering a time when she’d ever raised her voice to Franny, Lola, upset by her coldness, shrieked down the phone. ‘But that’s where you’re wrong, darlin’. It is to do with me, because I thought we were family and family don’t do this to each other. What is it? Have you met someone else? Want to set up shop on your own? Or is it some kind of payback that you’ve been planning all along?’

‘Lola, that’s not what happened. You’ve got it all wrong. Look, I’m tired, it’s the middle of the nigh—’

Franny stopped, realising what she was about to say.

Frowning, Lola asked, ‘What do you mean? You were going to say middle of the night, weren’t you? For God’s sake, Fran, tell me where you are. Are you in trouble? Is that it? Cos I know you, my Franny wouldn’t do anything like this.’

‘Lola, please, you trust me, don’t you?’

Lola sniffed, her body stiffening as she sat on the silky grey covers. ‘I did. I thought you were the most trustworthy person I ever met.’

‘I still am.’

Forcing back the tears, Lola closed her eyes. ‘Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it. At least speak to Alfie, sort this out with him before it’s too late. He’s devastated, sweetheart, and not just because he needed that money for his business deal – which thanks to you looks like it’s now going to fall through – but because he loves you. He’d never loved anyone in his life before he met you. You’ve broken his heart, not to mention mine.’

‘Lola, I have to go. I’m sorry. Just know that if there was any other way, I would’ve chosen it. Look after Alfie for me, won’t you? I hope that one day I’ll be able to explain.’

‘Franny, listen to me—’

Lola sat looking at the phone as Franny cut it off.

‘Who was that?’

She jumped, not realising anybody had come into the room. It was Alfie. His handsome face stern and suspicious.

‘No one.’

Pushing back his black hair away from his eyes, Alfie walked across to Lola. Standing over her, his six-foot-plus muscular frame dwarfing her, he said, ‘You weren’t speaking to no one, you were speaking to someone and I want to know who that someone was.’

Fidgeting with the phone, Lola smiled, assuming innocence. ‘When I say no one, I mean it was no one important. You know, one of those cold calls.’

Alfie bent down towards her, his nose inches away from Lola’s. ‘You’re lying to me. I always know when you’re lying. Don’t go behind me back, Lola, otherwise you and I are going to fall out, big time.’

Feeling guilty, Lola looked Alfie straight in the eye. ‘And why would I want to do that, hey? Listen, I know you’re having a hard time, Alfie, but there’s no need to get paranoid. Look, lovely, why don’t I make us a coffee, this one’s gone cold. I’ll make you and Vaughn a bit of breakfast, what do you say? Look, darlin’, I am so sorry that you’re hurting. I hate to see you like this.’

Alfie shook his head, feeling the shame creeping over him. ‘No, I’m the one who’s sorry; I shouldn’t take it out on you. This thing with Franny is eating me up. If only I could get to speak to her, you know?’

Lola gave a tight smile but said nothing as she continued to listen to Alfie. ‘But I guess her message is loud and clear. It’s pretty obvious how she feels, cos she won’t even answer my calls, so I’m left here not knowing what I’ve fucking done. Have you any idea what that feels like? I should’ve known though, shouldn’t I? Look at her father and Cabhan: gangsters, faces, and they taught her everything she knows. What do they say? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’

‘Alfie …’

Kicking the bedside table, Alfie glared and pointed at Lola. ‘What? You think I’m being a hypocrite? Well, I’m not, the difference is I may be all those things her father was, but I’d never screw over my own. I’m not the bad guy here for once.’

Standing up, Lola tried to calm a pacing Alfie. ‘Sweetheart, I’m sure it’ll work out. I know it hurts.’

Alfie glared. ‘Oh, it ain’t hurting me, it’s screwing me over. Fucked me financially, like I’ve got me bollocks caught in a vice, and to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t want to sort it out now even if I could.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

Alfie’s handsome face reddened. ‘Oh, I do, and if she were here right now, Lola, do you know what I’d do?… I’d fucking kill her.’

And with that, Alfie Jennings stormed out of the room, leaving Lola standing there, a deep sense of unease beginning to creep over her.

9

The hot Colorado air whirled through the prison window bars in the visitors’ room. It was empty save the two armed guards who stood by the door waiting to be relieved from their lunchtime shift. They nodded a respectful greeting, first to Officer Johnstone and then to Nico as they walked in, making sure the latter’s greeting was clearly seen by the recipient. No one wanted repercussions from a Russo.

Striding across the magnolia-and-steel-blue-painted room, and deciding that for the time being he wouldn’t mention anything about the call from Alice, Nico hugged his brother. It was the first time they’d seen each other since the accident, though they’d spoken briefly on the phone.

‘Nico, I’m so sorry for your loss. Mi si spezza il cuore. My heart breaks.’

Breaking away from the hug, Nico pushed the thought of his daughter, Ally, out of his mind. They weren’t here to talk like women. They were here to talk business. That was all, and that was the way it should be.

He’d already learnt about his daughter’s passing, so there wasn’t much to discuss. Yes, it’d been a waste of a young life. The girl was only sixteen. But that was what she was, a girl. Losing a son, well, that would’ve been different. He knew if that had happened he’d be inconsolable with grief, but a girl, there was only so much sadness he could feel. He hadn’t built his fortunes on weeping beside gravesides for the women in his life.

His father had always taught him that for the right money a man would kill his own mother. Well, he hadn’t needed money, he’d been happy to do it for free. She’d been a whore, though he could’ve forgiven her for that; in one way or another all women were whores. What he couldn’t forgive was the fact that to save her own ass, not wanting to do a stretch inside for handling dirty money, she’d ratted him, Bobby and Salvatore to the cops.

They’d all been given six years whilst she’d walked free and just got on with her life. That had been twenty years ago, but on the day he’d been released, unlike his brothers, he hadn’t gone looking for his favourite meals of passatelli and pussy, he’d gone looking for her. For his mother. And, like Johnny Milano, he had made her pay.

It’d only taken a few hours to find her, grilling peppered swordfish on a barbecue for his cousin’s engagement party, and right there and then he’d held down both of her hands on the grill bars, and when he’d got bored of listening to her screams? Well, he’d put a gun in her mouth and blown her clean away.

But of course, out of respect for his cousin’s engagement, he’d paid for another party, only bigger and better, and out of respect for Italian custom – something very important to him – he’d gone to his mother’s funeral, laying a wreath made up of white lilies and yellow roses – her favourite flowers – at her gravestone.

‘Thank you, Sal,’ he said eventually, his thoughts returning to Ally and Salvatore. ‘She would’ve made somebody a good wife. However, let’s get down to business and why you’re here.’

Salvatore nodded, taking a seat in the deserted visitors’ room. He spoke respectfully, although what he was about to say he knew was the last thing that Nico would want to hear. But what choice did he have? Franny certainly hadn’t given him one and being out of pocket by a couple of million dollars was a sting, and there’d be no hiding that. He chose his words carefully.

‘Nico, as I said when I spoke to you, we’ve a problem. There was coke in Ally’s car ready to be shipped out along the coast, but after the accident, it had to be disposed of by Cabhan.’

Salvatore stopped to stare at his brother. He could see the vein on the side of his head pulsating.

Coldly and simply, Nico said, ‘Go on.’

‘Given the circumstances, Cabhan felt it was the right thing to do. He couldn’t call the cops without them discovering what was in the car, and even if he’d never called anyone, he would’ve been stuck there and we would’ve still been out of pocket anyway. There was no way he could’ve got off that ledge without help. Maybe getting rid of the coke was the only thing he could’ve done.’

‘How much coke are we actually talking about?’

‘Just over two million dollars.’

Nico nodded again, saying nothing. Giving away nothing. His face void of emotion.

After a couple of minutes, Nico said, ‘Tell me, Salvatore, why didn’t I know about the coke before? Why hadn’t you asked my permission before you went ahead with this?’

‘I’m telling you now.’

Slowly and menacingly, Nico leant across the table to his brother. ‘Ora non è prima. Now is not before. Do I need to remind you about respect, Salvatore?’

‘Nico, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like I was disrespecting you. I meant this is the first opportunity I have had to tell you.’

‘But if the accident hadn’t happened, and you hadn’t lost all that money, you wouldn’t have told me about this shipment, huh? Maybe you’re pleased I’m in here. So you can run things without telling me, is that it, Sal?’

Sal stared at his brother. ‘No … No, of course not.’

‘Do you think this is something I should worry about? That my little brother is trying to take over the family business behind my back?’

Salvatore pleaded with his brother, kissing Nico’s hand. ‘Nico, Nico. Please, it’s not like that. Sometimes I want to get ahead. Make decisions without running them past you, because I don’t want to disturb you all the time.’

Nico’s face darkened as his voice rose. He gestured with his arm. ‘Disturb me from what, Salvatore? Does this place look like an opera house to you? Like you’re disturbing me from the opening act of La Traviata?’

‘No, Nico.’

‘No, because I’m in this fucking hellhole night and day. I was the one who took the rap, not you, but I did it for you and you repay me by going behind my back … Tell me something, Sal, should I be blaming you for the accident?’

Salvatore’s face blanched. ‘What?’

‘Ally was your niece, it was your job, whilst I was in here, to look after her like a father.’

‘I did.’

‘No, because if you had she wouldn’t be dead. Why didn’t you drive her home that night?’

‘She insisted on driving and wanted to go with Cabhan.’

Nico slammed both his fists down, his voice rising. ‘And you let her?’

‘I didn’t see it as a problem. Ally drove that car so many times …’ Salvatore trailed off.

‘So who should I be blaming, Sal, if it’s not you? Ally? Cabhan? Who?’

Under pressure, Salvatore’s eyes darted around the room. ‘Maybe … I don’t know. Perhaps there isn’t anyone to blame apart from the accident itself … Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about all of it, and from now on everything will be run past you as it always was.’

Though Nico’s tone was warmer, his stare was so hard and so even, Salvatore couldn’t look at him.

‘What is this? You’re going soft on me, Sal? Either pussy must be good or business must be. So good that you’re okay with losing our money …’

Reaching across the table, Nico clipped his younger brother across the side of his head, like he had done when they were kids. ‘Huh? I’m right, aren’t I? You’ve got some pussy you haven’t told me about.’

Laughing, Salvatore leant back on the plastic chair. ‘No, it’s just that there’s an answer to this problem.’

Nico’s voice was full of interest. ‘Sto ascoltando. I’m listening.’

‘Franny Doyle. Patrick’s daughter.’

Looking surprised, Nico thought back. He remembered her name, mainly from her father and how much he’d talked about her. He was as proud of her as any man would’ve been about a son. She’d been his driving force. Everything he did, he’d done for her. And Cabhan had been the same, idolising Franny as if she were his own kid. Though the couple of times he had met Franny, the only thing that stuck in his mind was that she’d been a ball-breaker with too much of a smart mouth.

‘You’re making no sense, Sal.’

‘Franny wants to compensate us for the money. Although she says that Cabhan acted with our best interests in mind, she still wants to show her respect by paying for what was lost … She’s insisting on seeing you in person.’

Nico Russo contemplated this thought and, intrigued by meeting this woman again, he answered simply, ‘Okay. When?’

‘She’s here now, Nico, with Cabhan. I’m sorry, but she gave me no choice.’

Picking a crumb of food out of his teeth, Nico looked at his brother scornfully. ‘How can a woman give you no choice?’

Humiliated, Salvatore flushed. ‘I’m sorry. What shall I tell her?’

‘Show her in. What sort of host would I be if I turned my guests away?’

10

Ten minutes later, with the prison officers having been left to stand outside on Nico’s orders, Franny and Cabhan sat opposite him. Franny spoke calmly and firmly, showing great respect towards Nico, despite feeling none. She knew that this might be their best opportunity to get Cabhan back home to England.

‘Both Cab and I are extremely saddened about Ally.’

Cabhan nodded, his expression of remorse genuine. ‘I keep going over it in my head, Nico. The car, it just—’

Nico put up his hand to stop him from saying any more. ‘No more talk of it, please. Salvatore tells me there isn’t anyone to blame, it was just an accident. Tragic things happen … Which reminds me, how is your daughter …?’ Nico paused to feign ignorance as Cabhan shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I’m sorry, her name escapes me.’

Cabhan’s voice was strained. ‘Alice. Alice Rose.’

‘Ah, that’s right … Is she well?’

‘She’s very well, thank you.’

Nico smiled, his eyes darkening. ‘Bene. Good. We need to look after our families. Hold them close. You never know when something may happen. Life’s too short, wouldn’t you agree, Cab?’

‘I would.’

There was a tense silence before Nico clapped his hands. ‘Enough of this talk. Why don’t we just get on with business?’

Giving a quick side glance to Cabhan, Franny, knowing he wanted to get this over and done with as much as she did, took Nico’s cue, her voice cold and hard. ‘Okay. So how much are we talking about, Nico? How much did you lose?’

Nico watched Franny evenly. He’d forgotten how much like an Italian goddess she looked, but that didn’t stop him having an aversion to her. Mouthy broads who thought they were men, in his experience, always came to a very bad end.

‘About two and a half million dollars.’

Franny nodded calmly, rivalling the outwardly composed Nico. ‘Which is about one point eight million pounds, but as a goodwill gesture, to show there’s no hard feelings between us, I’m willing to give you two million in British sterling, that’s as long as we can draw a line under it all.’

Nico Russo chewed down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood, his expression once again not giving away any kind of emotion as he turned to Cabhan. ‘You let women do men’s business now?’

‘It’s not for me to let her, Franny does what she wants. She is her own woman and her own boss.’

‘Then it’s a shame it wasn’t Franny who came to work for us instead of you. It seems like she’s the one with the balls. Tell me something, Franny, where did you get the money from?’

Franny gave a smile, pushing Alfie out from the back of her mind, focusing only on the matter at hand. ‘Nico, I get my money from the same place you do.’

Nico smiled back, genuine amusement in his eye. He put his hand out for Franny to shake.

‘Okay, Franny, it seems we have a deal.’

Franny held Nico’s hand as well as his stare just as hard, the Doyle strength pushing through. ‘And you’ll speak to the rest of the family about Cabhan coming home?’

‘Yes.’

‘So that’s it, we’re even?’

Nico nodded and smiled.

When Franny and Cabhan had left the visitors’ room, Salvatore turned to Nico.

‘I’ll arrange for her to transfer the money today to one of our accounts in India, and then it’s done.’

Nico’s eyes turned dark and cold. ‘No, Salvatore, it’s only just beginning. Never forget that in life there’s always somebody to blame and there’s always a way to get revenge … An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth … a daughter for a daughter. Let’s go and wish Cabhan a happy birthday with the sweet Alice Rose.’

11

Alice walked along with Sister Margaret, hardly able to contain herself. She’d spoken to Nico again and everything seemed to be under way. He’d been amazing, kind and caring, so in return what she’d done was make certain she’d said a prayer of thanks each morning in chapel for him. After all, she didn’t want to take for granted any of the angels sent her way.

The party was all set for Saturday and she had a feeling it was going to be just perfect. She couldn’t wait to see her dad’s face. She loved him so much at times she thought she was going to burst.

‘You seem distracted, Alice.’

‘No, I’m just thinking, Sister Margaret.’

‘Well, I hope your thoughts are full of godliness, Alice, rather than temptation. You know, every temptation is an opportunity to prove the Devil wrong, Alice Rose.’

Alice smiled warmly. ‘Of course, Sister Margaret.’

‘You know, if there is anything you want to tell me, you can. I don’t …’

Wanting to say more but hearing the front gate bell ring, Sister Margaret turned to walk down the tree-lined driveway. She raised her hand to the waiting car.

‘I’m coming … I’ll be back in a minute Al—’

As she spoke, Alice suddenly saw Sister Margaret’s cream robe turn crimson. Terror gripped her as she watched, not quite comprehending what was happening as the nun’s head began to loll back, her body sinking to the ground, blood oozing as her eyes held Alice’s stare.

Alice began to shake, her whole body trembling as her screams mixed with the warm winds. Hysterically, she ran towards Sister Margaret and threw herself on the ground. Desperately afraid and racked with terrified sobs, Alice cradled the nun’s head in her arms. ‘Don’t die! Don’t die! Sister Margaret … Please … please … please!’

Blood trickled out of the side of Sister Margaret’s mouth as she tried to speak. ‘Run, Alice. Run. Get help, and may God protect you …’

A sound at the gates made Alice look up. Cold sweat began to drip from her as she saw two cars driving through them. She knew she had to move or they’d see her, but it felt like her legs were made of stone, as if fear were holding her down.

Breathing out slowly, Alice closed her eyes, petrified to move and feeling her whole body go into spasms as Sister Margaret whispered up at her.

‘Alice, go! Go, child … Now!’

Too frightened to speak, Alice nodded as she backed away slowly before breaking into a run, terror stopping her from turning around as she sprinted as fast as she could back through the meadows, heading for the white stone field shelter. She raced through the open archway to the relative safety of the dark, empty building, feeling like there were someone right behind her, feeling like she could almost feel their breath on the back of her neck.

Terrified, trying to stop herself from crying, unable to stop shaking, Alice peeked through the dusty window, sneaking the smallest of glances …

Over by Sister Margaret, the cars stopped. The doors flung open and Bobby Russo – his face covered by a demonic clown mask – stepped out. Leaving the other men by the brand-new blacked-out Escalades, Bobby sauntered across to the nun, watching for signs of life.

Poking her with the nozzle of his semi-automatic, his voice was thick and nasal. ‘Where’s Alice Rose?’

Not getting a response, Bobby kicked Sister Margaret on the top of her thigh with the tip of his boot, causing her to moan out loud. He chuckled. ‘So you are alive … I need to know where Alice Rose is.’

Through blood-covered lips, Sister Margaret rasped, ‘God forgive you!’

From behind the mask, Bobby grinned, his voice mocking. ‘Hey, Sis, I don’t need your God to forgive me, I’ve already booked my place in hell. Front-row seats. So don’t you go troubling yourself about me, just tell me where Alice is.’

Riddled with pain, Sister Margaret spat her answer. ‘Never!’

‘Oh, it’s like that, is it? Going to be a ballsy broad? Fine, Sis, have it your own way.’

After taking off the safety catch, Bobby pointed the gun straight into the nun’s face, pushing it down hard onto her forehead. ‘Prepare to meet your Maker.’

‘Bobby! Leave it! Come on!’ Salvatore called, gesturing for his brother to join him.

Glancing down at the nun, Bobby shouted back, ‘What about her?’

‘Jesus, Bob, I said, come on!’

Shrugging and flicking the latch back on his gun, Bobby, whistling, walked across to Salvatore who, along with the other men, wore hideous, gruesome masks.

Giving out his orders, Salvatore, with cocaine and adrenalin rushing through his veins, spoke quickly. ‘Spread out. We know she’s here somewhere; the place isn’t that big. And have fun, make noise, we’re in the middle of nowhere, so no one’s going to hear them scream. If anyone does manage to call for help, it’ll be a hell of a long time before they get here.’

Bobby looked around the grounds of the convent through the small slits of his mask and glanced at his brother. ‘Problem is, Sal, we don’t know what the kid looks like.’

Salvatore sniffed, then said calmly, ‘Then there’s only one thing for us to do. We kill them all …’

‘Alice … Alice … Come out, come out, wherever you are!’

Still hiding in the corner of the outhouse, Alice, hearing her name, whipped around, confusion mixing with fear.

Puzzled and scared, wet with sweat, she crept back across to the tiny window, taking another peep, freezing at the sight in front of her … There were nine, ten men, all standing in a row wearing clown masks, gruesome and deathly but worse still, they were looking her way. Heading towards her hideout.

She heard herself cry out, but she quickly slammed her hand over her mouth, not trusting herself not to make a sound as tears of terror ran down her face.

Taking a deep breath, Alice tried to calm herself and, not knowing what else to do, dropped to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut and clasping her hands together as she moved her lips in a silent prayer. But she felt no solace and the fear continued to flood over her, making her feel like she was drowning in a pool of horror.

Braving herself to peep with one eye, Alice could see the men were still there, and for the first time in her life she was scared her prayers weren’t going to save her. Right then and there, she decided her mother had been right: the sin of forgetting to give thanks meant God would forsake her in her hour of need, like she’d forsaken him. And although she realised she’d been bad, she wished he’d give her a second chance, forgive her, because she was really terrified and had no idea what to do or where to run. All she wanted was to see her dad.

Shivering, Alice’s thoughts began to rush. She couldn’t think straight, her chest beginning to tighten, making it hard for her to breathe, and her tears were choking her, blocking her airways. It felt like she was going to die.

‘Alice!’

She held her head in her hands, rocking backwards and forwards. Why were they calling her name? How did they know it? She just wanted them to go away.

‘Alice, where are you?’

Swallowing hard, Alice nervously crept forward, craning her head round the open archway, pinning herself against the wall in the shadows. As she watched, she banged her hand over her mouth again, this time to stop herself from screaming. Horrified, she saw one of her schoolfriends running, her face marked with terror as she charged towards the flower-filled woods. But it was too late, one of the men had spotted her, aiming and firing his gun in quick succession until a fountain of blood spurted out of the back of the girl’s head as it burst open, splitting into tiny pieces.

Waves of nausea overwhelmed Alice and she struggled not to faint. She vomited in the corner, trying desperately not to make any noise. She knew she had to get out and wiping her mouth, Alice headed for the back window of the outhouse, which faced towards the convent.

Glancing quickly behind her, panic-stricken, Alice clambered out, running frantically along the stone path, hoping to head towards the woods. At the corner of the outbuilding, hearing voices coming from the entrance of the school. Startled, Alice crouched down by the rose bushes, pushing herself as far back as possible.

As she waited, Alice looked down, suddenly feeling like she’d stepped into something warm. Wide-eyed, she stared as she watched her white canvas sneakers begin to turn red, soaking up the flow of blood oozing towards her.

Sick with fear, Alice’s gaze followed the trail. She gasped in panic. There, lying only yards away, were the bodies of Sister Abby and Sister Mary along with three of her classmates. Furiously, Alice scrabbled back, tears blinding her vision as she fought her urge to scream whilst the sound of more gunshots made her jump.

She put her fingers in her ears, desperate to block out the cries of her friends as she stumbled along the path again, tripping over more bodies of her classmates as she began to run towards the side door of the convent; the smell of death mixing in the air with the sweet aroma of purple cornflowers and poppy mallows.

Nearly at the main building, Alice froze in horror as she saw an evil clown with bright red hair, terrifying teeth and a bloodstained mouth standing guard by the entrance of the school, a sub-machine gun in hand. As fear clutched her stomach, she swallowed her vomit back down, petrified she was going to be caught.

Trembling and about to go back the way she came, Alice heard men’s voices behind her getting louder, getting nearer. Hiding again, but keeping her eyes on the clown by the door, Alice tried to work out what to do next … He hadn’t seen her yet, but he would if she stayed where she was – though the problem was there was no way she could get to the side door without him spotting her, and turning back wasn’t an option.

Then, suddenly, an idea came to mind and with a rush of renewed hope, Alice checked all around her, feeling her heart thump in her chest as she tiptoed along the wall, fixing her gaze firmly on the clown.

A few feet further, Alice came to a halt by the fire escape ladder fixed to the outer wall of the convent. If only she could manage to climb up to the roof, she could get in through the skylight and make her way through to the other side of the building, which would give her access to the woods. Then just maybe, maybe she stood a chance.

Looking up to the top of the five-storey building, Alice, who was terrified of heights, closed her eyes briefly, kissed the cross on her necklace and prayed for strength as she tried to push away her terror, to stop herself from shaking. Then, a moment later, Alice Rose began to climb.

12

Sister Margaret opened her eyes. The pain was unbearable but she needed to move and get help. Turning her head slowly to check no one was about, she winced in agony and, unable to stand, began to pull herself along the ground. She could feel herself losing blood, but she needed to get to the office before it was too late.

Exhausted, she dragged herself along, saying a prayer for every dead body she passed as she ignored her own suffering, focusing on getting to the building and listening out for any approaching footsteps.

After what seemed like forever, Sister Margaret finally made it to the small green door situated at the side of the convent’s office block. Stretching up for the door handle, she struggled to reach high enough, as the excruciating pain from the bullet – which sat like a ticking time bomb in her chest – prevented her from doing so.

With her hands trembling and blood running down her arm, she tried again, fighting back frustrated tears. But it was no good, the pain acted like a barricade.

Panting, Sister Margaret leant against the door, closing her eyes in anguish. Then almost immediately she opened them, smiling to herself ruefully, admonishing herself for thinking her despair wouldn’t be answered and guided.

She pulled her rosary beads from her robe pocket and held them in her hand before flicking them up in the air, only for them to fall back down on her lap. Undeterred, Sister Margaret tried again. This time they hooked over the silver door handle, creating a loop to hold onto.

Grabbing the large wooden cross on the end of the rosary, Sister Margaret drew herself up. The weight of her body on the beads – as she intended – pulled and released the door, giving her the opportunity, before they broke, to throw herself forward and tumble inside the hallway.

Still unable to stand, she heaved herself along the corridor, a trail of blood behind her. Drained and weak, feeling like time was running out, she summoned up the last of her strength as she began to cough up blood.

Making it to her office, Sister Margaret held onto the sides of the dark wooden furniture to drag herself along. At her desk she rested for a moment, trying to get her breath as she pulled at the phone wire, bringing books and letters along with the phone crashing down onto the floor.

Trembling, she yanked a slim black notebook out of her other robe pocket, the white pages in it turning red with her blood. She could feel herself starting to black out, the words and numbers on the pages blurring in and out of vision.

Punching out a number whilst grimacing at each movement and every pain wave, Sister Margaret cradled the phone in her arms as it rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Mr Morton, it’s Sister Margaret.’

‘Hello?’

The nun’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘Mr Morton, you’ve got to come. They’re after Alice …’

‘Hello? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.’

Sister Margaret fell forward, the phone dropping out of her hands as her face slammed down onto the hard parquet tiles. Her body smashing against the wood.

‘Hello? Hello?’

In the corridor Alice, hearing a noise in Sister Margaret’s office, stopped, her heart racing not only at the sound coming from inside the room, but also at the trail of blood snaking up the hall. She began to shake again as she listened, panic and dread overwhelming her. But there was silence. Nothing but silence. Then, breathing out to quieten her fear, Alice slowly moved forward and peeked through the crack of the open door.

Gawking in horror, feeling like she were in a waking nightmare, Alice saw the lifeless body of Sister Margaret sprawled across the floor. She ran into the room but immediately slipped on a pool of blood, which threw her forward to trip and fall on top of the nun.

Letting out a small scream, Alice, hysterical, pulled herself into a ball as she began to cry uncontrollably.

‘Hello? Hello? Hello, are you there?’

Quivering and curled up tightly, Alice frowned, straining to hear. Then, almost too traumatised to move, she slowly turned her head towards the sound.

‘Hello? Hello?’

Suddenly realising there was somebody on the other end of the phone, Alice crawled forward, picking up the receiver as her hands shook furiously and her voice trembled. She spoke through dry lips. ‘Hello?’

‘Alice?’

Overcome with emotion, she nodded, breaking down into silent tears as she heard her father’s voice.

‘Alice?’

Trying to talk quietly as she furiously began to hyperventilate, Alice only just managed to get the words out. ‘Dad, Dad, you’ve got to help me!’

‘Alice, Jesus Christ, what’s happening?’

‘Everyone’s dead, they’re dead.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Alice began to rock, sobbing into the phone. ‘Please, help me. Help me.’

‘Alice, you’re not making sense.’

‘Sister Margaret, she’s dead too. I think they all are.’

Cabhan’s voice was urgent and full of fear. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but you’ve got to get out of there. You hear me?’

Alice shook her head, snot and tears running down her face. ‘I can’t, the clowns are everywhere …’

‘Alice, you’re frightening me. Look, we can be there in about an hour, maybe less. We’re already in the area, but you need to …’

Cabhan’s words were cut off as Alice, looking up, dropped the phone, suddenly beginning to scream as a gruesome masked figure at the window stood staring in at her. The man aimed his gun, but as the bullet shattered the glass, Alice Rose turned and ran.

13

‘You saw her, but you thought it was okay to let her go?’ Salvatore stared at Stefano Greco – an old schoolfriend who’d worked for his family for the past ten years – with unadulterated hatred.

‘I didn’t, Sal, I fired and then she ran off before I managed …’

Standing by the door of the tiny whitewashed chapel of the convent, Salvatore raised his voice, pacing agitatedly. ‘She’s a kid and you had a fucking semi-automatic in your hands. Do the math, Stefano … What did she look like?’

‘Blonde … no, maybe brown hair … I dunno, Jesus. I didn’t see her properly, Sal, but look around you, everyone’s dead, she might be dead already, we don’t even know if that girl was her.’

Salvatore smashed an iron bar into Stefano’s face and listened to his piercing scream as one of his cheekbones splintered in two.

Panting, Salvatore crouched down level with the writhing figure on the floor. Fear knotted Stefano’s insides, suddenly aware that he could easily lose control of his bodily functions, such was the terror he felt.

Salvatore snarled, ‘But we don’t know it wasn’t either, do we? And now it might be too late. If it was her, we need to go and find her. My orders, Stef, were to kill everyone on sight.’

Stefano trembled in pain. ‘Sal, Mi dispiace.’

‘You’re sorry?’

With fear dancing in his green eyes, Stefano nodded. ‘Sì! Sì!’

Licking his chapped lips, Salvatore picked up a taper and lit one of the candles in the rack outside the chapel. He made a sign of the cross before watching it burn along with the dozens of other tea lights flickering in the warm breeze. He smiled.

‘Do you know what these are for, Stefano?’

Nervously, Stefano mumbled, ‘Sì, they are the candles for the dead.’

Salvatore drew his eyes away to look at Stefano. ‘That’s right, and I lit that one for you.’ Then, without missing a beat, Salvatore whipped out the gun he had tucked away in his trouser waist and placed the nozzle onto Stefano’s nicotine-stained teeth before casually pulling the trigger.

Wiping away the blood and pieces of flesh from the front of his clothes, still wearing his clown mask, Salvatore addressed his brother. ‘Bobby, put his body in the car and clean up his mess, we don’t want to leave the cops a calling card. Then take some men and search down by the river. I’ll take the others and go up into the woods. If you see anything, even a fucking racoon, you shoot it dead. You hear me?’

He stopped to point his gun at the congregated men, adding, ‘You understand me, guys? Whoever she was, you bring that girl’s head back to me, unless of course you want to end up like our good friend Stefano. Now let’s go!’

Racing through the trees and across the meadows, Alice tried to shut out the bloody images in her head. She tried to think of something good, like her mother, like her friend Isaiah, but it was impossible because she could still hear the screams, still smell the blood. The scent of death seeped out of her pores and she was scared, terrified and couldn’t think straight.

Running as fast as she could, drenched with sweat and not knowing where she was going, she just knew she had to keep moving. Alice focused on getting away, but the problem was, even though she knew the area so well – had explored every corner of it – suddenly every tree, every bush, every pathway looked the same. She couldn’t remember anything.

The lake house was on the top of the hill, she knew that, but which track to take she couldn’t remember. She was lost and if she wasn’t careful she’d end up back at the convent where the demonic clowns were. Where the blood was. The thought of it made her suddenly gasp and she could hardly catch her breath, but a noise from behind sent her scrabbling forward. Seeing a clump of bushes, Alice threw herself underneath it, squeezing her eyes shut as the tears rolled down her face again.

‘Alice! Alice! It’s no good hiding, honey. We just want to talk to you.’

The scrub was vast, allowing Alice to scramble backwards on her stomach, her skin snagging on sharp thorns and bushes, but she didn’t make a noise. Ignoring the pain and blood trickling down her face, Alice saw six … seven … eight clowns all walking in her direction.

‘Alice!’

Shaking, Alice glanced behind her. She looked across to one of the meadows, a thought coming to mind.

Creeping backwards, Alice kept low to the ground, watching out for any branches that might snap and make a sound. Nearing the fenced meadow, Alice nervously glanced about. Breathing deeply, she tried to steady her nerves and racing heart.

She burst out of the shrub, ran along the edge of the field and made her way to the small copse, whispering a name, quietly and softly so as not to spook him. ‘Mac! Mac!’ A few seconds later, the convent’s retired pony ambled into sight.

‘You’re going to get us out of here, aren’t you, boy?’

Opening the gate as silently as she could, Alice walked into Mac’s paddock and grabbed his head collar from a wooden post.

Wiping the sweat from her hands, she gently approached Mac and slid the noseband over his white muzzle, all the time talking softly as she guided it over his ears.

‘There you go, boy, there you go.’

After making sure it was secure, Alice looped the rope over his head, tying it gently to both sides of the head collar. Not seeing anything she could climb on, she placed her left hand on Mac’s withers, holding onto his mane, before jumping and swinging her leg energetically over his back.

With her voice trembling, Alice continued to speak to Mac, reassuring herself as much as him. ‘Sshhh, boy, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.’

Holding the rope, Alice ducked down, avoiding the low-hanging trees as she moved Mac slowly forward. She stared at the horizon. Over by the far field she could see two of the clowns pointing towards the trees where she was hidden. Her heart began to race faster again and Mac, sensitive to fear, began to get edgy, backing up and circling around.

She needed to move, to get to the far corner, which she suddenly remembered would take her over the bridge and along the path to the road. She also needed to make sure she stayed on the far side of the meadow, but this could be her chance … perhaps her only chance.

Eagerly and with the tiniest glimmer of hope, Alice squeezed her legs to get Mac to move forward again. It’d been a long time since she’d ridden and it was certainly a long time since anybody had got on him. But if they could do it, if they could ride away, then she’d be able to get to the road and to help. The thought made her feel braver.

Taking a deep breath, Alice leant forward and whispered into Mac’s ears as they hid in the shadows of the trees. Then, with one almighty kick, deciding it was now or never, she set off across the fields with Mac, who was so startled he immediately cantered before transitioning into a gallop, head down and looking like a horse ten years younger.

Alice was going at such speed tears were streaming down her cheeks, caused by the wind blowing hard in her face as well as her fear. She didn’t dare to look back as she galloped towards the end of the meadow, through the long grass covered in daisies and towards the stream in the far corner.

A sound of guns firing had Alice clinging onto Mac’s mane as she lost her balance for a moment, sliding to the side, but she could feel Mac giving it his best effort, sensing her terror.

‘Come on, boy, come on! We’re nearly there.’

Then, after jumping over the small stream and into the woods, Alice slowed Mac, giving him a chance to get his breath back before steeling herself to turn around.

In the distance she could see the clowns, but they were too far back to catch up. If she kept going up towards the road, which was a few miles along, she could hopefully flag someone over.

With tears of relief, full of determination, Alice ducked her head under the trees as Mac set off into a trot, heading up the hill to safety.

It felt to Alice like she’d been riding for hours, with the bushes and branches snatching and scratching on her skin, but finally she could see the road up ahead.

Exhausted, she guided Mac onto the lane, but a sense of dread engulfed her. Out of the trees she felt exposed and vulnerable on the wide tarmacked road, which wound and weaved through the hills. But there was no other route; the track she’d been on fell away, so the only means to get help was to continue along the lane.

As they walked along, Alice felt as if every noise and every movement of the trees was danger lying in wait. Then a sudden sound of a car behind them triggered Alice’s panic. She trembled in terror, sweat pricking at her forehead. She didn’t dare look back, even though the car was getting nearer and she could almost feel the heat from the engine. She tried to push Mac on to go faster, but the hard ground was too much for his unshod feet. Then Alice heard what she’d been dreading, the sound of the car door opening and feet running towards her.

A hand on her arm grabbed her, making her scream.

‘Alice! Alice! Stop, stop, it’s me.’

Covered in Sister Margaret’s blood, Alice stared at Cabhan. Her voice was almost unrecognisable. ‘Dad?’

‘Yes, baby, it’s me.’

Alice broke down in tears of relief as she leant forward, burying her face in Mac’s mane. ‘They killed her, Dad! They killed her! They just shot her and then … and then they began to call out my name.’

‘What?’ Cabhan’s voice was sharp with concern, though his hands were still gentle as he held onto his precious daughter.

Alice nodded frantically, her nose and eyes streaming. ‘Yeah, they kept calling out for me.’

‘Okay, okay, honey. Alice, Sshhh, it’s going to be okay, baby. Look who’s here with me.’

Alice glanced up into the face of Franny.

‘Hi, sweetheart,’ Franny said, her voice full of warmth and tenderness. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been through all this, but we’re going to get you out of here. Like your dad says, it’s going to be all right, though we need to get you off this road and into the car.’

Distressed, Alice cried out, ‘What about Mac? I can’t leave him. He saved me.’

Franny smiled at Alice, speaking as gently as she could. ‘He’ll find his way home, the convent’s over there. He’ll be okay.’

Panic-stricken and wide-eyed, Alice cried as Franny glanced at Cabhan, ‘But they’re all dead, Franny.’

Wanting to, but not allowing herself to break down, Franny knew that she had to stay calm and she spoke a little more firmly. ‘Okay, baby, we’ll call someone; we’ll make sure they go and look after him. I promise you, he’ll be all right, okay?’

Alice nodded, trembling as Franny continued to talk. ‘But, Alice, we really need to get you off this road. I want to get you to a safer place.’

Franny turned to whisper to Cabhan as he lifted Alice off Mac, watching the woods.

‘It’s got to be them. It’s got to be Salvatore. This isn’t some random, crazed shooting. We need to get out of here before they find us and before the police get here. We need to disappear.’

Cabhan nodded, the full horror of the situation beginning to hit him as well. Why they’d thought it was some American-style school shooting, he didn’t know. Why hadn’t he just put two and two together, or maybe he had, maybe he just hadn’t wanted to believe it was the Russos.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked Alice, wiping away the nun’s blood still covering her.

Alice shook her head against his chest, cradled in Cabhan’s arms as he carried her towards the car. He kissed her, whispering words he knew in his heart were hollow. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s all over now. Everything’s going to be all right.’

As Franny got in the car after quickly glancing back towards the woods, Cabhan gently placed Alice on the back seat, covering her with a blanket as she continued to shiver. And in the distance, in the shadow of the trees, stood Salvatore Russo, watching as Cabhan drove away at speed, and he smiled.

14

Nico Russo ruminated as he glanced out of the prison window. He sniffed the bitter espresso that he’d got one of the wardens to make, then took a sip. He sat watching his younger brothers, his expression as usual blank, the only giveaway sign of his seething and burning anger the muscles pulsating on his jaw line as he clenched his teeth, grinding them until they gave out a low screech.

Bobby, uncomfortable with the silence, which had hung in the air for the past five minutes, glanced around the empty visitors’ waiting room, locking eyes with the prison officers in the corner before turning away contemptuously. Trying to keep his voice light, but still with respect, he leant across the table, touching Nico’s hands.

‘Nico, both Sal and I did everything we could to get the girl.’

Laughing scornfully, Nico pulled his hands away before burying his fist in Bobby’s face, the force of the blow knocking him to the floor along with the coffee. Officer Johnstone went to make a move, but Nico raised his hand, indicating for him not to interfere.

‘How dare you come in here to disrespect me! You think I’m stupid, Bobby?’ Nico loomed over his brother, speaking dangerously low. ‘First, Salvatore goes behind my back by not telling me about the cocaine shipment …’ Nico paused as he stared at Salvatore angrily until he dropped his head as Bobby shot him a puzzled glance. ‘Now, you think you can come and give me excuses whilst I sit and rot in this place. She’s a kid. Sixteen. Fucking sixteen and she gave you two the runaround. I want her found, she’s mine. I want her. I want you to bring me her heart. You understand me? No more excuses.’

Getting up slowly and sucking the blood from his lips, Bobby shook his head. ‘Nico, it’s not an excuse, I don’t want you to think we didn’t try.’

Raging, Nico growled out his words. ‘This family was built on success, on honour, on men who could be counted on, but, in turn, this family will be destroyed by failure, by weakness, by motherfuckers like you. By my own brothers.’

‘Nico—’

Nico flew at Salvatore, grabbing hold of his face, squeezing and crushing it between his gigantic, rough hands. He shook, trembling with rage as he spoke, his mouth touching his brother’s cheeks. ‘I love you, Sal, you’re my own flesh and blood. You hurt, I hurt, whatever pains you, pains me, but I’ll break your neck right here, right now, if you continue to disrespect me. Understand?’

Salvatore gave a tiny nod. ‘Sì.’

Then, taking a deep breath and exhaling noisily, Nico let go of his brother’s face and placed a kiss on the top of his head. ‘Good, good. I’m glad that we’ve got that sorted out … Now, give me your cell.’

Clearly relieved, Salvatore gave a small smile as he passed over his phone. Scrolling down the numbers, Nico came to the one he wanted, but just as he was about to click the call button, Officer Johnstone stood up.

‘Nico, you can’t have the phone in here. You’re not supposed to have phones in prison, you know that, and this block picks up unauthorised mobile signals. Use it when you get back to your wing, or we’ll both be in trouble.’

Nico walked over to the officer, his face twisted with rage. ‘You think it’s okay to speak to me like that in front of my family? What are you trying to do, embarrass me?’ He stopped, then walked even closer to the warden and pressed his forehead against his. ‘I know where you live, Officer Johnstone. I know where your mother lives and your children, so don’t push me, because like that –’ he clicked his fingers ‘– they could be gone.’

Officer Johnstone, alarmed, put his hands up, backing away slowly. ‘Okay, Nico, okay, I was only saying, there’s no need to do anything rash. We’ve got an agreement that we’re going to stick to … I’m sorry.’

‘And you’d do well to remember that. Now, get out of my fucking face. Capito?’

As the officer nodded in understanding, Nico turned and pressed call, waiting for it to ring before going straight to voicemail. He paced as he talked.

‘Hello, Cabhan, it’s Nico. Happy birthday. I understand from my brothers that your girl got away, but I just wanted to call and tell you, there’s no hiding place, nowhere we won’t find you. Nowhere revenge won’t touch you. I will find you, Cabhan … or rather, I’ll find your little girl. Hide, Alice Rose, hide, because Nico’s coming, ready or not.’

15

‘Cab, it’s been over four weeks, we can’t stay here. Look at her. She’s getting worse by the day. She’s just a kid and I’m worried about her, I’m worried about all of us,’ Franny whispered to Cabhan as they stood in the tiny motel room just outside Frenchtown in Montana.

When they’d found Alice, they’d driven through Iowa before hitting South Dakota, then finally reaching western Montana to hide out in the tiny, mostly unpopulated area, but not for one moment had she thought they’d still be holed up in the motel a month later. Not that either of them had a plan, and as each day went on it seemed less likely that Cabhan would come up with one. She’d never seen him like this before: he was struggling to cope, blaming himself, and the tension in the air was almost unbearable.

‘So tell me, what the fuck are we supposed to do? What better ideas have you got? Nico’s not playing when he says he’s looking for us. You know what he’s like, he won’t stop until he’s got Alice …’

‘Look around you, Cab, there’s nothing here for us. We have five hundred dollars to our name. That’s it and it’s going to run out soon and then what? We have nothing. The day we went to see Nico, I transferred all of the money. Alfie’s money. And he’s not happy. I’ve given up listening to his voicemails, but when I went through Evaro yesterday, I tried the bank cards and guess what? He’s stopped them all, and I doubt the motel manager is going to be full of understanding if we tell him we can’t pay for the room.’

Cabhan stared at Franny, hissing through his teeth, hating the fact that the bitter anger he felt towards Nico was being directed at her. ‘What the fuck do you want me to do about it? I’m as screwed as you are. I can’t use my account because they’ll know where we are. And besides, my bank account is a business account set up by Salvatore to make sure he knows my every move.’

Franny glanced around the dark, grimy room. Two double beds, a bedside cabinet propped up by a Bible. A threadbare chair in the corner that had seen better days and an en-suite bathroom consisting of a toilet and shower, both barely working.

Refusing to be hurt by Cabhan offloading his stress onto her, Franny kept her voice quiet.

‘Cab, I know this is tough, but we’ve got to think of something. Alice has been through a massive amount of trauma; we need to get her some help. She’s a kid; she can’t just lie there. She’s hardly said a word for three whole weeks.’

‘You don’t think I can’t see that? You don’t think I’m worried about her? She’s my daughter, Franny. Jesus Christ, I’ve only known her a couple of years and look what I’ve done to her life. I just can’t think straight anymore. Every time there’s a noise I think the Russos will come walking through that door.’

Overwhelmed by guilt, Cabhan turned away from Franny, not wanting her to see him breaking down. He continued to speak, his voice cracking on every word. ‘I feel so helpless and I’m so fucking angry with myself. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m scared. I’m scared for Alice, because this isn’t going to be over anytime soon.’

Franny grabbed hold of Cabhan’s arm, pulling him towards the door of the room, and gently pushed him outside into the warm Montana air.

Looking out towards the vast, rugged hillside, Franny smiled compassionately. ‘Let’s not talk in there, Cab, you don’t want Alice to wake up and see you upset. And we don’t want Alice to know anything about the Russos, you hear me?’

‘So what are we going to tell her?’

Franny shrugged, her eyes darting around as she kept watch on the road. Although she’d never admit it, she felt the same air of unease as Cabhan did, but the last thing he needed was for her to crumple as well. The other thing she didn’t really want to admit, not even to herself, was that she wished Alfie were here. She missed him so much, plus he would know what to do, because right now she didn’t think she was doing such a great job of looking after Cabhan or Alice. Of course, she knew she had to be strong – the problem was she didn’t feel very strong at all. ‘I don’t know, Cab. Why don’t we tell her it was a robbery?’

‘A robbery? More like a fucking homicidal maniac. Have you seen the news? Seen what they’re saying about it? They’re coming up with all sorts of ideas about how it happened. Cults, crazed killers, the other night they were even mentioning terrorists.’

‘Then that’s good, isn’t it? It means they’re not talking about Nico and they’re not talking about us. So we don’t have to tell Alice anything apart from it was a robbery, because nobody knows the truth and that’s the way it’s going to stay.’

Cabhan stared hard at Franny, his thoughts racing. ‘You can be cold sometimes. Does nothing bother you, Fran? Are you really that hard? Just wipe it away like it never happened?’

A flicker of hurt crossed through Franny’s eyes, which went unseen by Cabhan. ‘That’s not how it is.’

‘Really? Because it seems like you’re forgetting those kids, those nuns, are only dead because of me.’

‘Because of Nico, not you.’

Cabhan shook his head as he kicked at the white dusty ground in angry bemusement. ‘You’re something else, you know that?’

‘All I know is that we need to think about now, about Alice and about how we’re going to get out of this mess. The last thing we want to do is start telling Alice any more than she needs to know.’

‘So what you’re saying is tell her nothing and get on with our lives, is that it?’

Feeling edgy as a car appeared in the distance, Franny nodded. ‘If we can, that’s exactly what we do. Look, Cab, someone has to be practical about this. I’m just trying to do what’s best for Alice and if that makes me cold, that’s totally fine with me.’

Emotional, unable to look at Franny, Cabhan continued to stare at the ground. ‘I’m just so fucked off with myself. I mean, how did they know where she was? How did they find her? I was so careful, or I thought I was. I was a fool, Fran, to think that I could’ve walked away scot-free from killing Ally.’

‘Cab, it was an accident, when will you get that into your head?’

Becoming angry again, Cabhan raised his voice. ‘But the blood of so many people is on my hands. If it wasn’t for me they’d all be alive. Have you any idea how that feels, Fran?’

Gently, Franny pulled Cabhan towards her. ‘No, no, I don’t, but you’ve got to give yourself a break. Stop beating yourself up. I know it sounds heartless, but it’s happened now. There’s nothing we can do, so we need to put all our energy into getting out of this mess. On keeping Alice safe.’

Lighting a cigarette, Cabhan nodded gratefully. ‘I know you’re right, but I’ve no idea how. I’ve never felt this useless since what happened to your dad. We’re fucked, Fran.’

‘No, Cab, we’re not, I won’t let that happen. Look, I think we should go back to England. To Essex. At least there we’ve got people around us, and I don’t think they’ll come looking for us there. Once I see Alfie face-to-face, I’m sure I can make him come around.’

Cabhan, knowing Alfie very well, raised his eyebrows.

‘You sure about that? This is Alf we’re talking about. Remember, he told me if I went to work for the Russos, I’d be on my own. He’s made it very clear how he feels.’

Sounding just as unconvinced as she felt, Franny said, ‘It’ll be fine. At the moment he doesn’t know why I took the money, but once he does he’ll understand. Alfie is …’ She trailed off, not wanting to think about his reaction, especially after his last message yesterday, which was full of threats and anger. But underneath it all she could also hear his hurt, which sliced at her heart … Quickly wanting to change her train of thought because it felt too raw, too painful, Franny continued, ‘Anyway … look, we’ve got our passports and I’ve checked the flights. We can get one in four days’ time from Missoula International, then get connecting flights from there. And then it’s back to Essex.’

Taking a deep drag and letting the smoke slowly ebb out of his nose, Cab tried not to sound frustrated. ‘Hate to say it, Fran, aren’t you forgetting one thing? Money. We need money.’

Franny rested her head on Cabhan’s shoulder and sighed. ‘Look, don’t worry about that. Trust me. I’ve got an idea.’

16

‘Alfie, are you all right? I was just wanting to have a chat, run something by you, but I can leave you to it if you like.’

Back in Essex, Bree Dwyer stood in the bedroom doorway looking at Alfie as he threw his phone angrily across the room.

Not realising anyone was there and feeling startled, Alfie snapped, ‘No, I’m fine, darlin’, why wouldn’t I be?’

She walked in, her long blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders as she bent down to pick up his phone. ‘Maybe because most people who are actually fine don’t usually fling their phone away.’

Alfie gave her a half-smile, his handsome face lighting up. He shrugged. ‘You got me bang to rights there … Look, it’s just business. It pisses me off sometimes and now, with Vaughn away in Portugal trying to sort out some new contacts, I’m left to deal with everything on me own. Who knew that setting up a bookie business would be so stressful? Still, once we do it’ll all have been worth it, and some bird fucking off with my money will be just a distant memory … Listen, just ignore me, I get like this when I have me work head on.’

Passing the phone back to Alfie, Bree caught sight of the last number he’d dialled. Although she tried to stop herself, her voice edged on the accusatory. ‘Franny? She’s business now?’

Always hating being pushed on something he hadn’t been completely honest about, Alfie snarled, ‘What is this, have I suddenly found meself in Court Number One of the Old Bailey? What is it with you women, hey? It’s like you’re always looking for trouble. You can’t just be happy with the way things are.’

Bree stared at Alfie, her green eyes pools of hurt. ‘I think you’re overreacting a bit, Alf, I only—’

Alfie cut in, guilt and frustration plaguing him. ‘Am I? Really? I’m overreacting? Oh, so it was me who picked up the phone and started throwing accusations about, is it?’

‘Alf, I haven’t accused you of anything.’

Pacing, unable to stop how unreasonable he was being, Alfie pointed at her. ‘That’s not what it sounded like to me. It sounds like you think I’m going behind your back and somehow playing you against Franny.’

Bree gave a sad smile. Even though it was only very recently she had met back up with Alfie after years of not seeing him, she knew exactly what he could be like. ‘Well, are you? Cos I’d understand if you were unsure about us. Maybe this is all just a rebound, maybe I’m your rebound.’

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