He’d watched his incompetent boys get killed by that bastard Novak, but he couldn’t see how the man had got to Scotland so quickly: he was like the proverbial bad penny, that man. Zjelko swore revenge once his situation improved, although that was more for his shame at having failed than any particular love or affection for his stupid offspring. He realised he wasn’t even particularly upset at their presumed demise; they should have been better at their jobs, and his main emotion was one of shame at their incompetence given it had been such a simple job.

His wife—the stupid, dowdy Mira—was still in London and she could stay there as far as he was concerned.

His main concern was the lack of funds which was restricting his status and opportunities to build him back to where he had been before his incarceration. The trafficking game was not worth the bother and dealing with whores was far too much of a headache. He needed to get away from anywhere within the EU because of the bastard European arrest warrants that, no doubt, the UK would be seeking for him while they still could.

He had enough contacts to avoid arrest and extradition to the UK while in Serbia, but he would need more cash if that situation was to stay permanent. He cursed Novak for causing him all those problems.

All he had now was the stashed jewellery that he’d secreted in a rural hide in Switzerland after one of the heists he and some others had pulled just before his arrest. The gems and watches he’d buried would be able to set him up in a new venture; he just needed the dust to settle before he could travel to retrieve them. He smiled; once he had the money then there would be many good business opportunities coming his way.

Arriving back at his hotel, he yawned and checked his watch; it was just after midnight as he walked through the glazed doors into the grimy and dowdy reception area and nodded at the concierge, a grey-haired, yellow-skinned man called Yuri who barely spoke to anyone.

He staggered up the stained, carpeted staircase to his small, impersonal room which overlooked the car park at the rear of the building. Searching through his pockets, he located the room key which was attached to a large wooden fob upon which the hotel’s logo was printed in chipped gold paint. Putting the key in the door and pushing, he entered sleepily, desperate to slip between the faded floral sheets, fraying though they were.

Taking his jacket off as he entered, he back-heeled the door behind him, closing it with a loud slam. He fumbled for the light switch and flicked it on, bathing the room in a dim, yellow light.