‘But you have. Because me and Briony Cavanagh are partners still. I’ve left the running of the businesses to her because I have other fish to fry. So if you go to her for protection money, indirectly you’re stepping on my patch. Now my Briony would have sorted you, because she isn’t as easygoing as I am. She would have got this young man here to blow up your club, or maybe even your house. Because she hasn’t got the patience I have. She’s much more quick to anger than I am. Which is why I trust her to run my places. But me and Marcus here, we thought to ourselves, we’d better go and see Victor before Briony does, because me and you have known each other a long time, haven’t we?’

Victor nodded slowly, his dreams and his hopes fading before his eyes.

‘So when we shoot you in your feet, you’d better thank us, because we saved your lives.’

Mario looked at his father in shock. He tried to raise himself from his chair and Tommy shot him at close range in his right foot, shattering the ankle bone and the shin.

Mario dropped back in his chair, his devastated foot hanging loosely on to the floor.

All were aware that the hubbub in the club outside had dwindled into silence.

Tommy poked his finger in Mario’s face.

‘So, what do you say?’

Mario groaned with pain, and Tommy screamed at the top of his voice: ‘What’s that? I can’t hear you, Mario. Did you say, “Thank you, Mr Lane”?’

Victor saw his son’s face, the sweat standing out on his brow, the trickle of mucus running from his nose.

‘Thank him, Mario. For God’s sake, thank the man and get this over with!’

‘Th ... Thank you.’ Mario’s voice came out stronger than he’d expected.

‘Thank you, Mr Lane.’ Marcus’s voice was high-pitched, as if talking to a child.

‘Thank you, Mr Lane.’ Mario’s voice had tears in it now.

Tommy grinned. Then, shooting Mario in his other foot, he said, ‘You’re welcome, my old son. More than welcome in fact.’

Victor looked at his child, his first-born son, and a seething hatred for Tommy Lane swept over him. He swiftly opened his desk drawer. Marcus aimed his gun at the older man and shot him full in the chest.

Victor slumped over the desk, his body twitching uncontrollably in the throes of death.

Tommy tutted loudly. Walking to the man, he turned him over. In the desk was a small revolver. Tommy took it and slipped it into the pocket of his coat. Then Marcus and he walked slowly from the office, and through the hushed crowd outside in the club itself.