She put her hand up to her brow and leant her elbow on the desk. ‘I don’t know what to think now. In a way I expected something like this, I think. Only not so soon. I wanted to hand the clubs over to them, the night clubs, and I wanted to expand the other businesses. I wanted them legit, you see. Now they’ve taken matters into their own hands and I can’t do a thing. Only sit back and help them if I can.’

Mariah poured a large scotch and gave it to her. ‘You did your best, girl, you can’t do no more than that. Some people have it built into them. That’s what I think, anyway. Look at them American boys, what’s their names, who committed that murder back in the twenties? Leopold and Loeb, that’s it. They were sons of millionaires and they went off the straight and narrow. All you can do now, as you say, is let them get on with it and pick up the pieces if it goes wrong.’

Boysie and Danny slowed the car down as they approached the headquarters of the Rileys. They had taken over a vacant house in Shoreditch after it had been bomb damaged and now they ran their various businesses from there. Kenneth Riley himself still lived in Bethnal Green.

Michael Money watched aghast as he saw Boysie get out of the Aston Martin in broad daylight and pull the pin from an American issue hand grenade. As he threw it through the window of the building, Michael put his hands up to his face.

The Aston Martin sped away and Michael Money sat in shock and disbelief as the building and surrounding area was rocked by the explosion. Then he turned on his ignition and drove home to tell his brothers the news.

The King was dead, long live the Cavanaghs.

Liselle loved to hear her mother sing. As she sat in the recording studio and watched Kerry talking to the musicians, explaining what particular beat she wanted and whether any musician could have a solo, Liselle always felt proud.

She asked politely, as always, if any of the technicians wanted a coffee and then went in search of a cup for herself. The technicians always said no. She guessed, rightly, that like her mother they preferred a drop of the hard stuff but she asked anyway. It was good manners. Her mother had already topped herself up with a few large vodkas provided by her current amour, Victor Sanderson. Liselle didn’t particularly like him, but he owned Badger Records now and had taken more than a shine to Kerry Cavanagh, one of his star artists.