Michael looked around him quickly, his mind working overtime. This was a real problem in more ways than one. He admired and respected Christie McCarthy. He was one of the few people they didn’t do business with although they had requested his services on occasion. Christie McCarthy was actually the only person capable of taking him on. He was also one of the few people that Patrick Costello had genuinely liked. They had grown up together, and they had always had a good relationship. Christie McCarthy pretty much kept himself to himself. He had long-term businesses that were not just very lucrative, but were also specialised. He was the go-to man if you needed someone to disappear permanently but, for whatever reason, you couldn’t be seen to be involved. He was also a very experienced mediator who could not only solve certain problems between the warring factions, but who was also guaranteed to be without any bias whatsoever. That was his expertise. He had made his living from his ability to facilitate any kind of meeting, even between sworn enemies. He would then act as the mediator for their talks, and no one had ever dared to take advantage of him, use the meeting for their own ends or for payback. Christie McCarthy wasn’t a man who would allow anything like that to happen; after all, this was his bread and butter. He could also provide any service that might be needed, from a getaway driver to a bent barrister. His forte was his wide range of contacts and his reputation as a man who delivered.

But now his son had been the catalyst for a situation so serious it could easily deteriorate into a fucking war.

Michael walked into the other office. Kelvin McCarthy was sitting on an old typing chair tied up like a kipper. Michael could see the fear in the boy’s deep-blue eyes. He was his father’s son, there was no doubting that. He had the same arched eyebrows and thick black hair and, like his father, his face had the dark shadow of a man who needed to shave twice a day. He was Christie’s living image – a handsome fucker – but that’s where the similarity ended. Personality-wise, he was the antithesis of his old man. He was a weak-willed, vicious bully, who traded on his father’s name, and his father’s reputation. Well, he had picked a fight with the wrong people this time.

Declan walked into the room behind him, and Michael knew he was wondering, along with Kelvin McCarthy, what was going to happen. His incarceration had clearly thrown Kelvin off kilter. He had not expected to be treated so roughly, nor so carelessly. Never before had anyone ever dared to bring him to book. He had always been given a pass, and his father had smoothed things over.

‘How old are you, Kelvin?’ Michael’s voice was casual, even interested.