Costello’s drum was full of just about every Face in the Smoke and the surrounding areas. But not the Barber brothers. That said it all really. If they had any kind of status they would have been in there now, enjoying the hospitality like everyone else.

Dicky felt the cold fingers of fear envelop him as he looked around and saw the men they had brought with them reassessing their chances of getting away from here alive. It had already gone too far. They had gone too far the minute they had arrived on Patrick Costello’s doorstep. It was the man’s anniversary, a party to celebrate his family life. His kids were somewhere in there, for fuck’s sake.

Dicky knew that even if they backed away now, they were still dead men. This was a real piss-take, an insult of Olympian standards. It was a drunken fucking faux pas that was so outrageous it could never be overlooked.

Jonny had been right: the Costellos had given them respect, and allowed them to work their own turf, even though they could have taken it from them easily. He could see that now. Fucking stone-cold sobriety and hindsight could often be a truly terrible thing. Drink was a fucking curse – it caused more trouble than it was worth. It gave people false courage and, even worse, it had the added bonus of fuelling the smallest of fires until it was suddenly a raging inferno of hatred and anger.

Rob already had his shotgun out; it was a small-gauge sawn-off, not really a weapon for something like this. Dicky Barber cringed with embarrassment. This really was fucking amateur night, and Dicky hated that he had, once more, let his hate rule his head.

But Rob needed to prove himself, needed to show that he was not about to cry off and walk away. He was going to make his mark.

‘You don’t fucking scare me, you cunts.’

Dicky saw his brother raise his firearm and knew he was going to use it. He watched helplessly as his brother was taken out within seconds by a crossbow.

It was as quiet as it was lethal. It was all over.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

The party was in full swing and Josephine was watching Carmel Costello closely. She could see the woman was getting more and more irritated by the second, and she couldn’t blame her. Patrick Costello had hardly shown his face all night and, as it was his party, that was not only rude, it was also worrying her personally, because Michael had not been near or beside her either.

The music was good, the food was fantastic, and the drink was flowing like water. All around her people were having a great time but, like Carmel, she couldn’t help wondering where the fuck the men were.