He laid his wrinkled hand on to his wife’s hair, and it was only then that he realised she was cold. His Mary had died in her sleep. She was past all the hurts that life had thrown at her. For the first time in years, Mary Callahan was really at peace.

Sitting up in bed, Jack Callahan held his wife’s hand and cried bitter tears. He blamed Cynthia for this; Mary should have had years left to her. They should have had years left together. If Mary had not taken on the burden of her daughter’s children and all their combined problems, they could have lived out their twilight years in peace and companionship. His Mary was but another casualty in the war that was Cynthia Callahan. She had never really stood a chance.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine

Vincent held Gabby while she cried, and he knew it couldn’t be good for her or the baby. Mary’s passing had hit her badly, very badly. She had been the only real mother she had ever known, and he had a lot to thank her for, he knew. Without Mary and Jack, his Gabs would have been alone in the world with his daughter and completely at the mercy of Cynthia Callahan. Things had been bad enough as it was, and the guilt he felt at leaving her was ever present. As was Cynthia. It felt like she was always round, helping out.

All he needed was a couple of robberies under his belt and he could get them a decent house of their own, bought and paid for, and then get on with his legit businesses. He would only go out for a drive every year or so. It was a foolproof plan, and he wanted to make sure that this girl of his – and the children, of course – had everything they needed for the rest of their lives. It was important to him that they were all well set up.

He wanted his Gabby in their own little house, his kids at the best schools available, and a place in the sun. That had been his dream throughout his prison sentence, and now he would make it all come true.

Fuck Greene and Warner, with their ‘be patient’ and ‘bide your time’ nonsense. He was a fucking shrewdie and he knew what he was doing. He was looking after his family; after all, that was a man’s job.

Cynthia brought in a tray with tea for her and Vincent and a small brandy for Gabby.

‘She can’t have alcohol, she’s pregnant.’

‘One little shot won’t hurt her, and it will make her sleep, calm her down. All this crying can’t be good for her or the baby.’

He could see the sense in what she was saying.