As Cynthia held Vincent Mark Two, as his father referred to him, she was once again overwhelmed with the feeling of belonging he engendered in her. It was as if he was her child, the same emotion she had experienced when she had first seen little Cherie five years before. That her Gabriella could produce such perfect children with that dolt she had lumbered herself with was, in itself, amazing. But, once again, this child looked like her. It had her eyes and the same shaped face as her, as well as that sovereign-coloured hair – blond with red streaks – which had always made her stand out from the crowd.

‘He’s stunning, Gabriella, absolutely beautiful. Well done, you two.’ She aimed her smile at Vincent and she saw the delight on his face at her words. Like his genes alone could have presented her with a grandson like this! It would take her time to stamp out the O’Casey traits, she was sure. This little boy would be someone, a banker, or a doctor; he was like a blank canvas waiting for her to colour him in. One thing was for sure – he wouldn’t be a fucking bank robber like his old man, she would see to that. Her smile widened as she thought of what she had done. She had made sure that his father would not be around to interfere in his little life. It was her secret gift to her new grandson.

She smiled at Vincent Senior once more, aware that she would have to put up with it until he was captured trying to rob a bank in Borough Green. The police were watching them all, and she knew that the conspiracy to rob charge would keep him out of their lives for at least seven years.

Gabriella would be heartbroken, which was to be expected; after all, the girl loved him. Cynthia understood that, but she was more concerned that, if left with these two people, her grandchildren would never have anything in their lives, not anything worth having anyway. They would end up labelled blaggers’ kids, and they would go the way of all thieves’ children, embracing that life as all that would be open to them. So she was pleased with herself, pleased at what she had done.

As Vincent took his son from her, and gazed down into his perfect little face, she did not feel an ounce of shame. She was saving these kids from a fate worse than death.

‘He’ll be someone this little lad, Gabby, I can feel it in my bones.’

Cynthia laughed with her daughter at the words and, looking at Vincent, she winked happily at him.

He winked back, oblivious that his fate, like that of his little family, was well and truly sealed.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two

‘What a fucking mug! But would he listen to anyone?’