Peter didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He was devastated; he would have only one son left out of three boys, three handsome boys. He had done everything physically possible for his children – he had always done what he believed was the best for them and, at the end of the day, what had he been left with? What had it all been for?

Yet here was Daniel, a fucking bona fide looney by anyone’s standards, a man who could murder on a whim, and yet his kids were all fucking diamonds. Daniel’s kids were worthy men, and they were absolutely loyal to him – each and every one of them. They were all men to be proud of.

He had no choice but to wipe his mouth and look to what he still had; his Liam was a good lad and his daughter Imelda was a strong and capable woman. And, ironically, Delroy, who was not even his flesh and blood, and who he had disliked for no real reason, had proved to be the most loyal, hardworking, and trustworthy of men. Life was a funny thing.

Petey was living on borrowed time. He had warned him on so many occasions that he knew he was on the worst kind of rob – stealing from his own. Yet his son had never had the nous to see that his actions would eventually lead to his downfall.

Peter Bailey was feeling old suddenly, old and decrepit. The Life, as good as it could be – had been to him and his family – was now the instrument of his eldest son’s destruction. It was the reason he would be minus two sons, and why his wife would never again know true happiness.

He stood up abruptly. ‘Come on then, Daniel, let’s get this over with.’

Daniel sighed. ‘No, Pete, you get yourself home. Ria will need you beside her.’

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Five