A lamp cast its soft glow onto a round table positioned in the middle of the room. The closed, heavy red drapes gave the room a daunting – almost eerie – feel, as if the assembled group was about to engage in a séance.

Dread twisted around Ronnie’s stomach. For a moment, he didn’t want to speak, so afraid his words would come out as just a mere squeak, and that he would look less than a worthy man. The eyes that glared back at him were narrow and beady, silently interrogating him, or perhaps posed to intimidate. Either way, he was now in the lion’s den, entirely at their mercy.

Was his fiancée really worth it? Her beautiful face and long shapely legs popped into his head – yes, she definitely was. So, he had either to prove his worth or be fucked off by her brother and his close allies. Until now, he hadn’t quite grasped the power of these collective Jewish men. Sensing the intense atmosphere that pervaded the room, he knew they were more than just unassuming businessmen.

He presumed this first meeting would be a case of proving himself. After all, he was going to marry their queen, their worshipped sister. Now, he surmised that this meeting wasn’t all about giving him the rundown on how to treat his wife-to-be. It was more than that – something much more profound, almost cultlike.

The way in which they sat side by side with their hands clasped on the table symbolizing an unspoken bond between them, did it mean more than honour among family? After all, the two men who were scrutinizing him weren’t brothers by blood, they were brothers in a different sense. He suspected that they were united by a pledge.

Ronnie could feel that they were going to initiate him into something – whatever it was he would soon find out.

The silence, which was perhaps a mere few seconds, seemed to linger. They were sussing him out, trying to read his thoughts.

He almost jumped when the taller of the two men, his future brother-in-law, spoke. ‘I understand you are a man who wants to earn money . . . ’ He paused and glared, waiting for affirmation by a nod or a yes.

Ronnie twisted his head slightly, questioning their statement.

‘We have a common enemy,’ the speaker continued.

Ronnie raised his brow and waited, hoping he would get to the point.

‘Arthur Regan!’ He hissed the name through gritted teeth.

Ronnie’s eyes widened. Yes, it was true: he and his brother Frank hated the Regan crew; in fact, they loathed them with a passion.

Arthur Regan was only nineteen and had already taken charge of all the knocked-off gear that entered Bermondsey. His little empire was strong-handed and growing fast. They may be just out of nappies, but they were taking over the manor and earning good money.