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The floor beneath me turns a whole lot colder.
O’Sullivan.
“Here, have a drink. My house. My hospitality.” Holding out a bottle of whiskey, he pours the contents straight in my face.
Eyes stinging, lungs spluttering, I roll away again. “That was a waste of good alcohol, you Irish twat,” I croak.
“Only fair I share it. I did murder your family and decimate your legacy. Crying shame about your sister, though… Didn’t you have designs on her, Kirill?”
“You bastards!” My roar of rage is cut short as O’Sullivan’s boot connects with my face, breaking my cheekbone with a dullcrack.
Half-blinded with agony, my eyes dart around the stark basement, taking in the metal chairs, the bloodstained floor, the dozen or so armed men standing around watching me, until finally they land on Guido.
He’s leaning against a wall, picking his nails.
“What happened toOmertà, you piece of shit,” I gasp out.
“You’re no more a made man than the whore I fucked last night, Frankie,” he says calmly. “Don’t delude yourself, kid. Zaccaria had this orchestrated from the moment your father died. It was all about distraction while we moved you into position.”
“To where? A council house in Shoreditch?” The left side of my face is on fire. I think O’Sullivan’s dislocated my jaw, as well.
“Tell Zaccaria that we’re all square now,” I hear the Irishman say to him. “I don’t owe him anything after what this little punk did today. I warned him Lastra would cause trouble for us. We should have put him down with the rest.”
They were all in on my family’s destruction: Irish, Russian, British,andItalian.
Peace wasn’t prosperous enough. These kinds of snakes only live for the carnage.
“Have your fun, O’Sullivan, but come morning, what remains of him is ours.”
“What’s so special about thismudak, anyway?” demands a heavy voice to my left.
Kirill Semenov.
“He was spared to serve a purpose.”
“As what? A fucking thorn in our sides for the next forty years?” O’Sullivan shakes his head in disgust. “Bring me the other one… Razor’s boy,” he adds to his men. “We’re going to have ourselves a generational massacre tonight.”
“I’m warning you,” Guido snaps. “Don’t go against Zaccaria’s wishes again. Lastra is ultimately mafia business, not Irish.”
“Just so long as he leaves London and never comes back after I break every bone in his body!”
O’Sullivan looks furious. I’m a loose end. A sharp splinter in the side of his dominance over this city.
Closing my eyes, I suck in a couple of deep breaths. I’m standing in the middle of the Red Compass and being spun in every which direction.What other purpose am I supposed to have, when the only ones that matter are avenging my family and Ada.
Ada.
“Shut the fuck up, Lastra.”
I don’t even realise I’m chanting her name until another kick from O’Sullivan’s boot connects with my stomach.
“You want to know about her? My men just picked her up. Caught her hitch-hiking all the way home.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“This isn’t her home, O’Sullivan,” I rasp, as another wave of nausea ripples through me. “Never was.”
“True,” he admits, hauling me up by the scruff of my T-shirt and throwing me onto a metal chair. “But she’ll be living with Kirill from now on. I just brought their wedding forward.”
