‘Rumour has it that while Max Carter was away, his old lady was mucking about with some Mafia type from New York, and that one arranged the crash. Which is entirely possible, it seems to me. You don’t mess around with those people, they’ll have your guts.’
Rufus heaved a sigh. Jesus. Orla, gone. He looked at Gabby. ‘What else do you know about the Carters?’ he asked.
Gabby filled him in.
Rufus felt as if the heart had been knocked out of him. His mind was full of Orla, full of those sunlit days in the garden when they were young and carefree, when he had kissed her. Sadness gripped him to think of her gone for ever. And anger took hold as he thought of the Carters, the trouble they’d brought upon her.
But he had to keep his head down, even over here. If he was going to keep out of Don’s way, it would be better not to make waves. He was safe here, and he could make a life for himself, provided he wasn’t stupid. And he wasn’t, despite what his cousins Tory and Pat had said.
‘Rufus the DOOFUS,’ they used to shout when he’d visit the farm to play. ‘Rufus the DOOFUS!’
Only now he wasn’t a hulking inarticulate thug of a teenager, upset by such goadings. Now, he was a man in his prime. Gang bosses saw his worth and made good use of him. He was a freelancer, a mercenary, hiring himself out to the highest bidder, with no loyalty to anyone but himself. The only gang he would never work for was the Carters. He spat on the ground every time their name was mentioned.
Once, he saw her, Annie Carter, sweeping out of a black Jaguar with a bulky bald-headed minder at her side. She was a stunner, he had to admit that. Dark hair falling around her shoulders, the black coat, the heavy shades, the red full mouth set in a grim line. She looked both exceedingly sexy and completely formidable.
The gangster woman.
Married to one gang overlord, Max Carter.
Then married again – to Constantine Barolli, Mafia boss. A bona fide Mafia queen.
And she looked it, every inch of it. Dangerous. Alluring. Expensive.
If she truly was behind the deaths of Orla and Redmond, revenge was on the cards. But that would have to wait. For the time being, he was keeping a low profile. Doing jobs. Breaking a leg or two. Intimidating late payers with his fists or a baseball bat. And always a trip to the confessional afterwards. Time passed in a blur. He was enjoying the city life and the rewards that his choice of career brought him, which were plentiful.
Soon he had his own flat, more willing girls than he could handle, a nice motor. Life was