music off. ‘I’m sorry, love. It was just force of habit.’
Zara didn’t respond. Instead, she stared gloomily out of the window and planned her future.
Her angry mood stayed with her as she stepped out of the car. She waited until the driver was out of sight before she pulled the keys from her bag. She paused and looked up at the vast, almost devilish-looking mansion. The paint on the woodwork was peeling, the gardens – once stunning – were overgrown, and the windows certainly needed a good clean. Izzy would be turning in his grave. He had loved this house – it had been his pride and joy – and he’d had it designed to his demanding specification.
She felt that a new chapter was about to begin in her life. Once she pushed the big oak door open, she gingerly entered the hall. Inside, it was filled with antiques, which were not her choice. The red drapes always made her feel like she was living in some historic time warp, the Tudor era. Yet everything was to Izzy’s taste. Assuming she would feel afraid, even just a little nervous, she was pleasantly surprised that although the house was tired and dusty, she felt at home. Perhaps it was the memories of how her father held her in such high esteem. Engaging her in all aspects of the business, he had gently and expertly prepared her for the takeover.
Closing the door behind her, she walked towards the back of the house, to the door that led down to the basement, where she’d been held a captive for five years. She had to brave it out and revisit her prison; yet, this time there were no captors, there was no sly, sneaky brother tormenting her, or the evil eyes of the Segals watching her as she pretended to be a brain-damaged, broken woman.
Surprisingly, as she faced the barred metal door, she felt herself free at last of the mental shackles. Still holding her bag, she peered inside and looked at the boxes of antidepressants and knew that in order to take control of her life she needed to ditch them.
Once she’d stared for a while at what was her home for so long, she turned and marched back up the stairs and into her father’s office. She sighed heavily and plonked her bag on the desk. Guy Segal and his son Benjamin, with the help of Ismail, would have looked for every fucking file, trying to get their hands on her businesses. But they obviously didn’t know her father that well. For although Ismail had been surreptitiously nosing into their father’s affairs, there were still some things he’d never been able to understand, like the offshore accounts, the details of which were carefully concealed in several flash drives hidden under a floorboard. She pulled away the rug and removed the board, and there, to her delight and relief, were all the devices. Bingo! Now she could have the computer up and running and get back on track. As she lowered herself onto her dad’s high-backed mahogany chair, she felt an overwhelming sense of power. She may only have one hand, but it was her brain that was really her best asset.
By eight o’clock that morning, she was up and running. The accounts, all showing vast amounts of money, were feeding her confidence. She would take back her businesses, and she would hold her head up and become the woman she once was, even if Mikey wasn’t by her side.
Bang on nine o’clock, there was a heavy knocking at the front door. She glanced at the monitor to see who was there, but it was a blank screen. The CCTV cameras were either disarmed or Ismail had really let the beautiful house go to rack and ruin. She rose from her chair and headed along the parquet floor to the entrance. ‘Who is it?’ she called out, relieved to hear Shamus reply.
He hadn’t changed much, still very muscular and with wide piercing blue eyes like his cousin Neil.
However, Shamus was shocked to see how thin, gaunt, and sickly Zara appeared. It was such a vast contrast to when they’d last worked together.
She looked over his shoulder. ‘Did you come alone, Shamus?’
He nodded and stepped inside. ‘There’s only me in London. Davey’s at St Thomas’ Hospital with Neil, and the men are back in Ireland.’
She ushered him in and closed the door.
‘So, start from the beginning. What’s going on?’
He followed her into the office and gazed around. It was as though he’d walked into a vampire movie set, with the tall brass candlesticks and heavy curtains, along with the oversized gilt-edged paintings. The layer of dust everywhere added to the ambience. ‘Er . . . I think you need to get a cleaner in.’
She smiled. ‘Or hire it out for Halloween, perhaps?’
Shamus nervously chuckled, yet he still felt spooked. Then his eyes fell to her scarred wrist. Eerie thoughts whirled through his head all at once. The story of her having her hand cut off and then being kept a prisoner down in the basement of this creepy mansion plagued his mind.
That was until she said, ‘Right, as I said, start from the beginning. Ignore the décor. Get your mind back on the issues at hand.’
Shamus felt his face flush and wondered if she was telepathic. Her frail state belied who she really was, and Shamus wasn’t deluded by any means. Behind those hypnotic eyes was the Iron Lady of Gangland Britain. Even her voice had an edge that commanded attention.
‘In the last six months, the cocaine leaving the restaurants has dropped by fifty per cent. The Colombians have upped their price because we aren’t selling enough. The city slickers are still buying it, but the scallies who make up fifty per cent of the business have backed off. Apparently, they’re into a new drug. It’s cheaper and gives them a better hit.’
Zara listened, paying careful attention to every word that left Shamus’s mouth. ‘So, this new drug. Why don’t we find our own supplier?’
Shamus sat back on his chair and slowly shook his head. ‘I don’t know about you, Zara, but there are some things we just don’t get involved in. Like heroin for instance. And this new drug is worse. It’s so addictive and although the hit apparently is euphoric it also sends the kiddies mental.’
‘Kiddies!’ she gasped.
He gave her a stern nod. ‘Yeah, it’s cheap, really cheap, and the teenagers are buying it with their pocket money. Once they’re hooked, they’re fecked.’
She swallowed hard and sighed. ‘So, if this drug is being sold and obviously the supplier is making a mint, why are they threatening my restaurants?’
Shamus clasped his hands together and bit his lip. ‘I don’t think it’s about the drugs. I believe it’s a takeover. It’s just odd that one minute we had everything running smoothly, and then the next, it was as if ants were running all over everything.’
Zara frowned. ‘Ants?’
‘Yeah, yer know, how they all descend and take away bit by bit whatever’s on offer, but you just don’t see them unless there’s a mass. It’s similar to that.’
‘Give me examples.’
‘We’ve had an issue with our gun imports. Since Willie, Lou, and Staffie got banged up, the gun trade has been reduced to nothing. But Staffie was kind enough to give us their arms contact so that we could carry on with the business.’
Zara nodded for him to continue.
‘Well, currently, our supplier has gone quiet. We’ve no way of contacting him, as the phone lines are dead. And I’ve got an update on what I told you yesterday. Now, three more of your restaurants are vacant. They fecking literally shut down overnight. No fecker knows where the managers went. I walked into Satiro’s
