Fatal

‘I’m here, Natalia, I’m here. I won’t leave you in the dark, I promise … I promise.’

And as Abel wept, inconsolable with grief and guilt and love, he gripped the gold handle of the cherry wood casket and began to pull.

Part One (#u8870ed83-f9a8-5afd-8895-465702a6007e)

1 (#u8870ed83-f9a8-5afd-8895-465702a6007e)

Cabhan Morton, a man with trouble on his mind, stepped out from the private luxury wooden lodge into the chill of the summer evening. Shivering in his white linen shirt, he watched the shimmering waters of Grand Lake, nestled at the bottom of the Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.

He let out a long sigh, feeling and pushing down his anxiety as he walked across the deserted glazed timber boardwalk against the backdrop of the snow-tipped mountains. The town of Grand Lake – a tiny community of about five hundred people – was the perfect place, away from prying eyes and ears, for the annual meet-up of the Russo brothers and the extended family. And foolishly, stupidly, through his own doing, he found himself at the heart of them.

If only he’d listened to the warnings; although if he were honest, he’d known the risks of getting involved with the Russos, but at the time he hadn’t cared, hadn’t wanted to listen to anyone. He’d just wanted to escape England then, and all the pain that came with it, but now, now was a different matter.

With his heart rushing in his chest, he glanced back at the lodge, checking no one was coming as he pulled out his phone and dialled a familiar number. He listened as Franny Doyle’s voicemail clicked in straightaway. He needed to speak to her urgently, before it was too late.

‘Franny, it’s me. I’ll try to call you back later, but it’s not looking good at the moment. Seems like Salvatore’s going to make it difficult for me to leave. I’m not sure what I’m going to do … Look, I’ll speak to you soon.’

Scrolling down his contacts, Cabhan hesitated. He stared at Alfie’s number, chewing nervously on his lip. Alfie had been the loudest objector when he’d come to work with the Russos, to the point he’d told him that if Cabhan did join them, Alfie would cut him out of his life, and that’s exactly what had happened. But now he was desperate, so what choice did he have?

Resolute, Cabhan pressed dial, psyching himself up, but this time the phone rang twice before he heard Alfie Jennings chirpily inviting him to leave a message.

Frustrated, he cut off the call as a loud burst of laughter made him spin around. From the shadows, he watched Bobby and Salvatore Russo walking down the stairs of the luxury hideout, deep in conversation.

He’d been here too long. Far too long. And he wanted out, the quicker the better.

There were several reasons why he wanted to go back home, maybe not to Ireland, but at least to England. The main one was to take his beautiful daughter, Alice Rose – the daughter he didn’t know he had until four years ago – away from this life. Because apart from Franny, whom he loved like his own, and Franny’s father, Patrick, Alice, with her gentleness and innocence, was simply the best thing that had ever happened to him. She was by far the best part of him, and he was determined to take her back home to family. To Franny. Even to Alfie. To everything that had once made him feel safe.

Though, trying to get the Russo brothers to let him go was another thing entirely. He knew it’d be at a price, the problem was he wasn’t sure what that price would be, and he didn’t trust them, not one bit. So much so that, much to Alice’s tears and protests, last year he’d moved her from the school she loved to a small, secluded convent in rural Iowa, in secret. Although at the time it’d felt like an extreme measure, somehow the Russos not knowing where Alice was made him feel better, allowing him to sleep at night.

Salvatore’s loud, coarse New Jersey drawl cut through the air.

‘Hey, Cabhan, hey, Cabhan, what the hell are you doing out here? We’ve got our guests to think about.’

‘Just making a call.’

Shrugging, Salvatore looked to his brother Bobby as he continued to speak to Cabhan.

‘You can’t make the call inside? I thought we were all friends here? Family. What’s so goddamn secret you need to hide out here?’

The cold stare Salvatore turned on him made Cabhan feel uneasy. Since he’d told the brothers he’d wanted to leave, suspicion and paranoia had set in, especially with Salvatore, who ran the main branch of the family business along the East Coast.

Cabhan’s soft Irish lilt coated his words as he tried to sound calm.

‘No, not at all, I didn’t want to be rude. I thought I’d just check in with Franny and Alfie, see how they are. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to them. The time difference doesn’t help. Apologies if I was out of line.’

Salvatore, his steroid-pumped muscular frame blocking out the light from the lodge doorway, continued to stare. ‘Give me your phone.’

‘What?’

‘I said, give it me.’

Hesitantly, Cabhan – his face strained, his black velvet skin paling slightly – walked across to Salvatore and placed the phone in his outstretched hand.

He spoke evenly. ‘Like I say, Sal, I was just calling home. See for yourself.’

Salvatore, holding eye contact before breaking it to scroll through Cabhan’s call log, pressed last number redial. Staying silent, he put the phone to his ear, listening as the voicemail clicked in.

‘This is Alfie, I can’t answer right …’

Salvatore’s laugh startled an old man standing by the door. Loud and menacing. He grabbed hold of Cabhan’s shoulders, shaking him hard, pressing his flushed face into Cabhan’s. His breath sweet and sickly, stinking of cigars. ‘See what you’ve done to me, Cabhan, you’ve made me a bag of nerves. All this talk of you wanting to leave makes me edgy. Can’t understand what the problem is. Why the big change? Maybe I should start looking over my shoulder.’

Cabhan, feeling the hard bone of Salvatore’s forehead pushing on the bridge of his nose, knew better than to try to pull away. He also knew better than to show any weakness – showing any sign of fear to the Russos was just an invitation for them to go in with full force. The other thing he knew was that somehow he had to play this perfectly.

Nervously but hoping, praying that it didn’t show, Cabhan kept his voice as light as possible. ‘It’s not personal, Salvatore. You know that. I just miss home. No big deal.’

Salvatore stepped back, looking up into the night sky. ‘Not personal?’

‘That’s right, Sal. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Giving me a job and welcoming me as part of the family, but that’s the point, I miss my family. Franny. Alfie. Like I say, it’s not personal.’

Salvatore nodded, closing his eyes before whipping out a pistol from his pocket, smashing it and pressing it hard into Cabhan’s face. ‘And neither is this.’

Cabhan’s hands shot up in the air as he stumbled back, fear gripping him. ‘Sal, please.’

‘Get on your knees … I said, get on your fucking knees, unless you want me to put a hole in you now.’

‘Sal, please, Jesus Christ, you and me, we go back a long way. Ti rispetto, ti voglio bene, Salvatore, tu e la tua famiglia.’

Another burst of laughter came from Salvatore. ‘You say you respect me? You love me and my family?’

Working hard to push down his panic, Cabhan nodded. ‘I do.’

Salvatore flicked off the safety catch of the gun. ‘Yet you want to leave and go back home. To me that doesn’t sound like a man who loves and has loyalty to his friends. And a man who doesn’t have loyalty is a dangerous enemy.’

Bobby Russo, his temper as violent and volatile as his brother’s, had the ability to recognise discretion was sometimes needed. He spoke up as he watched more and more of their guests, curious about the commotion, come outside.

‘Sal, why don’t we sort this out tomorrow? We’re celebrating. We’ve all had a good year. We’ve got the rest of the family to think of. They don’t need this. Put the gun away. Cabhan was only calling Franny and Alfie. That’s all. Nessun danno fatto. No harm done … Good? Bene?’ Bobby kissed his brother on both cheeks. ‘Bene?’

Salvatore stared at Bobby, slowly nodding, his face showing a thousand thoughts. He answered slowly. ‘Sì. Bene.’

A grin spread across Bobby’s pockmarked face, the handsome Russo genes not having passed down to him. ‘That’s right, Sal. All good. No harm! Nessun problema. No problem!’ Bobby broke his hold, grinning at the guests. ‘Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen! Please, continue to enjoy, we’ve talked business too long. Now we celebrate.’

Helping Cabhan to his feet, Salvatore slapped him hard on the back then pulled out a gold cigarette case from his pocket. He snapped it open, revealing several grams of finely cut cocaine along with an engraved toot. ‘Have a line with me, Cabhan.’

‘No, I’m fine.’

The ice ran back into Salvatore’s words. ‘I said, have one.’

Cabhan, realising he had no other choice, took the toot, bending over the cigarette case as Salvatore watched him snort a line.