It was O’Grady who received the frantic message from Claude late that evening.

“Our Mumma,” sobbed the distressed Claude, who was soft at heart and not really Mafia material, as Bianca thought privately.

O’Grady, who had been cradling Cian, set the little fellow down gently beside Bainca who sat in her pyjamas and getting ready to sleep. St Just strode in from the washroom on hearing his brother’s raised tones.

He cocked an eyebrow and looked at Bainca, who lifted her hands, palms upwards, to show she had no idea what was going on.

When O’Grady finally replaced the handset on the side table, his face was grim.

“Saint, Claude...