It could be difficult staying alert in such conditions. The warm air, the peaceful corridors, the mostly inert elevator, the carpets tickling the soles of my feet. Party Central was layered with thick, expensive carpets from the second floor up. No shoes were allowed. Had to check them in downstairs, even if you were only running a quick errand. Most of the carpets were more comfortable than an average mattress. The temptation to lie down and snooze was overwhelming.

But I was paid to ignore such temptations, so I focused on the doors of the elevator, didn’t let my mind wander, and kept my hand close to the butt of my gun. In the unlikely event that we ever came under attack, I’d be ready.

I meant to call Nic — I still hadn’t spoken with her since I got back — but didn’t get a chance. It was too late when I got home so I simply undressed and crawled into bed, same as the night before.

Thursday, the shit hit the fan.

I’d clocked on an hour before midday and was changing into my uniform in the basement when Vincent Carell stormed in. Vincent was one of Tasso’s men. Thin, face like a ferret, not blessed in the brains department, quick to draw his dick and his gun. I never knew why Tasso placed so much faith in him.

A guy called Richey Harney was by my side, slipping off his boots. “Richey!” Vincent barked. “With me.”

Richey glanced up, pained. “I was on my way home.”

“Was,” Vincent snickered.

“But Frank said I could leave early. He—”

“I don’t give a fuck what Frank said!”

“It’s my daughter’s birthday,” Richey moaned. “I missed her First Communion last month. If I miss this, my wife’ll kill me.”