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believe Max had actually had the front to stab him in broad daylight off the Camden Road. He wasn’t going to send his men round for revenge; he would wait until he could do it himself. He would wait to be able to get his hands on Max’s scrawny neck. The hatred had grown into a cancer over the years between the two of them and as much as he wasn’t quite sure why it’d gone on for so long, he was sure he had Gypsy’s support in the vendetta; in fact sometimes he’d got the distinct impression she was egging him on. The few times he’d thought of stopping the feud Gypsy had had more than a few choice words to say about the matter with her voice as thick as the smog that used to be in the East End. ‘And why would you want to bleeding do that eh, Frankie? You’ll be the laughing stock of Soho if you start waving the white flag. That’s not like you to let some no-good bastard get the better of you – or maybe you’ve lost your bottle and you’re scared?’
    ‘Fuck off Gyps, you know it ain’t that, I’ve never been scared of anyone in me bleedin’ life, just thought it might make things quieter round here.’
    ‘If I wanted quiet I’d put some frigging ear plugs in. Making peace with that piece of bleeding scum is the coward’s way out. Next thing you know you’ll be painting yourself yellow and there’ll be three white feathers stuck on the fucking front door.’
    He’d laughed at her then. Had loved the way her nose always curled up when she got on one, but she’d been right. Looking back he didn’t know what he’d been thinking to even contemplate making anything but war with the likes of Max Donaldson.
    Years back, before Johnny was born, he and Max had been indirect business associates. Eventually though, Frankie had distanced himself from him when he’d seen the kind of business Max ran and the cruelty he dished out.
    Standing back from Max hadn’t really caused the rift. What had started it all was Max owing him money from a big poker game and making him wait over six months for it. Even that though, Frankie knew he could’ve let it go. What he couldn’t let go was when Max had picked up one of the girls who worked in his club on Brewer Street.
    Max had taken the girl to a hotel, roughing her up and putting the fear of God into her. Turning her from a hardened brass into a quivering wreck. Her face had been messed up and Frankie had taken her to one of the top docs in Harley Street to get her nose and jaw fixed. The girl hadn’t stayed in London, deciding to return home to her native Glasgow with a few grand given to her by Frankie.
    Frankie had then put the word out for none of his associates or acquaintances to do business with Max again. That had been a lot of people. In essence, Frankie had put the glass ceiling on Max being able to go further in his business and making the money he wanted to, as well as reducing him to a man who people feared but no one respected.
    Frankie had then wanted to leave the feud. He’d shown Max that in a way he understood; he’d had his punishment. But the feud had started to grow, leaving him with no control over it. Johnny and the Donaldson boys got into endless fights. Gypsy stoked the flames as if she was building a bonfire, and each time he came across Max the man wasn’t ever able to keep his mouth shut and walk away. Leaving Frankie with no other option but to put him in his place, like he’d done last night by throwing the drink over him in the casino.
    Frankie sighed, putting his hand out to touch the top of his wife’s head gently. The one good thing to come out of being stabbed would be having Gypsy at home with him without excuses. There’d be no sloping off to the shops or to the bars to meet her cronies for a drink, no squeezing half an hour to herself. After all, she could hardly tell a man who’d just been stabbed that she needed to go and get her nails done. He hated to say it but perhaps Max Donaldson had done him a favour after