You could have knocked me down with a feather when my brother Shane called while on holiday in Guyana. He told me he needed a safe house for a man hiding from the Russian Mafia.

‘You better not be fucking involved with the Russian Mob,’ was my first reaction.

He assured me he was not.

My next question was, ‘How the fuck do you know anyone who needs a safe house?’

‘It’s a long story,’ he says. He doesn’t want to say it on the phone. Long story short, he owed a favor to Zane, the Russian mobster who became Alexander Malenkov, the world famous pianist. I had no idea Shane even knew Zane. Sometimes Shane surprises me. All my life I always treated him as a kid. The playboy of the family, but when the chips are down he always surprises me.

The man’s name is Noah Abramovich and, by the way, he’s injured. So I arranged for him to be collected from this doctor’s apartment and transferred to the safe house. This afternoon I’m supposed to pick up Tasha Evanoff and take her to him. I know her father rather well, actually. Corrupt as hell. His legitimate companies are a front for his shady businesses.

Tasha Evanoff and I agree to meet at Starbucks in Knightsbridge. I arrive five minutes before our appointed time, but she is already here. I recognize her straightaway. Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth, a blue-eyed blonde Russian beauty with an inner core of pure steel.

She’s the opposite of my wife. My Lily looks tough on the outside, but she’s delicate inside. Sometimes when I look at her, I feel a twinge of worry. I’ll stand at the window watching her feeding her birds and she seems so far away, so unreachable that it makes me want to run down the stairs, grab her tight and fuck her so I’m inside her, I’m part of her.

So that there’s nothing else in her head and mind except me. It makes me fiercely protective. Ever since we got together I haven’t left her alone for a single night. I take her everywhere with me. If she can’t come, I don’t go. I don’t trust anyone else with her. No. Better safe than sorry.

‘Tasha Evanoff?’

‘Hello, Mr. Eden. Thank you for taking me to see him.’ Her accent is pure upper-class, the best that money can buy. She stands, even though the finishing schools she must have attended would have told her it was not necessary, and extends her hand. She is dressed in an expensively understated and very conservative blue top and skirt, but there’re a lot of secrets going on behind those wary eyes.

I take her hand. She has never done a day’s work in her life. ‘Jake Eden. No need to thank me. It’s a pleasure,’ I say.

She bites her bottom lip. ‘Is he alright?’

‘Other than suffering from a broken heart, yeah.’

She smiles.

‘That’s better.’ I look down at the table. She has nearly finished her latte.

‘Would you like something to drink?’ she asks.

‘Actually, no. I’m parked on double yellow lines.’

She picks up her purse and follows me out. There is no ticket on the windscreen. I open the passenger door and help her get in. She picks a toy from between her feet.

‘You have children?’

I smile. ‘Three.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Yes, it is.’

I start the engine and my phone rings. ‘That’s my oldest one, Liliana, calling now.’ I put her on speaker and edge into traffic.

‘Daddy. You won’t believe what Tommy has done,’ she says furiously.

‘What has he done?’

‘He’s put a bucket of sand down my toilet and now it’s stuck.’

‘What did you do to him first?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Well, he started it.’

Tasha giggles.

‘Who’s that with you?’ she asks instantly.

‘You don’t know her,’ I say.

‘How do you know? I might,’ she says impertinently.

Tasha laughs again.

‘Does mummy know her?’

‘No, mummy doesn’t know her.’

‘Does she go to my school?’

‘Liliana, you don’t know her. Now can we get back to your problem with Tommy?’

‘But how do you know I don’t know her? I know lots of people. You should let me talk to her, Daddy,’ she says confidently in that adult voice that freaks most people out.

By now Tasha can’t stop giggling.

I look at Tasha. ‘Do you want to speak to my daughter?’

As I get on the M25 my daughter is busy thoroughly interrogating the daughter of one of London’s hidden Russian Mafia bosses. Fifteen minutes later and the conversation is still going strong.

‘You should come to our house,’ my daughter says. ‘You’ll like it here. We have a big dog, and a small cat, many fishes, two naughty hamsters and lots of birds. You can stay in the guest room. Do you want to come?’

‘Well, thank you. Maybe I’ll come around one day.’

‘Come this Friday,’ Liliana invites.

‘Er … maybe not this Friday,’ Tasha says.

‘What about Saturday?’ my daughter insists.

‘Liliana. How many times must I tell you not to force people to do things they don’t want to?’

‘I’m not forcing Tasha. She said she wanted to come.’

‘Anyway,’ I say. ‘Tasha has to go now. Say goodbye.’

‘Bye, Tasha. Daddy, about Tommy …’

‘Liliana, I’m just about to arrive. Can we discuss this a bit later?’

‘Oh, all right,’ she huffs.

‘Good girl.’

‘Love you,’ she says.

‘See you later.’

‘Say it back,’ she demands.

‘I love you, pumpkin.’

‘Bye, Daddy,’ she sings happily before the line goes dead.

‘What an awesome kid,’ Tasha says wishfully.

‘Try living with that 24 seven,’ I say, but in actual fact, I burst with pride when I think of her.

‘I’d love a kid like that,’ Tasha says. ‘She’s so intelligent and so alive.’

I smile. ‘Yes, she is that.’

I turn off at the Chertsey turning and after a few roads we turn into a dirt lane with fields on either side of the road. Suddenly a man appears as if out of nowhere on the road. He doesn’t move. Other men appear. They surround the car. I feel the energy in the car change. Their fierce, unkempt appearance and their unsmiling faces make Tasha nervous.

‘Who are these people?’ she asks.

‘They’re my people. Irish gypsies.’

She turns towards me. Her eyes are full of fear. ‘You trust them?’

I look her in the eye. ‘With my life.’

She exhales and I feel the tension drain out of her body.

I wind down the window.

One of the men lays his boxer’s arm on the top of the car and leans in. He smells of bacon and beer. ‘How’s it going, Craig?’ I ask.

His sparkling blue eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘Mornin’ to ya, Jake, m’boy. No news is good news.’