“Only four of you this time?” Bruttia said as she put down her cup and wiped muslum from her mouth. “Your boss is either getting soft or running out of men.”
The four gangers paused and looked at one another, frowning. Then they looked at the assembled mass of drunks, whores and ne’er-do-wells that constituted the Pomegranate’s clientele. Maybe now, thought Bruttia, as they stand in one of the Subura’s most infamous tavernas whilst surrounded by the worst scum and villainy Rome has to offer, they realise they’ve bitten off more than they chew.