"Nothing at that level," Will admitted. "I was small-time. Know a couple of fellas from prison who got connected, but that's errand boy stuff. Me, I kept well out of Mob business." He drummed the fingers of his good hand against the bar, his brow creased in thought.
"There's another option," he said after a pause, the reluctance evident in his voice. "And I don't like it, but honestly, if we're seriously talking about the Mafia, might as well put all the options on the table. Cos there's another set of players in this town we haven't talked about."
The thought had crept on him unbidden when the lads had told him about Tuck's kind-hearted saint pal, how Francis had sent the Sheriff packing with an army of rats on his tail. He'd waved it off with a scowl. Francis might be alright, but gods were another thing. Gods were in their own category of the elite, the literally high-and-mighty; they played games with the lives of the very people the Merry Men fought for. Nothing good could come from tangling with gods.
But, hell. If the alternative was Marian building a torture hole for the Sheriff in her own home? Any option had to be better than that.