"I need a new right-hand man. Someone who will protect me but isn't power-hungry like the last one."
"What's in it for me?"
"You joined the Army because you wanted to belong, and you were discharged because you couldn't follow the rules. It's clear that you belong here, and this team has no rules. It's a glamourous job, Sebby: pays handsomely, I have a lovely flat that's recently been vacated, and you can have all the women you want – or men, if that's what you prefer. What do you say?"
Moran scowls. "Don't call me Sebby, shortarse."
Within seconds, Moriarty has twisted the larger man's left arm behind his back at a punishing angle and pinned him to the floor. "I'm the boss, Sebby, and I'll call you whatever I want. Now, you can either play nice with me, or I can twist this arm off and turn you in to Scotland Yard for the murder you just committed, and then you'll never get out of prison. What's it to be?"
The larger man grunts his assent, and the Irishman smiles. He can't wait to see what happens the next time someone tries to challenge him for Overlord.