He had always believed that the world was divided into the strong and the dead.

And as the engine roared in his black Jaguar Mark X, Ronnie Kray knew which category he belonged to.

Faith, repentance, purity, none of this was for him.

Until that night. She stood at the church door - in black, with her hands hidden in her sleeves and a look that had no fear. A young nun, too calm for London, too quiet for him.

She only nodded when he threw the cigarette right at her feet. And that nod somehow hurt more than any bullet.

He could have forgotten her as he forgot everyone.

But instead he drove down that street again. Stopped again. Waited again.

Without even admitting it to himself.

Because every sinner sooner or later looks for his witness.

And maybe he found his soulmate in a girl who wasn't afraid to look into his soul.