| BOOK SIX | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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Benjamin served the Banquet of Champions. Mouth-watering delicacies and sweet-tasting desserts ran along the lines of unabashed gluttony and lashings of sin: sumptuous lobster and prawn salad, a turkey roast with all the trimmings and the rich and bubbly combination of wine and cheese.
I had imbibed an entire bottle of white wine in excess. If truth be told, I am half-cut and slightly distorted (weakened eye-muscle coordination proved it).
I should have quashed alcohol consumption hours ago and opted for ice water, but the mood-altering depressant slowing reaction time is not the worst cure for severe despondency.
Recently, along with early morning runs in the barren park, I have learned that alcohol is a temporary escape from mental agony and a whole range of feelings I did not want to experience. I pour it on recent problems to extinguish the fire of pain and misery until I detach from the memory of what happened on the day of Carter's disappearance when I traded motherhood for bereavement because an evil force decided to take my son away and ruin my life.
With alcohol in my bloodstream, suppressing emotional pain and illogical thoughts of him walking into the room with a huge smile on his face and a brand-new model car tucked under his arm, I can get through the rest of the night without sending myself into a meltdown.
I looked across the table of high-spirited dinner guests, hoping to see him looking back at me. My brain is still trying to process the finality of his vanishment.
Sometimes, if I drink enough to numb the pain and the presence of him, if I close my eyes and explore the subconscious mind, I can hear the innocent chuckle of a happy little boy.
I suppose optimism is a comforting improvement. I used to consider the worst: starvation, torture, torment and abuse. Not anymore. Those gut-wrenching thoughts sailed along with practicality and perceptiveness. Now, I reflect on the good times instead. Happy memories that I will cherish forever.
Benjamin had barely touched his dinner, which is quite normal. He lost his appetite during meal preparation because his senses had already consumed every dish. Plus, he taste-tested whilst cooking to check food quality and seasoning. All those morsels satiated hunger.
Carter used to sit next to my brother and mirror his dining etiquette. If Benjamin used a knife and fork to carve meat, Carter fumbled with a knife and fork and attempted to slice meat. If Benjamin sipped fizz and dabbed his lips with a disposable napkin, Carter slurped a watermelon crush mocktail and wiped his pout with a scrunched-up napkin.
Even when Carter grew taller and adopted an attitude problem, he looked up to Uncle Ben. He imitated the most influential male in his life: mimicking gestures, internalising words and facial expressions.
Benjamin set the standard of masculinity. He taught Carter to be a team player, polite and respectful and to take responsibility for his actions. To look after his family and be kind to himself and others. He told him it was okay to cry and show emotions just as long as he got back up and wiped his tears. He showed him the most important qualities of a decent man. A good role model. A strong father figure.
