REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Liam

I showered, changed into a tailored three-piece bespoke suit ready for my date with Alexa this evening and joined the men around the polished mahogany conference table alongside our two guests, Chief Superintendent Reginald Burton and Gregory Millan. Greg specialised in exquisite jewellery. He is a qualified gemologist, goldsmith, watchmaker, engraver, diamond settler and the syndicate's most trusted service provider. He is almost eighty years old and relied on a wooden cane for mobility, yet the geezer, who tiresomely straggled, perambulated everywhere.

"Warren." Greg unravelled black velvet from the invariable chain batch. "A hundred as ordered." His finger lifted the white gold diamond-cut rope chain, the scintillating military tag exhibiting its engraved cut. "I assume you hired new men."

"The boss is always on the prowl," Nate drawled, relaxing in the leather chair. "It's part and parcel of the job—recruit, replace."

"You-win-some-you-lose-some." Brad conveyed the agglomeration of chains, customised rings and diamond Cuban link bracelets to me and presented them on the table. "It's as simple as that."

"You have requested my services a lot lately, Warren." Reginald puffed a fat cigar, clouding himself in thick smog. "What can I do for you?"

"Flamur Bajramovic. What's taking so long?"

"I chased up leads." Reginald glanced at Nate. "Your email claimed Mr Bajramovic returned to Albania, but there is no evidence to prove he boarded a flight. I have every reason to suspect he is still in London."

I removed the polaroid images from my inner suit jacket and alternately slid them down the table. "What can you see?"

Alexa panicked last night. I almost entered her bedroom, but she slammed the door in my face. Hurried movements ensued. She faced me moments later, her frame buried in an oversized T-shirt, and stepped aside for me to spend the night. I sensed something was wrong. At that time, I assumed clothes were on the floor, or the bed was unmade, and then, while doffing the suit, I noted the bedside table's agape drawer. I knew she hid something in that drawer. If she hadn't opened up, I'd planned to check for myself. But she surprised me. Rather than prying, she willingly spoke about the images and gave me permission to use them.

"Fuck no." Nate tossed the photo aside. "It makes your skin crawl." He glowered at the men. "I'm a lot of things, but you don't fuck with no kids, man."

The unspeakable, stomach-churning images from Alexa's childhood evoked unpleasant memories for Nate. After all, his sister was the product of child molestation.

Reginald fixed his gold-framed bifocals. "How did you get these?"

"I believe Bajramovic sent them to Alexa," I mumbled, lighting the end of a cigarette.

"I was one of the detectives leading the Haines' case," Reginald informed me, and my interest piqued. "I had a feeling they weren't quite honest with us back then. The older sister, in particular, was unforthcoming." He overturned the images. "To this day, I will never understand their reasoning."

"Kathy grew fond of their childhood captor. She told Alexa to keep her mouth shut prior to investigative interviewing. Alexa's disclination to talk is understandable. She was still a child. She didn't know any better."

"I believe Alexa wanted justice," Reginald said, taking a generous sip of bourbon. "She failed to remember major incidents. Psychiatrists determined psychological trauma or some element of dissociative amnesia."

Nate's eyebrows met in a puzzled frown. "Alexa recalled nothing?"

"Aspects," he retorted, the cigar pinched between two ring-lined fingers. "Alexa told us where she slept, what she ate and what insects crawled the walls. She could not, however, give me names, descriptions or timeframes. Even identifying characteristics was practically impossible for her."