| BOOK THREE | 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 roman...
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I wear sunglasses and a black jacquard coat on a cold winter's morning. Inhaling the fresh scent of petrichor in the misted air, hearing the damp, rubiginous leaves squelch underneath heeled shoes, I meandered through clusters of trees and lonely gravestones. Nesting in the cracks of a dilapidated mausoleum, two lustrously feathered crows pose a threat as they watched me drift along the cobblestone pathway.
Finding the rightful plot, I crouched on a patch of wet grass beside loosened soil, opened a carrier bag and cleared fallen leaves and dead flowers. "It hurts him to talk about you, Summer," I said softly. "I see it in his eyes. Your death haunts him."
Unwrapping the shepherd's crook that I had bought from a local garden centre, I drove it into the ground, to the right side of her headstone. "I have the tendency to listen in on other people's conversations."
I laid a tartan blanket on the soggy grass, sat comfortably, and utilised a key to slice through the seal of a cardboard box. "Anyway, you know how grownups drink acky alcohol? Even though it's bad for them. Well, I found myself drinking inside a relatively unbusy tavern once. I do that sometimes." Imbibe an alarming amount of alcohol to forget, to deaden the pain, to overhear imaginative raconteurs share their weekly antics over a bottle of rum. "Hunt for a quiet spot to unwind."
Unpackaging the solar-powered lights, I unstring the one-metre thread and drape an unlit daisy chain across her stone. Grey, billowing clouds clustered above, and I peered to the depressing skies in search of a ray of sunlight. "I sat in a booth behind a young female and an older gentleman. Initially, I thought they were a couple, but within ten minutes, I recognised them as estranged siblings." Her rosy cheeks and red-brimmed eyes ineffectively tugged on the man's heartstrings. He had been stolid, emotionless, expressionless. "They had buried their grandmother six months prior."
I opened another parcel. "The sister was very angry at her brother. Not once, since the demise of their loved one, had he visited the cemetery to lay flowers. I, too, while sipping...lemonade, judged him for being so arrogant and heartless towards the sister he claimed to love. He was utterly disrespectful and disregarded her upset. He mocked her even.
"I mean, why didn't he reassure her? After their intense quarrel, if nothing else, why didn't he take her hand and offer to drive her home? Why didn't he promise to call once the dust settled between them? No, he just sat there, glaring at the empty seat as though it insulted him. He never even looked out of the window to see her rush down the street.
"I did. I watched her oscillate on the sidewalk, sobbing into bunched-up tissues as she flagged down a taxi.
"I failed to mention that I also tend to be meddlesome." I smiled, knotting a thread of string. "Of course, I went to his table and advised him freely. I explained the importance of siblingship and why he must make an effort with his only sister." I told him, if something terrible were to happen to her, he'd regret the cessation of unconditional love for the rest of his life. "He said loving her wasn't the issue. He adored his baby sister. He even had a hand in raising her.
