| BOOK FOUR | 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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I dropped into second gear, veered the Bentley round a sharp corner and accelerated back into third. Tall trees and shimmering streetlights alternately spanned the street—unprepossessing public housing units to the left. Heedlessly unambitious street kids loiter in the shadows of the vast park to the right, tippling around a burning litter bin. The borough is the seabed for crime, poverty and deprivation, Inseparable Youths being the focal point for unwanted attention, and Alexa, temerarious and negligent, placed herself in jeopardy. I don't like it. The protective part of me wants to forbid her return, but the compromising voice in the back of my head insists that she lives without restriction, in spite of opposition.
Emergency vehicles, the first response team, flashing police cars and two ambulances cordoned off the road. Pedestrians assemble to inquire impertinently. Deeply distressed teenagers dispersed in tears. I applied pressure to the accelerator in defiance of street blockage, ready to overtake scattered vehicles, when I spotted Alexa. I slammed on the brake, the high-pitched squeal from the tyres permeating an odour of burning rubber. Shoving open the driver's door, I stepped onto the pavement and waited for Alexa.
Belatedly identifying the Bentleys driver, Alexa withdrew her outstretched hand and ran straight into my arms. Her bare arms were cold to touch. Unshed tears beaded her lower lashes.
"It's okay." Observing the commotion unfold behind her, I kept an arm around her shoulders. My lips to her forehead, I kissed her there. "I got you."
"Samuel is dead," she whispered, and I jerked my chin. "He got caught in the crossfire, Liam."
My hands rubbed the surfaced goose-pimples from her arms. "Alfie insisted you were not the target."
"They weren't here for Samuel." Her breathing came in restrictedly heavy. "They wanted Logan."
I had no recollection of the boy. "Who?"
Rubbing her blotchy cheeks, Alexa stepped away from me. "He comes here." Devastation quieted her voice. "I don't..." Broken-heartedness dampened her eyes. "Oh, God. I am so fucking angry," she spat out, mascara-stained tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why do bad things happen to good people, Liam? Fuck what is written in the stars. What unmerciful God has the power to foreordain the death of an innocent child? Why do we exist in a world so cruel?" She watched three paramedics as they wheeled Samuel's body into the ambulance's rear. "His poor mother," she whimpered, and before her inconsolable grief allured inquisitiveness, I caged her in my arms, her face buried on my chest, her muffled wailing soaking my shirt.
"Get it out," I said throatily, my hand cupping her by the nape. A familiar face appeared by the centre's entrance. Unlike the blue coats, DCI Donny Stevens wore Italians finest. Impressively tailored, he spoke to the hub manager, nodding on occasion, and then gravitated in our direction. "Compose yourself."
Alexa wiped her tears and adopted a demure expression.
"Warren." Donny proffered his hand for me to shake, which I declined with a head turn. "Mrs Warren, I didn't think I would see you again, not after our last encounter." Insinuation clipped his authoritative voice. "Were you not tempted to flee?"
