| 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 had to lose security without Liam's awareness to meet with Vincent and Detective Donny Stevens. If I left the Manor through the front door, Alfie and his men would be right behind me, so I contrived an escape plan, which included hideous hiking boots, yoga pants, blonde locks, tinted, bug-eyed sunglasses and adequate climbing skills, or rather, rappelling down from the master bedroom's window after I told Alfie I was to spend the afternoon in respite due to splitting headaches.
If the double-knotted sheets unravel from the bedpost, I will plummet to bone-shattering death or get torn apart by Tony's planted rose bushes.
With the sheet secured around my waist, I abseil down the vertiginous wall. Feet planted to the brick, heart threatening to burst out of my chest, I descended gingerly, praying nobody spots me and suspects intrusion, or else I'll be face-down in the dirt with a bullet wound to the back.
I almost made it feet first to the ground when I lost my grip and landed on my backside. Pain shot up my spine, and momentary dizziness had my eyes cocked inwards. Gnawing my teeth in discomfort, I unknotted the sheet from my waist and rolled onto my stomach, giving myself a moment to engage in conscious breathing to reduce uncomfortableness.
Hearing the static sound of someone's radio transceiver, I peered through the unkempt jungle of bushes (Tony will faint when he revisits) to see two security members lingering by the garden furniture, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.
"Great stuff," I whispered to myself, rubbing soil off my knees.
Forearms positioned to the concrete slabs, I military crawled around the Manor, rustling the leaves of long-stemmed plants. Pool house in view, I double-checked my surroundings and moved like a four-legged animal across the expanse of green grass. Automatic lawn sprinklers came to life and soaked me in the process. I shot behind the annexe building, bum-shuffling towards the wrought-iron enclosure, and skulked out of sight.
Climbing the fence to abscond, I reached the summit of what felt like the highest mountain, tossed a leg over and dropped to the pavement on the other side. Dusting off my hands, I walked backwards, a smile of pure triumph and exhilaration dancing on my lips. I am a self-satisfied conqueror. Never in a million years did I believe I could break free from Alfie's confinement, yet here I am, in the middle of the street, dancing my ass off.
It occurred to me that Alfie may knock on the bedroom door at some point to check-in, and if he does, then he'll see the getaway sheets, or if not the intrusion of Alfie, another guard on duty will find evidence in the garden. Liam will have a stroke if he finds out I escaped his men, and those loyal, valiant soldiers were certainly undeserving of their boss' tyrannical admonishment.
I had to trust the process, though. If Alfie's smart, he'll leave Warren's wife to rest without interruption and wait for her to rise from the dead later on this evening.
In the meantime, I flagged down an Addison Lee and paid the driver to chauffeur to the designated café.
Portuguese patisseries and slow-roasted coffee permeated the air. Prices chalked the wall-mounted menu. Tasty looking refreshments laid on platters behind tiered glass. The old-fashioned café had a melange of cultural authenticity and British excellence. You could order Bola de Berlim alongside a Full-English breakfast and Yorkshire tea. "Latte," I told the barista, extracting notes from my purse. "Lots of sugar."
