ATONEMENT | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I paid for the coffee and selected a four-seater table beside the floor to ceiling windows, which separated me from the alfresco diners, yet the transparency of glass seemed to somewhat impinge on their privacy. The sunken-eyed old man with not a muscle in his face watched me until I finally lost the will to live. I soon reciprocated his contemptuous indifference. Without breaking eye contact, I sipped lukewarm coffee and contemplated giving him the middle finger when the bench opposite groaned beneath the weight of two strappingly tailored men. "Picking fights with seniors, Angel?" Vincent's intense blue eyes robbed me of my ability to speak. "It's unflattering."

Jesus, I forget how much Vincent resembles his brother. He's a carbon copy of Liam. It's not just their inky black hair, sharp facial features and emotional expressions. It's their conceited arrogance and excessive confidence. Akin to Liam, Vincent draws attention. If not for his undeniable attractiveness, then the suffocating nearness of his oppressive dominance. His eyes were neither soft nor unfocused. He stared people down to their very bones and disparaged or dismissed lionising with a glare of haughtiness.

"No problem," the female waitress stuttered, receding from our table.

I watched her leave in puzzlement. "What did you say to make her panic like that?"

"Were you not present?" Donny stroked his chin in thought, the gold curb bracelets on his wrist clinking together. "And what's with the blonde mane? You do realise there's no sun, right? The sunglasses are a bit pointless."

"She's hiding from my brother." Vincent flipped open the tattered menu to assess prices. "Isn't that right, Angel?"

"Liam's difficult," I said as if both men were clueless to the man's uncompromising despotism. "So, did you find anything?"

Previously, I called upon Vincent to help me track down Logan Broderick's biological father. Donny Stevens works for the metropolitan police department and has access to criminal records. While digging up dirt on Logan's step-father, Cyril Broderick, Donny discovered that Roxanne Bowen, Logan's mother, had acquired a rap sheet that stretches back to her call girl days.

"She was arrested for prostitution," Donny explained, handing me a printout. "Theft and drugs. Never prosecuted, though." He's perplexed-looking. "Bowen attacked a punter with a knife—claimed self-defence—yet never faced charges."

Logan's mother's mugshot stared back at me. I believe she was a looker, once upon a time, but she reminded me of a worn-down homeless person in these images. Her ratty blonde dreadlocks rolled down her back, and the stained jumper buried her cadaverous frame. Remnants of dried blood stained her pale, gaunt cheeks.

Roxanne's soulless eyes tugged on my heartstrings. I wondered what happened to make her choose a life of intoxicants and crime. You don't wake up one day and decide to sell your body or stick a needle in your arm for shits and giggles. Someone's responsible for her tragic downfall.

"Did you find a copy of Logan's birth certificate?"

"Yes." Donny exhibited vital documents. "Father unknown."

I felt hopeless. "Well, what does that even mean? We can't reconnect a father and son because the mother decided she didn't need fatherly input? That's bullshit. Someone knows something. Logan didn't appear out of thin air. His father's out there, and we need to find him."

Vincent placed his hand on top of mine to relax the tension in my knuckles. "Why is this so important to you, Angel?"

"Cyril Broderick physically abuses his step-son," I told them. "Roxanne's aware yet turns a blind eye. Logan needs our help. I fear he's in danger of his life."