| 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 am gluttonous for narcotised languorousness. You can abuse illicit drugs to quash the magnitude of underlying introspectiveness and pretend life before inebriated indifference was equivalently unruffled. Numbing liquor, intoxicating cocaine and immobilising kush: three fundamental ingredients for complete detachment. I don't want to think or feel. I want to go back in time for an easier existence.
Carlos Marin sings in rich baritone alongside classical group members: Urs Bühler, Sébastien Izambard and David Miller. Si Tú Me Amas is a personal favourite. It has been too long since I listened to vinyl records in solitary.
Within the serenity of Club 11's four walls, I lounged on the Italian leather sectional sofa in the office, one arm draped over my eyes, a nursed glass of distilled whiskey in hand. Macallan and sedatives filtered through relaxed muscles. In benumbed imperturbability, I hearkened to the almost undetectable footfalls of an uninvited visitor.
I recognised her sweet-scented perfume. "What do you want?"
"I am looking for Nathaniel." Blaire picked up the Macallan bottle on the high gloss coffee table and read the label. "Can you send me in the right direction?"
Black leather sheathed her body like a second skin. Knee-high boots elevated her elegant posture. Her long, dark hair, pulled back into a sleek ponytail, falls down her back, and the light coruscates through her overly large statement earrings.
I swallowed exasperation. "Leave."
Blaire swigged from the bottle. "You look like shit."
"Did I ask for your opinion?" I gave her a scathing glare. "Get out, or I'll bury you beneath the very floor you stand upon."
"Actually, there is something I wish to discuss with you, Sir." Her backside grazed my thigh as she became seated on the sofa. "It's about Nathaniel. I am worried about him."
Blaire's concern for Nate captured my full attention. Swinging my outstretched legs from behind her back, I sat upright, snagged the bottle from her covetous hands and splashed more whiskey into the crystal glass. "Proceed."
"Oh, shit." Her fingers fumbled nervously on her lap. "I feel guilty."
I scowled. "Guilty?" Blaire's two eyes seemed to morph into one. "Why?"
"Talking to you betrays his trust." When she tucked hair behind her ear, I caught indistinct bruising on her upper cheek. "He needs help."
I blinked rapidly to regain clear-sightedness. "What happened to your face?"
Blaire stifled sniffles. "Nathaniel." Her inconsolable tears began to grey the room. "He loses his temper. He wasn't always this aggressive. Lately, his violence is too frequent to ignore. I know he doesn't mean to hurt me," she's quick to reassure. "But I fear if I don't seek help—"
"Blaire," I interjected with a raised hand. "Your relationship is none of my business." Unable to lose the disbelieving expression, I staggered to my feet, nearly tripping over the coffee table, and floated to my desk. "Close the door on your way out." I collapsed on the leather chair. Vibrations hummed in my veins. I leaned forward, plucked up the black card and separated lines. "Why are you still here?"
