| 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 triggered the motion sensor lights as I entered the Manor's kitchen. Opening the under-counter cabinet, I extracted a bottle of vodka and poured myself a neat drink.
Heavy-hearted unhappiness manifested. I had an enjoyable evening at work, yet the second I came home and faced the harsh reality of loneliness, the burn in my chest intensified.
Torn between calling Liam and drowning in alcohol, I resolved to both: vodka to abate discomfort, the phone to enable apprehension.
"Hey, I am getting worried. You haven't returned my calls or text messages. Did I do something wrong? It's unlike you to ignore me unless I did something wrong...Well, at least, I don't remember doing something wrong..." Liam cannot answer, Alexa. You are speaking to his voicemail box. "Okay, I will hang up now."
I ended the call.
"I'm ordering pizza." Logan's head popped around the door frame, and then Tre's inventorying eyes. "Do you want anything?"
I shook my head.
"Is it cool if we hit the theatre?"
I gave them the thumbs-up.
"Alright." Logan ebbed from the door, a quizzical glint in his sliced eyes. "I'll see you in a bit."
Awe-inspired by the luxuriousness of our surroundings, Tre, nervous about being near any ornaments or furniture, wrangled his T-shirt. "I love your house, Mrs Warren."
"Thank you, Tre."
His finger aimed at the eye-catching chandelier in the hallway. "Is that real gold?"
Hand-cut crystals and gold-gilt. "No."
"Logan must love it here," he said with an air of befuddlement. "You can't swing a cat in my gaff." His foot gingerly tapped the polished marble floor. "I could get used to living like this."
I forced a smile. "Strive for a well-paid job. Anything is possible."
"Exactly." Tre gave me a two-finger salute and chased Logan down the hall. "Yo, I can't believe you live with Liam Warren."
I never heard Logan's response.
Stuffing the vodka bottle into my handbag, I went to the master bedroom, star-fished the bed and stared at Liam's spot miserably.
I missed him.
Why hasn't he returned my calls?
Why have my text messages delivered but remain unread?
Lethargically rolling onto my back, I dialled Brad's number and put the phone to my ear. He answered after five rings, but the club music and vociferous men and women made it difficult to catch what he'd said. "What happened to pizza?" I asked, and he laughed at someone in the background. "I called at a bad time, huh?"
