| 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...
I don't normally leave trigger warnings in chapters as I have them highlighted at the beginning of each book, but some readers might be uncomfortable with this scene. It's not graphically detailed; however, content: ⚠️ TW/CW - SA & Murder. ⚠️
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Everything looked right yet felt wrong. Untouched bed. Unopened suitcase. Unconsumed snacks. Locked en-suite. Eerie Immaculateness. I stood in the middle of the room, the floor to ceiling windows adorned in regal curtains to my left, the untampered door to my right.
"Maybe Nonna contacted Alberto," Nate thought, his gloved hands unzipping the small leather trinket box. On the foam padding: NovoRapid and Levemir. "Insulin. Nonna's diabetic."
I picked up the floppy-eared bunny. "What did the manager have to say?"
"Not much." Nate's uneasiness portrayed how I felt. "According to hotel staff, Nonna never left the room."
I placed the stuffed animal on the pillow. "Did you check the surveillance?"
"Yes, Sir," he drawled in that deep, London accent.
"What about the ventilation shaft?" Brad climbed onto the bed and, hands raised to the ceiling, examined the vent's four, fixed screws. "It's loose. Is Nonna small enough to climb through?"
Nonna is short, trim and, on the eye, healthy. "Plausible."
"She left her medication." Nate chucked the woman's reusable pens and prefilled insulin cartridges into the holdall. "I don't think she came out of this room willingly."
Brad slumped onto the bed, the bunny in hand, and toyed with its floppy ears. "Nonna's Italian. What's the difference between misdirection and misleading? Nada. I bet she planned everything out strategically—put the teddy on the chair, leave the bags on the floor, forget the supplemented insulin—knowing you'd come in here and think the worst. Meanwhile, Nonna is on a bus somewhere, riding off into the sunset. Little Miss Miliana in tow."
"He has a point." Nate's inked hand clasped his chin. "Perhaps Nonna's en route to Moretti. Irrelevant to the strained relationship between him and Angelo, Miliana is still his granddaughter."
No, I trust my gut. Nonna feared me, but she feared the bad guy more. When I offered to send them back to Italy, she voiced bona fide gratitude. "Perhaps."
"Listen, Bossman." Brad's legs swung off the bed. "You got enough on your plate. Angelo's kid? She's not our problem. Let it go."
Nate nodded in concord. "Besides, I got a location for Diego, remember?" He stared with amusement. "If anyone can help us track down Alberto, it's Angelo's gay lover."
Brad bore a conflicted expression. "Diego and Moretti may be in cahoots, though."
"No," I disagreed. "Moretti acknowledged three children. Angelo was not one of them. Perhaps he shares the same anachronistic values as Diego's mother, Pamina Serafini. If Moretti opposed his son's bisexuality, he'd disregard Angelo's lover out of spite."
