| 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 roused alone on the rooftop, bathed in the sky's warm-coloured palette. Someplace on the horizon, I heard subdued males engaged in earnest conversation. I yawned, stretching my arms and legs, and crawled out of the snug, makeshift bed to pinpoint the source of early morning socialising. I braced my folded arms on the wall. In the street below, Jace, in black boxer briefs and sport sliders, stood on the pavement by the parked Bentley. Rummaging inside the car for clean clothes, Liam, unabashed by potential peeping Toms, stripped until his pale yet muscular backside exhibited for all to bear witness. He changed into grey jogging bottoms, sat on the ledge of the boot, stuffed his feet into socks, and then, while the casual attire became an afterthought, he thumped a hand on his chest and had a heart-to-heart with my best friend. At least, from my vantage point, their heart-warming togetherness suggested candid, personal and solicitous—in typical man-to-man communicativeness.
Convinced I had hallucinated their nearness, I rubbed my eyes to be sure I was not dreaming.
No, I see clearly. Liam and Jace, in close proximity, not killing one another.
What a mystifying start to the day?
I went to the shared bathroom downstairs to do my business. In the kitchen, hot beverages developed. I placed a steamy mug onto the coffee table for Josh, who sleeps on the leather sofa, the gossamer-thin blanket plaited between his long, ungracefully parted legs.
My stomach grumbled. I buttered a piece of toast, crammed a morsel into my mouth, hurled the burnt crust in the bin and carried two mugs to the rooftop. I just sat down on the rattan chair when Liam, looking painfully gorgeous in his designer leisurewear, appeared by the fire exit door. "Morning," I said, blowing over the rim of the mug. "How are you feeling?"
Liam's face pinched tight. "Better than yesterday."
I bellied disconcertment. "I made coffee."
His nose tipped downward as he eyed the mug. Taking long strides, he closed the distance, eased onto a chair and, uninterested in caffeinated blends, laced his fingers together. His forearms perched on his thighs. "I want you to come home."
I figured as much. "Are you ready to address why I stayed away?"
Liam glanced my way. "I am relocating the office. Vincent will work full-time at Club 11. I still own the company and will continue close door conclave, etcetera, in the club's subterranean chambers. However, Timothy Andino's casino is now the syndicate's port to call. I hired contractors to refurbish the building and plan to open for business in four weeks."
I was wordless.
"My intention is never to hurt you." He avoided my eyes. "My wife will not sit at home, unsettled by her husband's whereabouts." A black and gold card and a set of keys landed on the make-do coffee table. "I am not hiding anything, Alexa. My door is always open for you. If at any point, you wish to visit me at work, I have provided unrestricted access for you to do so. In the future, if you demand attention, put me in line. I deserve it." His throat worked on a swallow. "Do not lower yourself in front of the brothers, though. It is not you, I will punish. Remember that."
