| BOOK FIVE | 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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Dominic is settled for the night. I crept away from the crib and into the hall like a thief in the night to ensure his restful slumber was maintained. When he rested, I pushed the reset button and rejuvenated. I scheduled time for uninterrupted personal care, and deservingly so. I seldom left the Jones' estate for fresh air, much less for entertainment purposes.
I hit the home gym for forty-five minutes, worked up a sweat, took the longest shower known to humankind, and then beautified myself in the bedroom: facial, body exfoliation and freshly shaved legs.
Relaxation certainly boosted self-love.
I ordered dye online yesterday morning to disguise new hair growth. Snapping on a pair of disposable gloves, I followed the instructions on the back of the box, applying colourant to my hair in sections.
Leaving the baby monitor on the closed toilet seat, I emptied essentials onto the luxuriously soft shower mat.
With the application set in motion, scalp irritatingly itchy, I sat on the edge of the bath, painting my toenails with an iridescent blue shade.
I missed the long, waist-length hair, the varicoloured blues and feathered layers. If nothing else, the nail varnish will be a small reminder of who I used to be.
People talked in the garden.
Recapping the nail polish, I cracked open the bathroom window, searching the dark grounds for signs of movement. Thanks to the series of LED lights, I located loud-mouthed contractors by the weather-worn barn.
Who hired builders for night work?
Is it not easier to work in the morning when the sun is out?
And what could they possibly be doing to the old, unused stables?
Rinsing the dye out of my hair, I wrapped a towel around my head, cleaned the mess on the floor, and returned to the bedroom.
A concrete mixer rotated like a bad dream outdoors.
I swear, if those inconsiderate idiots disturb the baby, I will stone them to death.
Hurling the wet towel into the laundry hamper, I headed downstairs, hair still dripping, and hunted the halls for the domestic cleaners.
I found them in the boarding house, enjoying a three-course meal, courtesy of our head chef, Gilbert.
"Good evening," I said politely, taking a short moment to appreciate their living conditions. They dined in a spacious room, the long-stretched wooden table adorned in the finest flatware, crystal glassware and luxury crockery. An old-fashioned fireplace, flanked by deep alcoves and wooden beams, dominated the room. Built-in shelves with books, ornaments, and artificial plants added nice, homely touches. "Is there enough room for everyone?"
"This is the dining room." Lilith stood by the table in pink and white pinstripe pyjamas. "There is a huge kitchen down the hall and an entertainment room upstairs."
