| BOOK SIX | 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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Hugo, the serial outfit-repeater in faded denim jeans, black heavy-duty boots and an overworn leather jacket, pushed through the restaurant's main doors, spoke to the impeccably uniformed hostess, thanked her for the leather-bound menu and meandered through a series of well-decorated tables.
I smiled at him.
He smiled back.
Gravitating to the long-stretched walnut veneered bar, he sat on the barstool opposite the master mixologist concocting a series of varicoloured cocktails, ordered a neat whiskey and basked in the scenic essence of romance: dim lights, soft jazz, tuxedoed gentlemen and glamoured women.
Hugo texted earlier, asking when I finished work and If I'd like to attend a late-night art exhibition.
I am not a connoisseur of artwork, galleries or museums, but I had nothing better to do than go through the motions of life. If I went home, I'd vegetate in front of the television or go for another run to overcome the fight of incurable restlessness.
Before I agreed to the display of artwork, I had to check with Big Guy first. No, it's not because he is overbearing or controlling. Yes, he groused and made a fuss. Then he gave up the fight and told me to have a nice time—begrudgingly.
Believe it or not, the man with excessive confidence and an exaggerated sense of self-worth is secretly battling feelings of worthlessness. He has trust issues. He is insecure in our relationship, thanks to his ex-girlfriend, Tiffany, cheating on him with his best friend.
I think the traumatic image of them in bed together will forever be imprinted in his mind.
To top it off, Brad despised Hugo just as much as he despised bargain stores and counterfeit labels, which says it all because the devoted follower of fashion seldom stressed over anything but Salvatore Ferragamo shoes and Ermenegildo Zegna bespoke. He had to look the part.
Trust me when I say you do not want to suggest cheaper brands to save money when he's in the process of contemplating Giorgio Armani's iconic tailoring.
He will be offended.
He will throw a hissy fit.
He will make you wish you'd never been born.
When I accompanied him to Bond Street, and he snuck into Givenchy to buy a new coat, I stayed outside, sipping coffee, as a safety precaution, to protect myself from extenuating circumstances or one of his famous meltdowns.
And I am still crazy about him.
When did that happen?
Big Guy is not happy about our friendship, Hugo's and mine. If he could wave a magic wand and make the man disappear—send him to the nether region of hellfire and eternal torment—he would do it without any delay or remorse. In actual fact, he would do all of the above with boastful satisfaction.
