| 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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As the acting head of Warren Enterprise, I had to behave in a certain manner: work ethic, proactive management, speed and conviction, loyalty and commitment.
Yet, in a disorderly fashion, similar to any other dishonest traitor, I hid from reality, lined a rival's pocket and imbibed expertly crafted cocktails in the subjugation of electric blue decor, intimate velvet booths, mid-century armchairs, mirrored tables and blissful serenity.
Yes, I am Judas, the one who double-crossed under the guise of The Brotherhood. Warren's empire is set to collapse, so what do I do? I abandoned Club 11 to load cash registers elsewhere.
It's not as though the club is marked by bad blood, under threat of impermanent closure to protect employees and core assets, or the grand casino is gone, half-blown to smithereens because of the long-standing feud between The Warren Syndicate and The Cosa Nostra, or The Grape and Vine, faced with an onslaught of challenges like customer attrition and suppliers refusing to supply, is on the threshold of being taken to the cleaners.
Nope. Nada. Zilch.
Everything is peachy in gangland—note the fucking sarcasm. The satirical utterance. The pessimistic jargon.
My whole life is falling apart in conjunction with Warren Enterprise, and I can only stand back, wait for the war to come to an end and pick up the fragments of mass destruction as a result.
I may not be the right man for the job. I should submit to failure, throw the towel in and hand over the reins to the boss's brother.
second in command
noun
Second-in-command in the syndicate's crime family hierarchy, the boss's right-hand man next in authority to the head (also known as the boss of all bosses and/or king of the criminal underworld) of the organisation.
Bossman appointed me as Command to take over the institution for the duration of his absence. I have to wonder why. Sure, I am a damn good underboss with a considerable amount of power and influence. I am highly trained with specialised firearms and equipment. I can shoot at long range and kill on demand.
Most importantly, I have repeatedly proven that I will die with honour to protect the boss.
But I do not have what it takes to be him, think like him, function like him, or operate like him. I am the homicidal joker, not the brains behind the madness. That is his job. His chair. His crown. His empire.
In the throes of self-doubt, I glared at the whiskey old-fashioned, the cold, condensed moisture leaving a lightly coloured ring mark on the bar top.
A pleasant range of blended spirits—crafted with unique ingredients and served by friendly, attentive staff—lightened the load of weariness, moroseness and peevishness.
My phone vibrated.
Terrence: About the assignment. Do I inform you if Miss Emma is showing signs of distress? Is extreme anxiety considered an emergency?
