| 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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My throat tightened.
Big Guy was talking about us.
"I would expect nothing less from the family's crazy lady." Miles smiled proudly at our sister. "What did you do to him?"
"Nothing too drastic." Mary downplayed inherited craziness and adhered to the unwritten rules of white lies. "I spilt chardonnay all over the man's designer trousers. He was furious."
Yes, but the designer trousers were the least of his worries. He was more concerned with the potential dog excrement on his face.
"However, due to unforeseen circumstances, I was forced to tolerate her for a very long period of time." He omitted the bad decisions that precipitated unpaid hours of community service in the same alley as the cafe where I worked and resided. "Stockholm Syndrome, anyone?"
A chorus of hearty laughter followed.
"It was love at first sight, and you know it." Mary rubbed Brad's thigh under the table. "How is pregnancy treating you, Quinn?"
A slight smile played on my friend's mouth. "Overrated."
"Pregnancy is a gift from God." Hamish's stern voice echoed in my mind. "It's nice to see that loan parenthood is not an issue." He took a dig at me. "Perhaps you would both like to visit once the baby is born."
I was hurt deeply by my father's comment. He has never made an effort to see my son, to pick up the phone and call him or even send him a birthday card. He hasn't even acknowledged his disappearance.
"Respectfully, no," Benjamin declined Hamish's offer to visit with a glare of sheer disrespect. "No offence, old man, but you do not have a good track record with grandkids. You might wake up one day and decide to disown my kid for merely existing."
"I'm not sure I understand." Hamish's eyes, cold with contempt, bounced from me to my twin. "I don't have any other grandchildren to compare."
Tears pricked my eyes.
"Who wants more orange juice?" Martin, awkward and gawkish when under pressure, shot out of the seat like a bolt of lightning, fussing with jugs, mugs and anything else he could get his hands on. "There is never a dull moment with a dose of Vitamin C. Here you go, Emma." He splashed orange liquid into my glass with flinty-eyed clumsiness. "Hey, how is that university course looking?"
"University." My mother's lips twitched into a half-smile. "What is the purpose of this study?"
"Communication and media studies," I said, furtively wiping a tear from under my eye. "It's not set in stone yet. I was just playing with ideas."
"Emma has the attributes of a great photographer," Benjamin explained, and everyone trapped me in their sights as if my cheeks could not get any hotter. He studied me for a beat longer, beaming with pride. "A picture paints a thousand words, right?"
