| 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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I entered Club 11's underground conference room at the appointed time, where the men, meticulously besuited and soignée, throned behind the long-stretched negotiation table. Aromatised herbs smoke-filled the air, and variegated vodka, gin, rum and whiskey brands stockpiled the mahogany corner bar. Straight-faced security garrisoned the meeting, unreservedly equipped for precautionary measures.
Pulling out a chair at the head of the table, I popped open my suit jacket button and became seated. "Vincent?"
"He's talking to the doorman." Nate decreased his earpiece volume. "I assigned thirty armed men to the club's perimeters. If Moretti tries to pull a fast one, he'll be shot down before he can even get his foot off the ground." He placed a folder on the table. "Blaire located his family home, as requested, but she ain't got much else. Perhaps by next week, I'll have more intel."
I hand the folder to one of the men stationed by the back wall. "Take that to my office."
He dipped his head. "Sir."
In skin-tight leather trousers and ultra-high heeled platforms, Cherry conveys a tray of mixed shots to the table, the rhinestone crop top scarcely containing her voluptuous breasts. Her bright, waist-length red ponytail extension skims Brad's shoulder as she alternately distributes alcohol. "Looking a bit tempting tonight, Cher," said Brad, and her eyes squinched at his light raillery. "You know I am a sucker for those heels."
Cherry put the empty tray to her chest. "I didn't wear them for you."
"No?" He licked a toothpick to the corner of his mouth. "Got your claws in someone else, huh?"
She sent Josh a come-hither smirk. "Maybe."
"We banged once, Brad." Josh stretched his legs under the table and crossed his arms. "Keep your knickers on."
Brad masked enviousness. "Look at that fanny magnet," he pilloried. "All grown up with his man balls."
"Here he goes." Josh raked a hand down his face. "Don't be a knob jockey."
"I'll knob-jockey-cunt you right through fucking wall in a minute," Brad threatened, the toothpick wedged between his teeth. "Whatever happened to the good old bro-code, Joshy Boy?"
"Fellas," Cherry chimed, sliding a hand to her hip. "There's plenty of me to go around."
"Keep your bastard clam packet." Brad tossed rizla paper down on the table. "You won't find me within ten foot of your pussy after you let that nonce fuck it."
"Nonce?" Josh slammed his fist down on the table. "I will fuck you up!"
"Enough." My commanding voice ricocheted through the room, and everyone reined their necks in. "We are minutes away from the closed-door conclave, and you bunch of fucking wankers can't get your shit together. Children," I ridiculed, clicking down Cherry for refills, "should be seen and not heard, so wire your goddamn mouths shut."
