| 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...
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I emerged from the shadows in a figure-hugging red dress, the satin material hiding the angel wings on my back. With long puffy sleeves and wrists adorned in diamonds, I drifted through the grandeur jamboree of tuxedos, dazzling evening dresses and polite sommeliers. My six-inch heels clicked against the Emperador marble floor as I strolled to the long-stretched bar. I sat elegantly on the leather stool, ordered one margarita and admired the room's idyllic layout.
Victoria Rose visited The Ice Bar from time to time. Encompassed by jaw-dropping contemporary designs, high-ceilings, opulent crystal chandeliers, scarlet velour seating accommodations and concierge lounges, the bewitching siren came out at night to lure eligible bachelors, scandalous politicians, corrupt estate moguls, business tycoons and avariciously unpatriotic millionaires.
I never thought I'd return, especially incognito. Yet here I sit to inveigle. To my right, the smartly dressed male offered a pleasant smile and clicked down the barman for refills. I had no interest in him or his closeness (he's not the target), but I couldn't shake the gnawing sensation in my stomach.
I sensed the intrusiveness of his glare.
Gearing up to reciprocate his former smile, I faced him, but he no longer looked approachable. Inquisitiveness traded friendliness. His eyes slithering into tiny slits, he examined me from head to toe.
My head cocked to the side.
Nameless reminded me of someone.
Our curious expressions mirrored.
Realisation dawned on me.
In a state of shock and panic, I put my back to him and downed the margarita in one gulp. "Shit," I whispered under my breath. He's a regular. I am almost sure he'd entered the bar with John Doe, the married baron Nathan had methodically hand-picked.
Rohan Wallace.
Why must the action of remembering come late in life?
Rohan excused himself from pre-drinks with partners to stand alongside the 'lonely' woman at the bar, ordered a neat scotch and worked his charm. He was a handsome man, lean, groomed, tailored and chivalrous. Before complimenting Victoria's eyes, he'd slipped his wedding band inside his trouser pocket and loosened the top buttons of his white shirt.
I paled by the second.
Without sexual inhibitions, Victoria conspired, brushing a finger along Rohan's knuckles, always maintaining eye contact and upholding a lascivious appeal. He approved with heavy-lidded eyes and whispered vulgar promises in her ear.
"H-hey." A tap on my shoulder. "Don't I k-know y-you from somewhere?"
I swallowed to avoid biliousness.
"No," I squeaked.
Rohan led Miss Rose to the private hotel room he routinely booked above the bar for clandestine affairs with available women or dependable escorts.
