| 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 wasted six hours of my life hunting for the old-fashioned farmhouse in Totteridge Green. I stumbled upon plentiful residential buildings, but Vincent's concealed property laid in mystification. While imbibing takeaway coffee from behind the Bentley steering wheel, facing the incarnadine sunrise, the crisp morning air, a soft breeze through the open window, I contemplated my brother's serpentine underhandedness. Vincent's betrayal hurt indelibly. I had a painful, unswallowable lump lodged in my throat. I thought he was different. I thought he and I were cut from the same cloth.
He's no better than the other contemptible family members I purged.
Presently, I stand by Vincent's bedside with my hands tucked inside my pockets. Doctors weaned him off the ventilator, so he breathes unaided. He's yet to open his puffy eyes, though. He had an ashen-faced complexion and dry, chapped lips that respired imperceptible shallow breaths.
I got comfortable next to him, draping a hand towel over my thigh, and flipped open the switchblade. Sweeping strands of lengthy black hair off his brows, I grabbed the shaving cream and lathered his unkempt beard with the soapy substance. Then, with the blade's sharpest point, I shaved carefully with the direction of his scraggly shadow, alternately wiping remnants across the towel until he's smooth-faced and beardless.
Tossing used items in a carrier bag, I double knotted the handles, ready for the bin, and reached for the bowl of warm water. I wring the doused washcloth to avoid excess suds and put the fabric to my brother's jaw, catering to his needs, if you may.
"It is an unforgivable sin to whisper misinformation." I stuffed the switchblade in my pocket to stop myself from hacking out his tongue. "You lied to me, Vincent. I trusted you, and you lied. Do you have any idea how much your betrayal wounds me? I thought," I said hoarsely, licking dryness from my lips. "I thought you cared."
Rising from the bed, I moved to the rain-splattered window and stared into nothingness. "I never made it easy for you to enter my life. If truth be told, I had hoped you were a deluded opportunist and that our siblingship test results were inconclusive. I was unfortunate. You were my half-brother, so I was forced to comprehend why this revelation hurt in more ways than one. I had lived a life without you, which left a bitter taste in my mouth. I never knew I could resent the man we call father anymore until I realised he'd taken yet another part of me. He stole what should have been years of me taking care of you. Protecting you." My throat tightened. "Loving you. I was supposed to be there, Vincent. That's my job as a big brother."
I cleared moisture from my eyes. "That wasn't my life, though. I met many people who touched a part of my soul, who will forever have a place in my heart, but ultimately, I walked alone. I learnt from a very young age not to trust because trust leads to disappointment, and rejection makes you feel worthless. I was tired of thinking I am not good enough; I don't deserve to be here; I am a mistake; I don't understand my purpose or my pathetic existence.
