| BOOK FIVE | 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 approached the ingeniously reconstructed 19th century stone cottage through the main garden onto the cobblestone terrace, where intricate railings and ivy-draped columns travelled onto the diamond-shaped lattice entrance porch. I looked up to the double-arched window. Helga's dark silhouette stood behind the scalloped net curtain. I wondered if she anticipated our arrival or if the plethora of Bentley vehicles piqued inquisitiveness, so she unmindfully climbed to the crest of the house to spy. When the net oscillated, her eyes peering around the material's semi-transparent trim, I concluded it was that of the former. Her slender shoulders were stiff, pushed back into a defensive posture as if primed for life-or-death combat, but her pallid face, cloudy eyes, and unsmiling countenance suggested inward dread. Her close attentiveness, guarded watchfulness and nervous foot switching tugged a taunting smile to my lips. In playful schadenfreude, I waved at the hypersensitive woman, and she jolted backwards, the net slipping from her fingers.
"What do you think?" Nate's black ribbed beanie hat sat just above pinched brows. "Will she open the door?"
Helga's shadow never budged.
My lips puckered in contemplation. "She doesn't want us inside."
Who could blame her? A visit from one of Warren's men is almost as bad as a visit from Warren himself. If we came knocking on your door, nine times out of ten, predestined death occurred. Blood. Tears. Torture. It's our job to make you sing like canaries on behalf of the boss. Or, in Helga's case, in exchange for quantitative information.
Helga played an active role in Warren's trial. Her knowledge is invaluable. Without her help, I lacked a clear understanding of what went down in the deliberation room. She knew something that could help us, that much I am certain.
Her eyes peeked through the net once more.
I am not here to hurt her.
Well, that's if she acted in accordance with the syndicate.
"Understandable." Nate slid a pen behind his ear and unravelled elastic bands from the brown folder. "Do you need me to unlock the door?"
"No." Jerking open the wrought iron gate to the lawned back garden, I roamed to the rear of the house, the path lined with raised flowerbeds, dying rose bushes and rusty solar lights. "It's bastard freezing."
A sturdy metal-framed six-seater table and chairs with waterproof cushions sat in front of the airy looking conservatory. Popping open the button of my suit jacket, I pulled out a chair and settled into highly durable comfort. It was a great spot to dine alfresco or fire the barbeque, the garden's all-encompassing blossom trees and enclosed fences providing privacy from meddlesome neighbours—eye-witnesses.
Nate sat directly opposite me. "Do you want the others to join us?"
