| 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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On Ben's daily demand, I ordered wholesale milk, fresh meat and seasonal produce from online greengrocers and local butchers to ensure customers ingested raw, organic meals rather than cheap, convenient meals. Delivery drivers conveyed brim-full crates to the cafe's side entrance, where Ben awaited to sign proof-of-delivery forms while tired, ashen-faced employees rolled everything into the kitchen for stock rotation.
Still, I visited the grocery store once a week to pick up products unrelated to my brother's business. Additional shopping was unnecessary—given the fact I could purchase almost everything I buy in-store online with our grocery hauls—but I loved nothing more than a leisurely stroll around the aisles. It allows me to think clearly, to sample strawberry laces and, well, have some alone time.
I am sure most mothers would agree that time is of the essence where kids are concerned. I only had one child to contend with, which was mentally exhausting. Imagine having to collect two children after school. Imagine having to bathe three children after dinner. Imagine having to wake up four grouchy children for breakfast in the morning? Imagine having to prepare five packed lunches for five picky eaters?
One bambino is enough.
Nine-year-old Carter Hughes was more than enough.
Chocolate coated pretzels landed in the trolley.
Smarties are my favourite.
Breaking the orange juice seal, I put the plastic rim to my lips and drank to parch thirst while eyeing the magazine rack. Carter loved anything National Geographic, and this week's edition came with an inflatable globe.
Tossing the magazine in the trolley, I meandered through aisles until I found myself lingering near the clothes department. I wanted new pyjamas, but frugal spending forbade such wastefulness. I could make do for a few more months.
Carter's desperate for new clothes, though. He's gotten taller.
After counting notes in the back of my purse, I selected three pairs of pyjamas, a pack of ankle socks, plain white T-shirts and denim jeans. His gear definitely took me over budget, but there is nothing more satisfying than decking out your kid. He preferred branded tracksuits from the sports store, but he never complained or made me feel guilty for saving more expensive items for birthdays. He's a good kid—a grateful kid. He'll appreciate the non-branded gear all the same.
I dropped the white baseball cap on the floor.
"Here." A fresh-faced male store attendant picked it up. "Looking for a boyfriend?"
My eyes narrowed.
"The clothes?" His smile was cheeky. "Are you looking for a boyfriend or buying for yourself?"
I put the cap on top of the folded pile of clothes in the trolley. "My son."
"Oh." His arms folded across his broad chest. "You should wait until tomorrow. All these," he gestured to a rack of hoodies, "will be on sale. Fifty percent off everything."
