CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Alexa

I roused alone on the rooftop, bathed in the sky’s warm-coloured palette. Someplace on the horizon, I heard subdued males engaged in earnest conversation. I yawned, stretching my arms and legs, and crawled out of the snug, makeshift bed to pinpoint the source of early morning socialising. I braced my folded arms on the wall. In the street below, Jace, in black boxer briefs and sport sliders, stood on the pavement by the parked Bentley. Rummaging inside the car for clean clothes, Liam, unabashed by potential peeping Toms, stripped until his pale yet muscular backside exhibited for all to bear witness. He changed into grey jogging bottoms, sat on the ledge of the boot, stuffed his feet into socks, and then, while the casual attire became an afterthought, he thumped a hand on his chest and had a heart-to-heart with my best friend. At least, from my vantage point, their heart-warming togetherness suggested candid, personal and solicitous—in typical man-to-man communicativeness.

Convinced I had hallucinated their nearness, I rubbed my eyes to be sure I was not dreaming.

No, I see clearly. Liam and Jace, in close proximity, not killing one another.

What a mystifying start to the day?

I went to the shared bathroom downstairs to do my business. In the kitchen, hot beverages developed. I placed a steamy mug onto the coffee table for Josh, who sleeps on the leather sofa, the gossamer-thin blanket plaited between his long, ungracefully parted legs.

My stomach grumbled. I buttered a piece of toast, crammed a morsel into my mouth, hurled the burnt crust in the bin and carried two mugs to the rooftop. I just sat down on the rattan chair when Liam, looking painfully gorgeous in his designer leisurewear, appeared by the fire exit door. “Morning,” I said, blowing over the rim of the mug. “How are you feeling?”

Liam’s face pinched tight. “Better than yesterday.”

I bellied disconcertment. “I made coffee.”

His nose tipped downward as he eyed the mug. Taking long strides, he closed the distance, eased onto a chair and, uninterested in caffeinated blends, laced his fingers together. His forearms perched on his thighs. “I want you to come home.”

I figured as much. “Are you ready to address why I stayed away?”

Liam glanced my way. “I am relocating the office. Vincent will work full-time at Club 11. I still own the company and will continue close door conclave, etcetera, in the club’s subterranean chambers. However, Timothy Andino’s casino is now the syndicate’s port to call. I hired contractors to refurbish the building and plan to open for business in four weeks.”

I was wordless.

“My intention is never to hurt you.” He avoided my eyes. “My wife will not sit at home, unsettled by her husband’s whereabouts.” A black and gold card and a set of keys landed on the make-do coffee table. “I am not hiding anything, Alexa. My door is always open for you. If at any point, you wish to visit me at work, I have provided unrestricted access for you to do so. In the future, if you demand attention, put me in line. I deserve it.” His throat worked on a swallow. “Do not lower yourself in front of the brothers, though. It is not you, I will punish. Remember that.”

I would never forgive myself if another Suit paid the price for my reckless behaviour. Living with Alfie’s frightful punishment is hard enough. “I do not expect you to relocate. You and the brothers belong at Club 11. It’s the heart of the institution.”

“Bricks and mortar,” he said with feigned indifference. “I look forward to new beginnings.” His gaze settled on my wedding band. “Perhaps you can take charge of the internal grandeur. You can hire an interior designer and buy whatever your heart desires.”

I was bursting with excitement but remained impassive. “Maybe.”

Liam breathed out a weary breath. “In regard to women.”

“I believe you,” I interrupted, and he straightened his harsh posture. “You love me. I feel it when you look at me.” The half-sipped coffee mug warmed my clasped hands. “I will not continue to punish you for my own insecurities.”

He relaxed in the chair.

My lips twitched into a forced yet cocky smile. “Besides, you would be a fool to cheat on me. You won’t find another deranged soul mate in this life or the next.”

Liam’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Affirmative.” His hands itched to reach out and touch me. “So, will you come home?”

I pretend to ponder. “I wish to stipulate first.”

“Emotional blackmail.” He wore a cold smile. “Very becoming.”

“I learnt from the best,” I said with a beguiling glint in my eyes. “Alfie. I want him returned to the Manor.”

“You would not be Alexa without manipulative negotiation.” He made an impatient noise. “How do you expect him to safeguard with one-handed dexterousness?”

Liam is uncharacteristically calm. I love it. “Alfie is more than defence and weapons. He cooked, cleaned, grocery shopped and often kept me company. He’s a friend. I miss him.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced after a short pause. “I will pay Alfie to entertain my wife.” His eyes beckoned attention. “Come here.”

I set the mug down and, wrapping my arms around his neck, crawled onto his lap. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he whispered, his lips stealing a chaste kiss. “I missed you.” His fingers played the piano along my spine. “I really fucking missed you.”

I nodded.

“Baby.” He had a lugubrious expression. “About Bajramovic,” he said, and I froze. “Was it always abusive? He favoured you, right? Did favouritism grant preferential treatment? Tell me it wasn’t all bad.”

I only remembered the bad. “Why?”

With an edge of uncomfortableness sharpening his jaw, he looked at the sky. “I need to know.”

My fingers splayed on his chest, and I frowned at the ferocity of his irregular heartbeat. “If I behaved,” I said quietly, and his head lowered to listen, hanging on to every word. “He liked me more when I behaved.”

Liam sucked in a breath. “What does that mean?”

I masked discombobulation.

Why the inquisition?

I delved into the deepest, darkest parts of my memory. “Flamur loved it when I smiled or laughed, which, understandably, wasn’t often. He bought gifts, especially at birthdays and special occasions.”

“Gifts.” His voice was a husked murmur. “Did bestowment and mistreatment coincide?”

“No,” I lied, incapable of honesty. For some reason, one I am not privy to, he is wrestling mental torture. I will not worsen it by uttering the unimaginable. “No, Flamur gifted crafts without expectancies. I coloured and painted while he read books aloud. He used string to make a washing line in the room once for me to peg sketches.”

Flamur sat on the floor and used scissors to cut stencils. He is happy and full of compliments. He punctured holes in the paper cut-outs, and then, telling me about the scorching weather, he created a sky full of flowers.

I retreated from mental discomfort.

Flamur turned the basement into a beautiful garden.

Why has it taken me so long to remember?

“Alexa.” Liam’s voice pulled me away from contemplation. “Were there any happy moments for you?”

“Yes,” I said, and this time, I meant it. “In his own, strange little way, he wanted me to be happy. I hated him. He loved me. I suppose his fondness kept me alive.”

“I am glad it ended differently for you,” he said evasively, and my head tilted in bemusement. “Logan messaged. He misses you.”

My heart fluttered. “I love him, Liam.”

Liam’s phone vibrated before he responded. “One moment.” He checked the caller identification. “Warren,” he answered, his free hand massaging my thigh. When his expression darkened, I sank to my knees between his parted legs and upheld eye contact. “Moretti. You got some nerve to call me, old man.”

I drew in a breath, held it.

“Are you mocking me, you son of a bitch.” His teeth ground together. “No? Then, what is the purpose behind risible cajolery?”

My eyes squinted while trying to listen.

His dry laughter subsided. “You craven fool.”

I chewed my thumbnail.

“No,” he declined whatever offer Moretti proffered. “You betrayed me. Your men shot my brother and left him for dead. When I see you, I will kill you. Bad blood, Moretti. I won’t be bitten twice.” His hand palmed my cheek. “I’m listening,” he said with an air of viciousness. “Hyde Park. Statue of Achilles. I will be armed and accompanied. Expect assassination if you so much as breathe in the wrong direction.”

I felt nauseous.

Liam ended the call. “Can you fucking believe that prick? He dares to ask for a meeting.”

I did a double-take. “A meeting?”

“Yes.” He tucked the phone in his pocket. “He urged for a momentary ceasefire between families for one day only.”

I was flummoxed. “Surely, you did not agree.”

“I am not one to shy away from enemies, Alexa.” His thumb brushed over my lips. “I should go,” he said in a hushed whisper. “Can I expect you home this evening?”

I bristled with rage. “What if it’s a trap? Moretti, I mean.”

He stood to leave. “It’s not a trap.”

“How can you be sure?” I followed him to the fire door. “Liam, I don’t like this. For once, please listen to me.”

Liam’s footsteps slowed down. He turned to me, his eyes lost to the panoramic views, and his hands, rougher than usual, grazed my arms until he held me by the neck. “Baby, go home.” He leaned in to kiss the corner of my lips. “I won’t be too long.”

“No,” I said, and his jaw ticked in annoyance. “If you go to Moretti, then I am coming with you.”

“No.” His arms fell to his sides. “I will see you later.”

I shoved past, hearing him curse behind me. “I am not a child,” I argued, storming down the stairs to Harlyn’s room. “I will not sit around and do nothing.”

Liam picked up the pace. “Your safety is non-negotiable.”

I collected belongings in the bedroom. Harlyn must be on the shop floor. “It’s an arranged meeting between warring families who agreed to a ceasefire for one day.” Of course, I spoke sarcastically. “If it’s safe enough for you, then it’s safe enough for me.”

Liam’s tall, broad-shouldered frame filled the doorway. “No.”

“I am not asking for permission, Liam.” I stuffed clothes into the McQueen bag and zipped. “I am going with you.”

***

Liam drove to the Manor for us to shower and change into more appropriate clothes. Tawdry leisurewear is inadequate for an audience with the Italians. Designer shoes and bespoke attire ensued, and then, two rounds of coffee later, Liam debriefed his most trusted men alongside the low-ranked Suits.

Rather than meet Alberto Moretti at the appointed Statue of Achilles at Hyde Park, Liam wilfully procrastinated. He rushed for no one. He bowed to no one.

Moretti stood back to admire Achilles, the Greek hero of the Trojan war. His armed men, all dressed in Italian fabrics, ice jewellery and fur coats, were stationed beneath towering London plane trees, while the syndicate, besuited and equipped with firearms, came to an unrushed stop in our shadows. In our footsteps, they remained. To watch from afar and mark their boss’ safety is their only mission.

I felt imperturbable, but as we closed in on the Italian, Liam reached for my hand and interlaced our fingers. I glanced at him from behind tinted sunglasses. His straight-faced mask is in place, not a hint of emotion in his eyes.

Moretti smoked a fat cigar, the smoke wafting above. An unbuttoned fur trench coat draped from his arms, the soft gold-brown fibres complimenting his charcoal grey suit. A feather plume adorned his tilted, felt and leather fedora hat.

“Warren.” Alberto’s half-glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “Grazie per aver accettato di incontrarmi.” His teeth held the cigar while his arms outstretched to meet and greet. “Mrs Warren. Sei bellissima. My wife, Rosa, loves Prada.” He assessed my black, suede knee-high boots. “Perhaps, in the future, you can both exchange notes and make purchases together.”

“Your flattery is ineffectual, Moretti.” Liam’s fingers crushed mine. “You requested an hour of my time. I am here. Now, what can I do for you?”

Moretti’s unreadable stare paid homage to Achilles. “Angelo,” he said, and I inwardly cringed. “I could not find him, so I visited his friend,” he refused to acknowledge his son’s gay lover, “Diego Serafini. Imagine the distress I suffered upon finding barricade tape on his front door and a crime scene to what I believe was a gruesome murder.”

Miffed, I side-eyed Liam. He’s expressionless and untalkative.

“Much like yourself,” Alberto picked up where he left off, “I have allies in the force. I made a few phone calls.” Cigar smoke rolled at the back of his throat. “Mr Serafini reported Angelo’s disappearance prior to his death. Now, I do not expect you to return my son’s body, Warren. But I know his murder was at your hands. Diego’s also. Anthony Costello and Johnny Cazale.” He scuffed a pebble under his leather shoe. “Miliana. My granddaughter…” When tears coated his eyes, I felt a twinge in my chest. “Non ho mai detto addio.”

Coughing to clear his throat, Liam’s cold glare briefly dipped to the floor.

“They sent her away.” Moretti’s cheeks sunk. “If I step foot on Italian soil, I will be shot down. I cannot go home, even if I wanted to. Not even to attend my granddaughter’s funeral.”

I proceeded to look at Liam in bewilderment. Please, tell me, he did not harm a child.

“I am not responsible for Miliana’s death,” Liam confirmed, and a breath of reassurance inflated my lungs. “Her murder is not on my shoulders.”

Moretti smiled, but it was sad, grief-stricken. “I know. I read the post-mortem results.” Fallen leaves rolled across the floor between us. “I want to make you an offer. A token of gratitude if you may.”

Liam’s glare seared into the man. “You have lost too many men, so now you wish to negotiate an armistice.”

Alberto licked the roof of his mouth. “I have lost friends and family. How many more must I lose to rapacity? My sons, Lorenzo and Romeo. Perhaps my only daughter, Angelica. If not my children, my wife, who I love dearly.” He revealed a sealed envelope. “It’s the key to a safety deposit box. You can have your share of the diamonds.”

Liam snubbed the envelope. “I do not trust you, Moretti.”

“I wish to end the war between the Warrens and Morettis,” he said, a plea of desperation. “Let us avoid any more bloodshed.”

“Why?” I asked, and Alberto elevated his chin. “You have proven to be a snake. I don’t know how things operate in Sicily, but the syndicate follows a strict code of conduct, and treachery is a cause for instant termination. You stabbed my husband in the back. You almost killed his brother. You stole the goods that we helped you achieve. You do not deserve a second chance.” My voice trembled in anger. “To Hell with your fucking diamonds.”

Moretti pinned me with an infuriating scowl. “From where I am from, women should be seen and not heard—”

Liam snatched Alberto by the throat, and the Italian soldiers, ready to defend their boss’ honour, retrieved their weapons. “Tell them to stand down,” Liam commanded, and Alberto, outraged by our contempt, raised an arm to silence the raucousness of his men. “You will not disrespect my wife,” he said, too calm and unperturbed. “Apologise. Now.”

“Mrs Warren,” Moretti spoke in a low, lazy voice. “I did not mean any harm. Apologies for the miscommunication.” His lips thinned as his eyes prayed for our understanding. “I lost a child.”

My husband wore a dark, uncaring smirk. “I care not for Angelo Moretti. Your bastard son harmed my wife. He was lucky to face her punishment and not mine.”

“Angelo disgraced my family.” Moretti held the underside of Liam’s arms. “I am talking about Miliana. I know what you did. You might not believe me, but I am thankful for your involvement. Please, take the diamonds. You can go your way. I can go mine. Let bygones be bygones, Warren. For the sake of our loved ones.”

With the soft breeze blowing through my hair, I glanced at the Italian men on the left and then the syndicate members to the right. There are approximately fifty soldiers in Hyde Park, each posing a threat, and the root cause of their differences, deliberate the unlikelihood of everyone’s future.

Out the corner of my eye, I see a small, illuminated red dot tour the statue of Achilles. At first, I was immobilised, speechless, but when the light skimmed Liam’s arm, the shooter, whoever he may be, wherever he may be, preparing to aim fire, I screamed my husband’s name, the piercing shrill, spawning chaos amongst men.

Flinching at the unexpectedness of my alarmed voice, Liam yelled, “Alexa—” I gripped his arm, disconnecting him from Alberto, and used all my strength to rip him to the floor concurrently with sporadic gunfire. Liam crashed on top of me, belatedly discerned the attack and, fearing for my safety, he rolled me beneath him. “Fuck.” His weight was suffocating. He braced his arms to the ground on either side of my head and nestled his face in the groove of my neck while the statue, splintering with shots, rained debris on our bodies. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, and I obeyed. “Good girl.”

I felt everyone’s panicked footsteps stampede on the ground, the vibrations rippling beneath our strewn bodies. I daren’t open my eyes, though. I cannot witness the loss of someone I love. Not again.

Only, there was no more gunfire. Deathly silence. No shots. No angry men or vitriolic voices. Everything seemed to pass on by in a blur like it never happened.

“Boss.” Brad’s shoes scuffed next to my ear. “What the fuck?”

Liam chanced to raise his cautious eyes. “Who aimed fire?” he asked as I clung to his shirt. “Was it them?”

“It never came from us.” Brad helped Liam stand. “It wasn’t the Italians, either.”

Josh’s hands slid beneath my arms and hauled me onto my feet. “Are you okay?” His fingers grasped the nape of my neck. “Alexa?”

“Yes,” I assured everyone. “I am fine.”

Brushing dirt off his suit jacket, Liam stared at the fleeing Italians, their boss, hanging lifelessly in their arms. “Fuck.” He speared a hand through his unruly hair. “I am confused.”

“The shooter beheaded Achilles,” I pointed out, and everyone scrutinised the obliterated statue. “What is happening right now?”

“I don’t know,” Brad said breathlessly. “But I don’t fucking like it.”

Nate looked down at the pooled blood on the floor, the aftermath of Alberto’s bullet wounds. “Moretti will think we set him up.”

Liam gave the men a curt nod.

“Who cares?” Brad’s face screwed up. “It’s only what he deserves.”

“Yes,” Liam agreed, his thumb effacing dirt on my cheek. “However, I was prepared to accept his offer and call a truce.”

I blinked in surprise.

Brad paled in complexion. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“A little girl died.” My husband’s jaw steeled. “I will not be responsible for the loss of children. I draw the fucking line.”

“Wait,” I interjected, and four pairs of eyes zoned in on me. “What happened to Miliana? How is the syndicate involved?”

Liam remained quiet.

“Bossman found Miliana in Diego’s bathtub, submerged in her own blood,” he said, and goosebumps sprouted on the skin of my arms. “It’s not something I want to repeat, Alexa. Just know that it was barbarically horrific.”

“Oh, God.” I rubbed the chill from my arms, hating the nefariousness of our dark world. “That poor baby.”

Nate stared ahead.

Josh looked despondent.

Brad seemed demoralised.

Liam was broken-hearted.

Every syndicate member had lost faith.

“You can leave,” I told the low-ranked men, and when they glimpsed at their boss for reassurance, his brow raised slightly, a silent order for them to evacuate. “Join us at the Manor,” I addressed my favourite Suits. “For one night, leave work at the door and enjoy a meal with loved ones. Logan,” I dislodged the knot in my throat, “It’s his birthday soon. I want everyone to spend time with him before he has to leave.”

“Are you cooking?” Brad asked in an attempt to lift everyone’s low spirits. “I don’t mind either way.”

While Josh, Nate and Brad walked ahead, I went to Liam’s side, took his hands in mine and, walking backwards, threaded our fingers together. “Liam,” I said, and his eyes met mine. “It’s not your fault.”

Liam’s feet suddenly cemented to the floor. “Miliana was scared.” His voice was a mere whisper. “I think Bernardo Russo was protecting them, Nonna and Miliana, and I killed him.” He released my hands and ran two palms down his face. “I killed him and sent them away. I thought I was helping…”

I palmed his stubbled jaw, but his gaze was lost to the park’s picturesqueness.

“What Miliana went through in the hours leading to her death, it’s my burden to bear. I am responsible. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t dream of ending wars with the Italians. Moretti’s right, though. If he’s true to his word, who else will die? You?” He looked at me then, his eyes soft yet haunted. “Logan?” A chill danced down my spine at the thought of losing Logan. “I will not risk the people I love and care about for the sake of revenge. If Moretti survived the attack, I’ll request a second meeting and end this nonsense once and for all.”

I agreed somewhat. “London is not big enough for the two of you, Liam.”

“Correct.” His lips grimaced. “Moretti can relocate. I will not hunt him down.”

I tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear, and then, pushing off the tips of my toes, I inched toward his full lips and kissed him, soft, unhurried and meaningful. His eyes closed to savour our nearness, our passionate exchange, and when I drew my head back, he snaked an arm around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder. “I love you, Liam,” I spoke into his ear, and his head nodded imperceptibly. “In you, I trust.”

“You should never trust a man like me,” he half-joked. “I am dangerous.”

I put us cheek-to-cheek. “I do not fear you, Mr Warren.”

—————————————————
I’ll come back for any typos. ♥️

Thoughts on the update?

—Liam?

—Alexa?

—Jace?

—Moretti?

—Alexa’s favourite Suits?

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Alexa

Lebanese cuisine happened: fifteen containers of whole grains, fruits, vegetables, red meat and double-layered flatbreads. To prevent overindulgence, I aimed for methodical precision, portioning a wide range of samples, and sat on the sofa in the kitchen’s adjacent dining room while the men, who gourmandise everything in sight, stood at the stonework island, venting about the unforeseen attack on Alberto Moretti.

Logan texted. He asked to attend a house party with Tre. I almost objected until Brad convinced me otherwise. I have to let him be a normal teenager. And normal teenage boys go to unsupervised house parties to drink alcohol and find girls.

“I never saw it coming.” Brad forked fragrant rice into his mouth. “I am not even convinced the shooter targeted Moretti. Alexa noticed the scope’s glint reflection on Achilles before the sniper aimed fire. I might be pessimistic, but could we have another foe on our hands?”

Liam unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his broad-shouldered, muscle-bound physique, and draped it on the stool’s rear. “I offend everyone I meet,” he said, unfazed by such notions. “Why not target the club, though? And how did the shooter know I was to attend an unscheduled meeting at Hyde Park? There is either a rat amongst brothers or a Judas on Moretti’s doorstep.”

Josh, Nate and Brad exchanged accusatory glances.

“Don’t look at me. I am no fucking renegade.” Nate was offended to be considered disloyal. “Brad, I am a founding member of the syndicate. I would never betray our trust.”

“Same.” Josh poured whiskey into a crystal glass. “I am living my best life with you guys. I love the arses of you.”

Not one person questioned Brad’s allegiance. I suppose his second-in-command position speaks for itself.

“Hyde Park is riddled with surveillance.” Brad tucked into toasted pitta bread, dunking morsels in the red pepper hummus. “I will nab tonight’s footage to identify the bastard.”

Nate hummed. “What if it was a successful hit?”

Liam ruminated on Nate’s postulation.

“Then I will shake the pillock’s hand,” Brad responded with a gleeful smile. “Good fucking riddance. Moretti is lethal. I do not trust him as far as I can throw him. If you,” he looked at Liam, “wish to call a truce with Italians, I will stand by your decision. Just know that I disagree wholeheartedly.”

Liam’s uncertain eyes found mine across the room. “What would you do?”

I paused with the fork near my lips. “What would I do?”

He waited for me to respond, and when I sat mutely, he added, “It is not a requirement for my wife to be agreeable.”

“I am conflicted. Moretti betrayed everyone. I am not convinced that he won’t betray us again. However, I understand your concern. You have warred with mobsters before, but Moretti is a different breed.” I set the plate on the coffee table. “Honestly, I think you need to understand how he operates. I would start by looking at his family tree. Only then can you make a definite decision.”

Nate stroked his chin. “So, Moretti claimed he was the Don in Italy. What is the likelihood that he conveyed Sicilian traditions to London?”

“Right,” Brad said airily. “If he is the boss, who is the underboss? Is there a consigliere? What about capos? It’s too vast to take him at face value.”

Josh lost himself in a moment’s thought. “I think Costello and Cazale were Moretti’s capos.”

Nate’s head dipped. “I would place Bosqui as the underboss.”

“Who are the other capos?” Brad wondered aloud. “And where is Moretti’s consigliere?”

“What if Moretti is not the boss,” I said, and they hushed to listen. “He operates like a lone wolf, but his indecisiveness is questionable.”

Brad opened the kitchen drawer in search of paper, found a notepad, a pen, and scribbled the dynamics of the mafia’s tree. “So, if Moretti is not the capo dei capi, he must be the consigliere,” he said hypothetically. “Bosqui is the underboss.”

“Yes.” Josh mused. “It’s plausible.”

“So, who is the Don?” Nate snatched the paper to read notes. “Hear this. Moretti is the boss’ right-hand man, but he wants out, which means if we agree to a truce, he will flee into the night, leaving us to contend with the criminal mastermind.”

I paled at the thought. “These are just theories, though, right?”

Brad ignored the question. “How does the Don handle rats?” he rationalised. “With a mafia-style hit. If Moretti survived, and his Italian alliance orchestrated a vengeful attack, he is a dead man walking.”

“And we are still the enemy,” Nate added.

Josh, disturbed by their conversation, drummed his fingers on the counter. “Well, I better start paying for life insurance.”

Although inappropriate, I laughed. “You and me both.”

“Alright, tossers.” Brad’s palms rubbed together. “What’s the plan of action moving forward?”

Liam pondered their next move. “Nate, drive to the hospital. Find out if Moretti beat death,” he instructed. “If he survived, do what you do best. Do not let the Italians see you. I need to know if there are others.”

Nate scraped leftovers into the bin before placing his dirty plate in the dishwasher. “Yes, Sir.”

“Brad, I want you and Josh to request the surveillance footage at Hyde Park. Take Reginald for legal authority if need be. Unmask the sniper. It’s likely that, if there is any truth to our theories, the Italians ordered the hit on Moretti. If so, torturing the marksman is the best way to uncover the head honcho.”

Brad adjusted his top-knot. “What if, irrespective of their Italian alliance, you were the target?”

“Then, either way, I am still at war with the Italians.”

“And if Moretti was the target,” Brad continued, “and the mafia issued a direct hit on him, where does that leave us with the,” he used air quotes, “Don?”

“If there is another tyrant, I will take him out,” Liam said without hesitation. “We are not in Italy. London belongs to me, not them. I laid the foundation. I hold the keys to our empire. Let their so-called Don face me head-on.”

Brad looked mildly concerned.

“He hides behind his men like a coward. I walk the streets in clear sight.” Liam swallowed a whiskey shot. “Leave.”

Once leftovers and takeaway containers uncluttered the kitchen island, Brad, Nate and Josh left the Manor to handle business.

I loaded the dishwasher with dirty plates, uncapped Russian vodka and poured a generous amount into the ceramic mug.

“Dare I ask?” Liam glared at the cup as though it insulted him. “Did we run out of glasses?”

“No.” Taking my time between sips, I pulled myself onto the kitchen counter. “I feel like less of an alcoholic when drinking vodka from mugs.”

His baffled expression held. “Your logic does not make an iota of sense to me.”

I flashed him a toothy grin. “I understand. That’s all that matters.”

Liam’s hands flattened on the counter sans witty comeback. Despite mental exhaustion, he tried to stay calm and optimistic. If the men returned, his nonchalance mask would slip right back in place because feigned composure is an endurance technique when tackling distressing circumstances. But I sensed his edginess and felt his emanated tension.

My smile vanished. “What’s wrong, Liam?”

“I like to be one step ahead. Yet, blindly, I walk through the dark.” His white knuckles rapped on the counter. “I am at a crossroads. I don’t know what to do for the best. There will be no armistice agreement if there are more Italians, which means the war between families is far from over. This, I cannot treat with flippant ignorance. The lives of loved ones depend on true leadership. Alas, I fear whatever choice I make, someone will die.”

“Liam,” I whispered, and his gaze lifted. “Do not underestimate the syndicate. Moretti walked on eggshells for a reason.” He waited for elaboration. “The Italians fear The Brotherhood more. You forget that they follow protocol and live by their code of conduct and warped commandments.”

He listened intently.

“The institution is renowned for unpredictableness. You have all these rules, but do you abide by them?”

“Yes, where outsiders are concerned.”

“But you will turn a blind eye, if necessary,” I pointed out. “You will also take someone’s life without deliberation because you can. A wise man once told me, in order to overcome something, you have to eliminate the problem. The Italians are a problem, Liam.”

He respired through his nose.

“Miliana suffered a tragic death,” I continued, and he looked away. “Not at your hands, though. Do not let someone else’s actions encumber you or cloud your judgment. You did not get thus far in life by second-guessing yourself.”

He refilled the whiskey glass. “You think we should obliterate them.”

I nodded.

“I will conclude tomorrow with the men in attendance.” He moved to the space between my legs, his fingers splaying on my thighs. “In the meantime, I wish to take advantage of our privacy.”

“Really?” My arms wound around his neck. “What do you have in mind, Mr Warren?”

His shuddered breath warmed my cheek. “I will do all the work if you bend over for me.”

I laughed against his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Licking the shell of my ear, he squeezed my waist. “But?”

“I have a request.” My teeth grazed his jawline. “Can I throw a birthday party for Logan?”

“Do what makes you happy.”

I braced myself for his acrimonious onslaught. “At the Manor?”

His head jerked back. “Surely, you are not serious.”

“Very serious,” I said, and he sighed. “What? I think it’ll be fun.”

“Fun?” He deadpanned. “It’s not happening.”

“Please.” My lips pursed for a kiss, and he denied me. “Oh, come on, Liam. I have it all figured out. I won’t hire a party planner because, well, I like to be Mrs Organiser. I can book a catering service, buy a big cake and inflate balloons and…” He was greying by the second. “I will cancel the donkeys.”

Disgust pooled in his widened eyes. “Donkeys?”

“I’m kidding.” My legs wrapped around his waist. “It will just be a few teenagers having some fun.”

He blew his cheeks out. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Logan has never had a birthday party,” I said morosely. “Last year, his mother gave him ten pounds worth of scratch cards in an envelope. He won five pounds on one ticket, but the store owner refused his winning claim because he was underage. His stepfather offered to get him the money. Lo and behold, he spent it on alcohol.”

Liam’s brows cinched slightly.

My hands hugged his shoulders. “I wanted him to have one memorable day before he leaves.”

His arms tightened around me possessively. “Fine.” Squealing with excitement, I palmed his cheeks and smothered his face in kisses. “Alexa.” His head turned from side to side to evade sloppiness. “Fucking hell.”

“I love you so much,” I whispered, and his frustration dwindled. “What would I do without you?”

His thumb swept over my lips. “I am sure you’d survive.”

“Never.” My forehead touched his. “Not without you, Liam.”

My phone vibrated on the coffee table.

“Ignore it.” His teeth nipped and sucked my throat. “I want you.”

I was putty in this man’s hands. “What if it’s Logan?”

“Advantageous privacy, remember?” When the phone’s jitters prolonged, he stepped back, adjusting his growing arousal. “Make it quick.”

Sliding off the counter, I strode into the adjacent living quarters and picked up the phone. “It’s Tre.” Answering the call, I placed the phone to my ear. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Mrs Warren.” His panicked tone of voice filled me with immediate dread. “You know we went to the party, right?”

Nausea aggravated my stomach. “Tre, where is Logan?”

“He’s okay,” he said, though I was neither convinced nor reassured. “I mean, he got into an argument and…I don’t know. He is acting weird.”

Acidic bile soared my throat. “An argument?”

Having listened to the conversation, Liam’s shoulders pushed back.

“Tre, I would like you to put Logan on the phone right now.” Indistinct voices argued in the background. “Is that him? Tell him I need to speak to him.”

Tre ended the call.

I stared at the screen in utter annoyance. “He hung up on me.”

Liam threw on his shirt. “Where is the party?”

Opening the text message app, I combed through the messages from Logan. “What are you doing?”

Car keys in hand, he disappeared down the hall.

I chased behind him. “Liam?”

Opening the Manor’s front door, he descended the concrete steps. “Forward me the address.”

“Wait.” Grasping the faux fur coat on the foyer’s marble sideboard, I stepped into red-bottomed heels and followed him into the night. “Liam, I want to come with you.”

“No.” Unlocking the Bentley, he paused on the driver’s side. “Go back inside, Alexa.”

“I do not take orders from you.” Slipping into the passenger’s side, I buckled up and waited for him to get over himself. “You are wasting time.”

“Why must you be so difficult?” Collapsing behind the steering wheel, he fired the engine, moved into gear and rolled the car down the long-stretched driveway. “Code the gates.”

Leaning through the open window, I tapped the Manor’s security code, separating the electronic gates. “Tre said something about Logan acting weird.”

Liam ripped the Bentley onto the main road. “Just give me that address, Alexa.”

***

You could hear uncontainable raucousness all the way down the street. Half-dressed girls dashed across the road while uproarious boys shadowed in their wake. Inebriated teenagers partied in the front garden of the packed house where music belted from the opened windows.

I am surprised the neighbours hadn’t reported the noisy disturbance to the police yet. After all, the party was evidently out of control.

“What’s happening?!” Someone’s hands slapped the passenger side window. “Hey, sexy momma.” The brown-eyed boy licked the glass pane. “Yo, this is a Flying Spur.” Awe-struck by the wheels, he called upon his friends to come over and check out the exterior. “Can we come for a spin?”

“I will fuck him up,” Liam snapped, and I palmed my mouth to hide amusement. “Yo,” he mocked, cracking open the window. “Touch my shit again, and I’ll snap your fucking fingers.”

“Raz, man.” Raising his hands in surrender, the boy stepped away from the vehicle. “What’s with the hostility?”

“Liam,” I touched his bouncing knee, “ignore him. We have to find Logan.”

“Broderick?” Not knowing when to quit, the kid came back to the window. “He passed out in the bathroom—” Liam shoved the driver’s door open. “Hey, it’s cool. He had too much to drink.”

“Your friends are waiting for you.” Walking away before his drunken prattling commenced, I followed Liam down the garden path, dodging strew beer cans and empty condom wrappers. “Shit.”

“And you want to throw him a fucking party.” Rudely barging through the horde of youths blocking the front door, he entered the property. “Did we agree to alcohol? I don’t recall such conversations.”

“Can we give Logan the chance to defend himself before you threaten to knee-cap the poor sod?” Skepta’s “Amnesia” pounded from the speakers. “I like this song.”

“Dieted,” he disagreed.

I pulled a face. “I still like it.”

He grunted.

“Am I allowed to have an opinion?”

“No.” He was angry and monosyllabic. “Move.”

I apologised to shoved teenagers on his behalf.

Before the disorganised party, I imagined the house was beautiful. Not anymore. Broken ornaments and spilled alcohol messed the floor, which inconveniently stuck to my shoes. Wall-mounted family portraits hung precariously from nails, and there were too many drooling lads sprawled across the ground—Some kid just came down the stairs on a mattress. “Dear, God.” I was almost his bowling pin. “Okay, I might reconsider the party. I would lose my shit if someone disrespected my house like this.”

Liam came to a sudden stop.

I peered over his shoulder. “What is it?”

Tilting his head to the side, he listened to a loud disturbance down the hall. Picking up his feet, he vanished into the crowd. Of course, I tried to keep up, but excitable youths slowed me down.

“This is ridiculous,” one girl said as I strode past. “Get your head out of the pan, dickhead! We all need the bathroom!”

Bypassing the anxious queue, I knocked on the door and, seconds later, Tre peered into the hallway. “Mrs Warren.” Stepping aside for me to enter, he locked the door behind me. “I don’t know what happened…”

My eyes landed on Logan’s unconscious body on the floor. “Logan.” Falling to my knees beside Liam, I removed my faux fur coat and stuffed it under his head. “Liam, what’s wrong with him? Why isn’t he waking up?” Tears welled. “How much did he have to drink?”

Liam assessed Logan’s grazed cheek. “What has he taken?” he asked, and I flinched at the question. “I am not mad, Tre. I will be if you keep shit from me.”

“That’s the thing.” Tre scratched the nape of his neck. “He barely touched any alcohol tonight. One minute, he’s talking about food. In the next breath, he is all, like, I feel sick, and my head hurts…”

My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. “You mentioned an argument?”

“Yeah.” Tre sagged down the tiled wall. “Logan and Michael got into it over a girl. But they straightened it out. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“How?” Liam asked, and Tre stared blankly at him. “How did they straighten it out?”

“Over a beer, I guess…” He looked like a deer in the headlight. “Am I missing something?”

Liam pushed onto his feet, swung open the bathroom door and stalked down the hall.

“Shit. Tre, do not leave Logan’s side. I will be right back.” Stepping into the hallway, I closed the door. “Go and pee somewhere else.” Teenagers groaned in displeasure. “Now.”

Rushing to the kitchen, I looked around to find Liam and saw him slipping into the living room. “Liam,” I called, hot on his heels. “Don’t do anything—” He lunged the soundbar on the floor, killing the music. “Stupid.”

Everyone stood in silent shock.

Liam plucked up an empty beer bottle. “Who supplied the drugs?”

I lingered by the archway.

Running the pads of his fingers through the white substance on the cluttered dining table, he sucked residue off his thumb. “What the fuck is this?” He laughed once. “Talcum powder.”

An angry face pushed through the crowd. “That’s pure, actually.”

“It’s far from pure,” Liam said from experience. “Are you the one who supplied on demand?”

The boy’s arms folded. “What’s it to you?”

“Michael, right?” Liam squared up to him. “What about Rohypnol?”

Michael’s throat worked on a tight swallow. “Get the hell out of my face—” Liam backhanded the boy in the cheek, sending his body into a disjointed heap on the ground. “What the fuck, man?!” Landing on his backside, he scampered to his feet, holding his red, enflamed jaw. “You can’t hit a minor!”

“Did you slip some in Logan’s drink?” Seething, Liam fisted the boy’s collar and backed him up against the wall. “Answer the fucking question!”

Michael looked humiliated, mainly because his friends stood back and watched the show unfold. “Logan is lowlife scum. He hit on my girlfriend.”

“Did you or did you not put something in his drink?”

“So, what if I did?” the boy argued. “It’s only what Broderick deserved.”

“Warren,” Liam said angrily, and a small smile teased my lips. “His name is Logan fucking Warren.”

Michael’s breath caught, and all-encompassing snorts from bystanders quietened down.

“An insult to Logan is an insult to the entire Warren Syndicate.” Liam’s face was puce with rage. “Do you know what the institute does to menials like you? Do you know what I, Liam Warren, do to worthless, ugly looking motherfuckers that step on my shoes?” His anger accelerating to a feverish pace, he breathed in the boy’s ear. “I will tear you limb from limb if you ever, ever come near one of mine again. Have I made myself abundantly fucking clear?” He pushed the boy onto the sofa, the impact crushing the group of seated boys. “I want everyone out of this house now.”

I reached for Liam’s hand and traipsed in his footsteps down the hall as disheartened teenagers began to clear out.

Logan was still lying face down on the cold bathroom floor.

“Get one arm,” Liam ordered, and Tre helped to lift Logan’s unconscious body off the ground. “Alexa, go and unlock the Bentley.”

Smoothing a hand over Tre’s shoulder, a silent thank you, if you may, I leaned in to kiss my boy’s cheek. “It’s okay, Logan,” I whispered, holding his waist upright for Liam to get a good grip on him. “We got you.” A mixture of devastation and jubilance saturated my eyes. “I love you,” I told my husband as his forehead dropped to my shoulder. “As I said, what would I do without you?”

His teeth nipped my neck. “You will never find out.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Liam

I had a private and confidential document on the desk. It was delivered at the crack of dawn by an unidentified male who worked as a representative for specific individuals at the metropolitan police department. For too long, I studied the sealed envelope. Hours of indecisiveness increased irritation. I have pondered the advantages and disadvantages, positives and negatives, benefits and disbenefits, and I am at the point where a decision must be made, as time is of the essence, yet I procrastinated and delayed with a pen in hand.

“Sixty-three-year-old Vito Colombo.” Nate stood by the floor to ceiling window. He is mildly distracted by the innumerable delivery vehicles obstructing the extensive driveway. “His sojourn to London only started two weeks ago. He is due to fly home to Palermo next week. However, his confabulation with Bosqui in the hospital’s car park suggested that he might stick around until Moretti is awake.”

“Well, that pissed all over our theories.” Brad rubbed irritation from his weary eyes. “If Colombo and Bosqui await Moretti’s consciousness, it rules out feuds between their families. Therefore, the Italians believe we set them up—not that I give a fucking toss.” He eyeballed me. “You, however, seek conciliation rather than war. How blissfully poetic?”

I rolled the pen across the desk. “What do we know?”

Nate opened Vito’s file. “Colombo spent twenty-two years in Rebibbia Prison for narcotics trafficking and two counts of first-degree murder.”

Brad sat on the leather sofa, kicking his feet onto the coffee table. “Early release?”

“He managed to evade life imprisonment.” Nate tossed the file on the desk. “Never married. No children. He lives and dies by the Sicilian Mafia, the Cosa Nostra. I found no evidence to suggest he is the capo dei capi, though.”

“About the sniper.” Brad unwrapped a breakfast roll he had purchased en route to the Manor and went in for a large bite. “Conveniently, electrical interference damaged Hyde Park’s surveillance footage at the time of the attack, so the marksman remains a mystery.”

“Or markswoman,” Josh added, and the men tuned in to listen. “We can never be too sure, right?”

“Don’t be so soft.” Brad squirted brown sauce inside the bread roll. “It’s not a bird.”

“How can you know that without factual evidence?” Josh debated. “I think it’s Blaire.”

“What?” Nate’s spine straightened. “It ain’t Blaire.”

“Again, how can you be certain?” Josh asked, and his jaw muscle ticked. “She had a good teacher.”

“Yeah, I taught her how to fire a Glock and how to taser some motherfucker. But we never practised sniper rifles. Hell, I don’t even own a fucking rifle, so how could she get her hands on one?”

Brad sucked sauce off his thumb. “Did she have access to importation?”

Everyone waited for Nate’s response.

“During conveyance?” Tsking, he scratched his chest. “Probably. I deliver imported firearms weekly. Blaire came along for the drive every now and then.”

“If Blaire is the sniper?” Having lost his appetite, Brad slapped the breakfast roll onto the takeaway container. “Warren was the target.”

From his comfortable position in the leather wing chair, Josh glanced at the ajar door. “If Blaire had a target, I reckon the bullet was meant for Alexa. I mean, think about it. Her hatred toward Alexa was unwarranted. None of us understood her bitterness until the night she confessed to the boss. She is in love with Warren. In her sad, twisted little mind, she believes Alexa is standing between them.”

My blood ran cold.

“I like it.” Brad sipped coffee. “I think—what the fuck is that?” Jumping feet first onto the sofa, he gesticulated to the crawling bug on the floor. “I swear on everything bastard holy. It is bigger than Robert Wadlow’s fucking head. Stomp on it already.”

Rolling his eyes, Nate grabbed an empty glass from the minibar and caged the bug to one designated area on the floor. “Princess.”

“I’ll fucking-princess-you, in a minute.” Dabbing sweat from his forehead, Brad gathered the half-eaten breakfast roll, coffee mug and unlit blunt and relocated to the space by the desk edge. He pulled up a chair. “Howdy, Bossman. I came for a visit.”

Brad’s eccentricities kept me sane. Of course, he can switch it off, when necessary, but I preferred his vivaciousness, especially when irritable.

“Sir, I have turned London upside down looking for this bitch.” Nate’s anxiousness peaked. “Blaire went off-the-grid. Hiding from the syndicate makes logistical sense. She knows better than to hang around. I bet she boarded the first available flight to Mexico to escape death.”

Pensive, I stared.

His shamefaced gaze raked over the brothers. “You don’t believe me.”

I didn’t know what to believe anymore. “You are intelligent, loyal and dependable. But you do not think clearly where Blaire is concerned. You are too emotionally invested. Unless you prove otherwise, how can I differentiate the truth from lies? After all, you defended her honour unreservedly. For all I know, Blaire is in a safe house somewhere, and you are the one who put her there.”

“No, Sir.” Nate had never looked so pale. “I will hunt her down and vindicate myself.”

A knock on the door.

Everyone’s expressions morphed into impassiveness.

I relaxed in the leather armchair. “Come in.”

“Sorry to disturb you.” Alexa strolled into the office clad in seamless yoga pants and a cross-back design sports bra. “Yes, I am sweating like a pig. I just ran on the treadmill for thirty minutes.”

Tapping the space on my thigh, I slipped an arm around her waist, kissing her shoulder as she got comfortable. “What can I do for you, Mrs Warren?”

She reached for the wireless keyboard. “I need to borrow the computer for, like, five seconds.”

“Great,” Brad groused. “Ten hours of online shopping then. Alexa, I have seen your wardrobe. You have enough shoes to last a lifetime.”

“You’re one to talk.” Typing cake deliveries into the search bar, she clicked on the first link and scrolled through designs. “You own more Ferragamo shoes than Salvatore himself.”

“Salvatore is dead,” he said with a sardonic smile. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only own the shoes on my feet.”

Alexa selected the three-tiered basketball cake alongside black and orange cupcakes. Tapping her card details, she chose a delivery date and closed the browser.

Josh built a deck on the coffee table. “Alexa?”

Her eyes raised. “Yes.”

“What’s fat, round,” he licked the rizla seam, “and bounces off the ground?”

Arching an eyebrow, she muttered, “Your mum.”

“Uh.” He smacked his chest in feigned dismay. “My mother is dead.”

“So is mine.” Her mouth twisted up. “What’s your point?”

“Such a buzzkill.” Pinching the blunt between his fingers, he rolled, adding a roach to the end. “I can’t even crack a joke with you anymore.”

“Mother jokes are not funny.”

“Well, it sounded funny when the guy at the petrol station said it to me.”

“I am surprised he lived to hear the end of it.”

“I was in a good mood.”

Nate pointed to the vehicles outside. “Is the Manor under renovation or something? What’s with all the transit vans?”

“I am throwing Logan a sweet sixteenth.” Her arm slid across my shoulders. “I expect everyone to attend,” she added, and the men mithered their reluctance. “Hey, don’t be so spiteful. I thought you liked Logan.”

“It’s not about ‘like’ or ‘dislike’.” Brad polished off the rest of his coffee. “I just can’t think of anything worse than paralytic teenagers.”

My finger strokes to Alexa’s hip halted. “I did not agree to alcohol.”

“Everyone will be under observation.” Her hand massaged the nape of my neck. “Logan will have zero guests if I ban alcohol. You know what teenagers are like. If we don’t make it fun for them, they will go elsewhere.”

“No harsh liquor,” I said, and she agreed. “I am not responsible for their actions. If their parents turn up uninvitedly, I will be displeased.” A thought accord. “Where is the boy?”

“I think Logan is embarrassed.” She took a sip from my coffee mug. “He has barely said two words to me since the night we found him on the bathroom floor. Tre hasn’t shown his face, either.”

Brad accepted the half-smoked blunt from Josh. “What happened?”

“Logan attended a house party last week.” Her shoulders drooped. “Some kid spiked his beer. It was messy.”

“Brutal.” Brad tousled his shoulder-length hair. “The boy is too trusting. I bet he won’t make that mistake again.”

“Hopefully.” Leaving a chaste kiss on my cheek, she headed for the door. “Well, I will let you get back to work.”

Everyone waited for the door to close.

“If anyone can find Blaire, it is you.” I looked at Nate. “Enough with the excuses. I want her bleeding out in the chamber by the end of the week. Do whatever is necessary to accomplish. Understand?”

His head dipped. “Yes, Sir.”

I clicked my fingers.

Josh slid documents across the desk. “The redevelopment of Timothy’s Casino. I need you to sign these before contractors can get to work. With your permission, I would like to make a suggestion.”

I blinked.

“Except for the entrance’s Roman architecture, the casino is virtually dilapidated. If we can preserve the building’s focal point and save the Roman columns, I think contractors should demolish the rest.”

I viewed the images.

“I took the liberty of creating new blueprints. While assessing the original design, I found interesting outlines for the casino’s underground space. It’s fucking huge. You cannot access the tunnel due to brickwork obstruction, though. If you give the go-ahead, I will have the wall ripped down. I am not sure about you guys, but I want to know what’s down there.”

“Andino and his skeletons,” Brad said humorously. “I cannot wait to disentomb mummified corpses.” He shuddered. “So, what is the verdict?”

Clicking the top of the pen, I scribbled signatures across the dotted lines. “Authorise demolition equipment.” Sliding the documents into a file, I handed them over to Josh. “I have big plans for the casino. Exceed expectations.”

Josh’s eyes dazzled with excitement. “I won’t let you down, Sir.”

***

I saw him emerge from the tall, manicured hedges onto the extensive lawned garden, the coruscating solar lights leading him across the granite patio. He wore an unbuttoned trench coat over his dark grey suit. He was pink-cheeked, and jet-black hair irritated his tired, sunken eyes.

Relaxing in the rattan chair, I studied the dark sky, where midnight stars constellated between nimbostratus clouds. Feeling the soft wind in my hair, I wiped speckles of rain from my face. “It’s the calm before the storm.”

Vincent eased onto the chair opposite me. “You look lost.”

I eyed him then. “I can say the same for you.”

“I shan’t bore you,” he said with an air of despondence. “What is the development?”

My gaze settled on the incomplete bespoke garden bar and lounge. “Alexa is in the process of organising Logan’s sixteenth birthday party.”

“What is next?” His upper lip curled. “Life-sized ice sculptures and a fusillade of fireworks?”

I sparked a cigarette. “Do not give her any ludicrous ideas.”

His curious eyes raked over the Manor. “Where is she?”

“In the theatre room.” Exhaling a veil of smoke, I reached for the whiskey glass on the low table. “Care for a drink?”

“I am not staying.” He held out an envelope. “I believe those belong to you.”

Accepting the envelope, I tore through the seal and Bill’s gloves landed on my lap. Dislodging the lump in my throat, I thumbed the worn leather. “Where did you get these?”

“You left them at Valerie’s house.” He helped himself to the cigarette packet on the table. “Why are they important to you?”

I slid the gloves back into the envelope. “They belonged to Bill.”

“The eccentric Jamaican.” Matching a flame, he lit the cigarette’s tip, wafting smoke out of his face. “He left them for you?”

“No, I stole them from him,” I jocosely told him. “I believe they belonged to his grandfather.”

“Family heirloom,” he said, and I shrugged. “And here I thought you were immune to sentimentalism.”

I cared when it mattered.

Vincent respired smoke, and the long, tired exhale seemed to exhaust him.

Instinct led me in the right direction. “Valerie?”

“Yes.” His voice was thick and strained. “Let’s not pretend that you care, brother.”

“I mightn’t sympathise with your mother,” I said tightly, unable to address her as my own. “However, I will make small allowances for you.”

I was rewarded with a weak, vulnerable smile. “Valerie was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.” He was too stubborn to blink, for blinking exposed tears. “She will be lucky to see three months.” Rubbing his eyes, he took another drag on the cigarette. “I love her, Liam.”

My breath shuddered. “I wish I could make it right for you.”

“No, you don’t.” He looked heavenward. “You needn’t pretend with me, brother. You hate Valerie, and rightfully so.”

“You misinterpreted what I said.” Squeezing his knee, I refilled the whiskey glass with Macallan. “I wish I could make it right for you. Not her.”

His brows gathered. “Isn’t it the same?”

“No,” I said calmly. “I would take away your pain but not hers.”

Vincent was quiet as he stood. “Anyway, duty calls.”

I sipped whiskey. “What is the job?”

He thought about lying to me. “Liberal Democrat.”

Evasive, I mused. “What business do you have with the House of Lords?”

Again, he considered lying. “Extramarital affair.”

“Vincent,” I said exasperatingly, and he flashed me a boyish smirk. “You complain when I don’t take an interest.”

He sighed in defeat. “Scarlet Wallace.”

Lord Wallace’s wife. “What about her?”

“Besides the fact, her husband’s cheating scandal made a mockery out of her?” His eyebrows lifted. “She paid me to kill him.” He glimpsed at his wristwatch. “In forty-eight minutes and twenty one seconds, to be exact.”

“How much?”

“I accept no less than one hundred grand per hit.”

My brother was still a mystery to me. “How will you execute?”

“He and his wife live in an apartment at Regents Crescent, which is quite the dilemma.”

I was intrigued. “Why?”

“The building is not easily accessible.” He grimaced under scrutinisation. “At least, not without causing a disturbance.”

I drank tartness dregs of whiskey from the glass. “Then, what will you do?”

“There are a few clinics within the vicinity of Regents Crescent.” He rocked back on the heels of his shoes. “I will select a suitable rooftop and await his appearance. According to Scarlet, his lordship,” he muttered sarcastically, “sneaks to the balcony in the early hours to call his mistress. Now, if you will excuse me.”

My pulse kicked up a notch as I watched him walk away. “What will be the cause of death?”

Vincent paused in the middle of the garden path. “Gunshot wound to the head.”

Even though rage began to burn inside me, I maintained composure. “That is quite the distance for a semi-automatic.”

“Barrett.” He winked. “Another time, brother.”

When Vincent disappeared into the night, I picked up the Macallan bottle and headed indoors. Leaving tonight’s therapeutic essentials on the kitchen island, I paced through the Manor’s many halls to the underground.

Alexa’s laughter resounded from the gym. I followed the sound of her voice, stopping at the threshold to see her and Logan going through a sequence of sparring techniques in the boxing ring.

When our eyes collided, she smiled fondly. “Hey.” She patted her sweat-misted forehead with a towel. “Are you okay?”

Perspiration dripped down Logan’s back in beads. His gaze dropped to the ground to avoid an unavoidable reprimand.

Folding my arms, I rested a shoulder on the doorframe. “You hide from me.”

“Yeah, I mean, about the other night…” He was tongue-tied and red-cheeked. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? The last thing I wanted to do was put stress on you. I don’t even know what happened.”

“Firstly, an apology is purposeless when said in vindication,” I educated him. “If you make a mistake? Own it. Secondly, recklessness is synonymous with thoughtlessness, which means you have no consideration for others. I warned you at the very beginning.” I pointed at him. “Do not upset my wife.”

He swallowed what looked like a painful lump.

“Moreover, senseless idiots deserve consequence in lieu of mollification because they are foolish enough to trust outsiders to begin with.” Pushing away from the doorframe, I went to the workbench directly opposite the boxing ring. “What have we learnt?”

Logan’s face was purple. “Not to trust outsiders.”

“Never abandon habitual defence.” My back rested against the workbench. “This boy came at you with argumentative intent. He accused you of flirting with his girlfriend.”

He nodded.

“At what point did you find his passive-aggressiveness questionable? Was it before the altercation or after he suddenly adopted a new personality?” I probed, and he looked at my wife for guidance, but she turned her head, leaving him to fight his own battle. “Answer the question.”

“I thought…” He yanked the boxing gloves off his hands. “His apology seemed genuine. If I’d have known he planned to get me back, I’d have never accepted the beer.”

“So?” My arms outstretched. “What have we learnt?”

Rubbing his inflamed knuckles, he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “To never let my guard down with outsiders.”

I gave him a curt nod.

He stared blankly at me. “Nobody has my back like I do, right?”

“You are not accountable for another person’s immorality. But you are responsible for your own actions. Next time, when someone you do not know, holds out an olive branch? Wrap it around their fucking neck.”

Logan chuckled once out of nervousness.

“It’s really late.” Alexa’s arm snaked around his waist and, with so much love in her eyes, she smiled at him. “You should get some sleep.”

His arms locked around her shoulders for a tight squeeze. “Alexa,” he whispered, thinking I was out of earshot. “I love you.”

“Ditto,” she said quietly. “Goodnight.”

Logan stepped down from the ring. “Night, Liam.”

To the repetitive thumps of Logan’s retreating footfalls, I turned to the workbench to busy my hands with random boxing equipment. I felt Alexa’s nearness before her arms tightened around my waist. “Something happened,” she said, reading me like I was an open book. “Do I need to kill someone?”

I flung adhesive tape aside. “It’s not Blaire.”

Her body stiffened. “What’s not Blaire?”

“The shooter.” Tugging her between me and the workbench, I positioned my hands on the counter to cage her in. “Blaire did not aim fire, nor did the Italians.”

“No?” Alexa was understandably confused. “Then, who did?”

I bellied indignation. “Vincent.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Liam

I wondered which male the unexpected visit scandalised most: the amputee garbed in cashmere or the grey-eyed soldier scheduled for late-night surveillance duty at the Manor. Judging by their pallidness, their shuddering twitchiness, both men were equally aghast, which is almost incomprehensible, given the fact I had yet to utter a word. I was momentarily nonplussed by their rubicund faces and loose, rumpled attire, though.

“Yeah…” Nate merely smiled. “Did we come at a bad time?”

Alfie’s rosy cheeks pushed tanned freckles into the foreground. “It is not how it looks.”

It is exactly how it looked.

I stepped over the box of condoms on the floor.

“Those are from last night.” Alfie’s irregular breathing heightened as he kicked the unopened box aside. “I mean, I met a woman downtown and invited her over.”

“You got unlucky, huh?” Nate drawled, and Alfie’s lips meshed in perplexity. “Am I in the wrong lane? It’s just you never got to use them…” His hand smothered amused lip twitches. “Maybe you went bareback?”

“Perhaps Alfie prepared for another visit.” Naturally, I glanced at Jax. “Or he was until you arrived.”

“Yes,” Alfie stuttered. “She is coming over this evening. I wanted to stock up.”

Nate laughed under his breath.

“I had to drop off whey protein.” Jax tidied his dishevelled hair. “I should go.” He looked uncomfortable in Nate’s shadow. It’s not often lower ranked soldiers conversed with the elite. “I guess I will see you at the Manor.”

“Doubtful.” Nate toyed with the gold curb bracelets on his wrist. “Run along.”

Alfie refused to look at Jax. “Thanks for the order, mate.”

Nate hearkened to their awkward exchange through tight, sceptical eyes.

When Jax, red-complexioned and noticeably disappointed by Alfie’s coldness, fled the apartment, Alfie sat on the brown chesterstone sofa. “What can I do for you, Warren?”

Popping open the button of my suit jacket, I eased into the leather wing chair. “Are you lovers?”

Sweat trickled from his temples in slow dews. “I am not gay.”

I made a low, humming sound. “Is Jax privy to your sexual preference?”

Alfie was at a loss for words.

“Jax is attracted to men, correct?”

His voice lowered. “Is that what he signed on the job application?”

I simply stared.

“Yes,” he answered after a short pause. “Yes, Jax is gay. His sexuality should not affect his employment, though.”

“Umbrageous.” I smiled pityingly, and the muscle in his jaw pulsated. “Has the syndicate given you a reason to believe that we practice sexual orientation discrimination?”

His cheeks puffed on a deep inhalation. “No.”

“So, is the defensiveness necessary?” Holding out a hand, I accepted the envelope from Nate. “I come bearing gifts.” I slide the non-disclosure agreement across the multifunctional coffee table. “For you.”

Alfie knew I meant business. “I am disinclined to work for the institution. The last time I stepped foot inside the Warren Manor, I came away with four-less digits.” A black sock-covered his deformed hand. “If that would be all, I would like you to leave.”

“It’s not for the syndicate.” Nate dropped a holdall on the ground. “It’s for Alexa.” Going to one knee on the medallion navy rug, he extracted sterile gloves first, then a sealed package. “Remove the sock.”

Alfie discarded the utilised coverage from his disfigured hand and extended an arm to Nate, who patiently assessed the aftermath of his boss’s temper.

Adjusting his black-framed glasses, Nate clicked open the leather case to retrieve the point-digit prosthetic fingers. “One-handed operation and various levels of flexion,” he explained, twisting each titanium and stainless steel digit into the durable hand-and-thumb strap. “You can lock each mechanism into fifteen unique positions.” He looked up. “Palm upward.”

Alfie listened to instructions.

“Relax.” Nate secured the leather strap to the man’s stump. “It will take some time to get used to the weight and flexibleness.” He left a list of questions and answers on the table alongside a book. “Pick it up.”

Alfie reached for the book, struggling to curl his bionic fingers around the spine. “It doesn’t work.”

“You have fake fingers,” Nate said sarcastically. “Move your knuckles.”

His trembling hand hovered and sagged with listless frustration atop the old paperback, which became the cynosure of all in attendance as he concentrated on the task. One by one, his knuckles spasmed as he slipped each mechanical digit between the pages. Desperate, he snatched chapters into a tight fist. “Why is it so exhausting?”

Nate rested on his haunches. “You need to practice.”

“I am no good to Mrs Warren.” Alfie’s voice was a pained whisper. “How can I ensure her safety when impaired?”

I lit a cigarette. “Are you ambidextrous?”

“No,” Alfie said, and the thought of unmet expectations seemed to leave him in a state of self-disappointment. “I am right-handed.”

My frown sharpened. “Is the functionality of your right hand compromised?”

His undamaged hand curled into a fist. “No, Sir.”

“You are sound of mind,” I said with a dismissive hand wave. “You have arms and legs and a well-functioning trigger finger. What else is necessary to ensure my wife’s safety?” Puffing the cigarette, I retrieved the envelope from the inner pocket of my suit jacket and tossed it on his lap. “An advanced payment for her happiness.”

Understanding passed between us.

“Mrs Warren requested my return,” he said knowingly, and I did not deny it. “You do not wish for a bodyguard. It is friendship that you seek.”

I breathed through my nose to calm increased irritation. “Did it pain you to spend time with Alexa?”

His gathered brows softened. “No, Sir.”

“Then, what is the issue?”

“There are no issues.” Not bothering to check or count the money, he individually inspected his new fingers. “I have a lot of time for Mrs Warren.” His twisted expression suggested that his fondness and respect did not extend to me. “How is she?”

I let out a slew of smoke. “Alexa will be more content once you return.”

Nate placed a pen on top of the document. “And your return is not open to discussion or modification.”

Alfie’s real fingers twirled the pen. “What if I refused?”

I gave him a measured look. “You are not foolish enough to decline.”

“About earlier.” Alfie penned his signature beneath the non-disclosure agreement. “Jax is just a friend. I do not want the brothers to assume otherwise.”

“I speak on behalf of the brotherhood.” Nate rezipped the holdall and flung the strap over one shoulder. “We are not homophobic bigots.”

“No.” Alfie’s head shook. “You got it all wrong.”

“Are you ashamed?” I rose to my feet, and the two men followed suit. “Is it why you live in denial and lead two separate lives?”

Alfie was frozen with panic and apprehensive by the unknown. “I just…” He rubbed the scruff of his jaw. “It is frowned upon.”

I regarded Nate before saying, “We are not part of the real world. We are in my world. And here, we abide by my rules, not society’s expectations. If you wish to lay down with a man at night, what business do I—or any other member of the syndicate—have to intrude?”

He was unconvinced.

“I am not interested in your relationship with Jax.” Snatching the document from his working hand, I handed it to Nate for filing. “You will receive an email shortly with a starting date. In the meantime, master the mechanical strap.” I headed for the front door. “Alexa is throwing Logan a sixteenth birthday party.” His droopy eyes brightened. “You will join us for celebrations. I trust you will not disappoint.”

Although Alife looked worse for wear and was maddened by the sight of me thirty minutes ago, the thought of seeing my wife, his former boss, lifted his spirits. “Of course, Sir.”

Scrutinising Alfie from head to toe, I left the apartment the same way I entered.

***

Old floorboards creaked beneath strides whilst I explored the maisonette thoroughly. Every room was dank, sordid, and, in my opinion, unaccommodating. Damp besmirched the undecorated walls. Upcycled furniture draped in dust sheets stationed in no particular order left no room for movement, and off-white nets oscillated in the windows. It felt cold and unlived-in, but there were leftover food containers in the fridge, unwashed dishes in the sink and folded clothes on the tumble dryer.

Grabbing the whiskey bottle from under the kitchen counter, I poured a generous amount of amber liquid into an adequately clean glass. “Where do you reside?”

Vincent appeared from the shadows.

I never faced him, though. I stood with my back to him, drumming my fingers on the wooden counter. “Not here,” I said positively. “A flat above some seedy reggae bar? It is beneath a man like you.” Swallowing a whiskey shot in one mouthful, I refilled the glass and, turning to him, rested against the counter. “You do not live with Valerie.”

Throwing me a wicked smile, Vincent strolled across the dark, unspacious room, hands in his trouser pockets. “You are very inquisitive lately. I have yet to interpret whether your sudden attentiveness is genuine or ingenuine.”

“You are my brother.” Nursing the whiskey glass, I crossed my legs at the ankles. “I wish to know which side of the bed you lie on.”

His stone-faced expression hardened upon the oblique remark. “That sounded like an accusation.”

My smirk was wolfish. “What gave you such an impression?”

“Besides the sarcasm? Your eyes threaten bloody murder.” He is in front of me now, the goading son of a bitch. “I live here, there and everywhere.” His whispered voice breathed in my ear. “Satisfied?”

I am unsatisfied. “You skip around a dangerous line of tergiversation.”

“Let me guess.” He stroked his chin. “I have offended you.”

“All too often,” I said tightly. “Perhaps it’s high time I show you who’s boss.”

“Brother.” His hands smoothed over my shoulders. “You needn’t exhaust any energy. I know where I stand in the scheme of things.”

Swinging whiskey, I glared over the glass lip. “I want an address.”

“Why?” Ever so calmly, he took the glass from my hand. “Do you plan to visit for Sunday lunch? A little heads up, Mother dearest might make an appearance. Valerie never quite cut the apron strings. She loves cooking,” he added, and I had to cross my arms to prevent a fist from flying down his throat. “You should taste her beef wellington.” He kissed his pinched fingers. “Moreish.”

My upper lip twitched. “Why must you antagonise?”

“Antagonise?” Pouring whiskey down the sink, he set the empty glass on the drainer. “Are we not playing games?” He stared at me. “Oh, come on, brother. You are not here to pick flaws in my choice of lifestyle, so leave oppression for those deserving.”

I said nothing.

“You might be a master manipulator, but so am I.” His nose touched mine. “I will not tell you my address simply because I do not want to. Now, let us cut to the chase. Ask your question and see yourself out.”

“Deja vu.” Grasping the collar of his shirt, I tugged him in. “How many times must I put you in your place? You are no match for me, Vincent. You know. I know it.”

Cockiness oozed from the pestiferous sibling.

“Perhaps I need to exert additional force.” Slamming him against the fridge freezer, I snatched the steak knife from the knife holder and pointed the sharpest point between his round eyes. “Go ahead,” I rasped in his ear. “Fight me.”

Vincent’s fingers bent around my wrist to prevent any intentional slips of the blade. “Even if endangered,” he said in a low, strained voice, “I will never challenge you.”

“You challenge at any given opportunity.” My mouth twisted in repugnance. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Chucking the knife over one shoulder, I stepped back. “You wanted a rise out of me. I am here for the fucking taking.”

Pulling the silk napkin from the suit jacket’s breast pocket, he wiped the moisture from his brow. “You know.”

“Of course, I fucking know,” I spat, and he grimaced. “You senseless motherfucker. You risked the safety of my wife!”

“I would never harm Alexa,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was an easy shot.”

I pointed in his face. “You missed.”

“I did not miss.” His face was red from rage. “Am I disappointed that Moretti survived? Yes,” he enunciated. “I take those shots weekly. I always aim for the head. Yet, he lives to tell his story because your little wife blew my goddamn cover.”

I scoffed in disbelief. “How can Alexa know the shooter was not a threat if you do not communicate with me, Vincent? I sought a ceasefire between warring families. I made a call.” I slapped my chest. “Me. Not you. You are not authorised to act on behalf of the syndicate.”

“I did not aim fire for the institution.” He squared up to me. “If I join you or the brothers for a closed-door conclave or lend my services to the syndicate, know that I do it out of loyalty only.” His jaw flexed. “You are my brother, but I do not work for you. I am not indebted to you. I am not bound to you. I am not obligated to abide by your rules.”

My breath came out harsh. “You are a liability.”

“No, I am a lone wolf.” His head cocked. “You need to accept that I am not under your control.”

“I do not wish to control you. Is an advanced warning too expectant, though? I walked into a situation blind. Your recklessness risked the lives of those I love.” My grim expression steeled. “Such foolishness is unpardonable, Vincent.”

“You are not open to debate. If I’d have told you, would you have listened?” Before I could consider the question, he chuckled dryly. “No, you would have tried to talk me out of it.”

“Your disregard for concord is only the beginning.” My heart pounded in my chest. “People will die. Remember that when demons keep you awake at night.”

“Moretti left me for dead!” He snarled in disdain. “I almost died on the operating table. You know. You were there to bear witness. Or have you already forgotten what he did to us? What he did to me!” His dark eyebrows gathered above sharp, angry eyes. “Fuck restoring law and order between bad blood and vendettas. The Italians deceived us once. They will deceive us again. I will not bow for their fucking mercy, not even for you.”

I was not conceited enough to treat his concerns with unheeded arrogance. “Yes,” I agreed, succumbing to the temptation of vengeance. “I seem to have misjudged the severity of their offences.”

“Because of the girl,” he said, and my eyes snapped to him. “What? Grapevine conversations, brother. You forget I am in cahoots with certain detectives at the metropolitan.”

“Donny talks too much,” I quipped, and he gave me an insouciant shrug. “If it is revenge you seek, then we need to be on the same team.”

Vincent handed me a cigarette before lighting his own. “Do you want to know what I think?”

I nodded.

“We should spare the lives of no one.” He expelled smoke. “It is them or us, right?”

“Indeed.” Tapping the unlit cigarette on the kitchen counter, I balanced it behind my ear for later. “Come to the club tomorrow. We can plan an attack—together.”

“My soon to be home.” He inhaled sharply. “Is midday good for you?”

“Yes—no,” I corrected myself. “I have errands to run for Alexa tomorrow afternoon.”

He wore a lazy smile. “Errands?”

“Yes, I am foolishly in love. If the wife demands, I deliver.” I laughed at my own discomfort. “Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

His smile slipped away. “How long is the list?”

“No idea. I haven’t read the message yet.”

Mumbling words of displeasure, he speared a hand through his hair. “Text me in the morning with a location.”

I headed for the door.

“Liam?” he called, and I glimpsed over one shoulder. “I rent a townhouse near St James’s Park. I can see two palaces from the bedroom window.”

I leaned against the front door. “You can afford to buy, so why rent?”

He snubbed the cigarette in the ashtray. “I haven’t found the right home yet.”

“Are you waiting for a significant other?” I asked, and he merely rolled his eyes. “Maybe a female friend to help decorate?”

“Pigs will fly before that happens.”

I deliberately taunted him. “In the end, love conquers all.”

“Love.” Vincent’s gaze cast to the ground. “No me pertenece.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket. “What language did you speak?”

He looked through the window. “You should get that.”

I checked the message.

Alexa: Fancy some company?

Me: Where are you?

Alexa: At the Manor.

Me: Where is the boy?

Alexa: He went to the court to play basketball with Tre.

Me: I am meeting Brad at the club. Do you want me to pick you up beforehand?

Alexa: Please.

Me: I will see you soon.

Alexa: I’ll beat a kiss out of you.

Me: X

Alexa: LOL

“I have to go.” Tucking the phone in my trouser pocket, I swung open the front door. “So, tomorrow?”

Vincent watched drunken fools outside. “Tomorrow.”

Closing the door behind me, I ambled down the long-stretched hallway, ready to turn the corner, when the irascible barman from downstairs walked straight into me. “Watch it,” he snapped, spinning on his heels to glare daggers at me. “Are you leaving?”

I stared narrowly. “What’s it to you, old man?”

“I don’t know why Vincent entertains you.” He levelled me with an ice-cold glare. “You will be his biggest disappointment yet.”

Watching him enter the reggae bar’s flat, I stood back in both bewilderment and vexation. He had a name, the man from downstairs. I was introduced to him once. Yet, for the life of me, I could not remember the exact conversation.

Well, he is not important enough for memorableness, anyway.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Alexa

“Chloe.” My hand clutched the phone. “Did I do something wrong? You haven’t returned any of my calls or text messages, and, well, this is the ninth voicemail I have left today.” Closing the fridge door with my heeled foot, I juggled cartons of orange juice to the granite kitchen island, where Brad, besuited in royal blues and Italian leather, tucked into a colourful avocado ranch salad. “Look, I don’t want to pester.”

He took the cartons and arranged them with the plastic tumblers.

“But I am worried about you. And I would love it if you attended Logan’s birthday party tonight…” My tense shoulders sagged. “Okay, maybe I am asking too much from you. I mean, it’s still early days, right? You need more time to come to terms with what I did before. I get it.”

Brad scooped onion chutney onto rye crispbread.

“So, I can be patient.” Balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, I uncapped the Russian vodka bottle and splashed well-needed alcohol into a glass. “Just let me know that you are okay, though. We might have parted ways for a while, but you will always be my sister from another mister,” I half-joked to hide downheartedness. “I love you, Chloe.”

Hesitating with the phone, I ended the call and blew unruly curls out of my face.

“Your friend is a nutter.”

How can I take Brad seriously when he wears a bright pink headband?

“Like, batshit crazy.” He over exaggerated with bouncing eyebrows. “Stop wasting your time on people that make you feel like that.”

I frowned. “Like what?”

“Sad,” he said without a hint of facetiousness. “Depressed. Fucking suicidal.”

“Asshole,” I muttered into the vodka glass, and he smiled flatly. “Chloe’s indecisiveness drives me crazy. She blows hot and cold. We see each other, and all is right in the world. Then she goes home and forgets I exist—and I am somewhat okay with that. It’s only what I deserve.” My throat swelled. “Just be straight with me, though. Tell me that you need more time. Tell me that I have to work harder to re-earn your trust. Tell me, even though it’s hard to admit, that we will never be the same again. At least, either way, I can accept it and move on. Right now, I am holding onto hope. I keep telling myself not to give up because she will find her way back to me.”

Brad had the appearance of one who could hear your innermost thoughts and mock them. “Listen, at this point in our one-way conversation, I don’t know if you are talking to me, her, or yourself. I will go with the latter.” His hands grasped my shoulders. “Alexa, true friendship is not supposed to be this hard. History be-damned. If Chloe wanted it, you and her, she would be here. She’d answer your calls and reply to your messages.”

My fingernails tapped the vodka glass.

“How can she penalise you for someone else’s actions, anyway? You did not ask to be abducted. You did not ask to suffer for months in solitary. You are the victim here. Not her. Tell her to get over herself. It’s bastard childish.”

Reaching up, I squeezed his hands on my shoulders. “I chose to stay away.”

“No, you chose to save a little girl.” His head lowered until I could only look int0 his soft, amber-coloured eyes. “Was it hard for people to understand? Yes. Bossman struggled. Chloe hated it. Fuck, when you rose from the dead like Christ himself, even I questioned your motives for a while. But I got to know you better. You are innately selfless. You think less about yourself and more about others. Do not live in guilt for prioritising Summer Williams’ safety. You made the right choice. Fuck everyone else.”

I love this man. “Thank you, Brad.”

“No problem, sugar tits.” He ruffled my hair. “Now, let’s get back to business. What the fuck are those monstrosities?” He pointed to the Indian style fried fish. “And did you cook?”

“No, I hired a catering service.” My eyes became slits. “Could you, at least, pretend to like my cooking?”

“I often pretend,” he said, and it’s pretty depressing that I believed him. “I am not a fan.” With a mouthful of food, he tossed the half-eaten fried fish in the bin. “Why so fancy? I prefer sausage rolls on a buffet.” He nudged plated corn fritters with the tip of his finger. “This is fucking blasphemous.”

“I concur.” Josh strolled across the kitchen with a carrier bag slung over one shoulder. “Where are the cheese and pineapple sticks, Alexa?”

Oh, shit. Josh had texted a list of must-haves this morning.

“In the fridge,” I fibbed, and his unconvinced expression held. “What?”

He dropped the carrier bag on the counter. “My gran saved the day, you lying witch.”

My hands slid to my hips. “Do you want me to trash the pineapple?”

“You dare,” he warned, unsealing the Tupperware containers to shake his grandmother’s appetisers onto a silver tray. “I love these bad boys.”

“Same.” Brad scarfed down enough cheese to line his stomach, then licked one of eight toothpicks to the corner of his mouth. “What time will the annoying teenagers arrive?”

I glimpsed at my wristwatch. “Thirty minutes.”

“I loved parties growing up.” Josh sucked pineapple juice off his thumb. “I was the life and soul of any gathering. I was also the biggest lightweight of the bunch. Two or three beers later, I would pass out with cacked pants around the ankles, hugging the toilet.”

I laughed lightly. “Nothing new there.”

He slowly steered his stare to me. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Did you forget that I found you on Liam’s bathroom floor once?” I held a hand up, counting on my fingers to dramatise past events. “Trousers hung off your ankles. Front row seats to your naked ass. Exposed schlong—”

“Unmindfully,” he pointed out, and I raised an eyebrow. “I did not expose myself for your perverted benefit. Need I remind you that I was completely victimised. The fucking battleaxe stole my Vacheron Constantin.”

Brad did a double-take. “You what?”

“Oh, don’t stress.” He exhibited the ice-gold watch on his wrist. “Replacement.”

“That is beside the point.” Brad clipped Josh around the back of the head. “You ungrateful piece of shit. I sold two cars for that watch.”

Josh’s smile had a wry twist. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I might have. Not that you or the thieving battleaxe gave a toss.” Brad stared at the zucchini lentil pakoras with bright-eyed interest before one met the back of his throat. “How old are we talking?”

“She was twice my age.” Josh’s lips clamped together. “I remember absolutely nothing.”

I burst his bubble. “You did not get lucky.”

“No?” he mused, and I shook my head. “How can you be so sure?”

“You were in the bathroom.” A hint of a smile curled my lips. “I think it is safe to assume you keeled over mid-urination and passed out before the opportunist snaffled.”

Josh fell silent for a few seconds. “That is the most depressing information I have received all year.”

“Look at golden bollocks.” Brad gestured toward the kitchen’s archway. “All fresh-faced in denim.”

Logan went for casual jeans and a slim-fit black polo shirt. This afternoon, he visited the barber with Tre, the boy hiding in the background, and treated himself to new trainers. “Can we chill at the bar? It’s ready, right?”

Yes, I paid contractors yesterday once they added finishing touches. “Spirits are strictly off-limits,” I said with a pointed finger. “You have access to beer pumps and alcopops.” Tre grimaced but quickly averted his gaze to avoid reprimand. “I am serious, Logan. Liam will have a stroke if he comes home to an empty liquor cabinet. Manor wings are also prohibited. Nobody is allowed upstairs. You have access to the garden, kitchen, underground entertainment and billiard room. Just know that the men tend to play pool at night.”

He nodded.

“Do not access the office or the pool house,” I continued. “If anyone is stupid enough to do either, know that there will be consequences. The guards will not be held accountable for their actions if someone invades their private space.”

“Sure.” Logan was more than happy to abide by house rules. “Honestly, Alexa. I would never disrespect you like that.”

Tre’s friendly smile stretched. “What about the swimming pools?”

I hadn’t considered the possibility of inebriated girls clad in skimpy bikinis. “Brad?” Scratching the nape of my neck, I looked at him for guidance. “What do you think?”

When Brad’s befuddlement persisted, Josh intervened. “I would put a lock and chain on the indoor pool. Unguarded territory basically encourages underage sex and teenage pregnancies.”

“What?” Logan paled, his eyes growing wide. “I am still a virgin.”

“Good,” I commend him, and his pallid cheeks turned bright red. “I mean, sex is totally overrated anyway. And who wants to lose their virginity in a swimming pool with other teenagers present, right? It should be romantic.”

Brad snickered behind his hand.

“And it means so much more if you wait. What do you think, guys?” I looked from Brad to Josh. “Logan should do it in his thirties, right?”

Josh choked on air.

“Thirties?” Tre snorted. “Damn, Mrs Warren. You gotta do him like that, huh?”

My head tilted. “What was the question?”

“Fuck my life.” Logan thrust a hand through his hair. “Alexa, can we not do this right now?” He subtly motioned to an easily distracted Tre. “Please.”

“I lost my virginity in a treehouse,” Josh said proudly, and I gave him the stink-eye. “What? It was great. I busted my balls in, like, twenty seconds.”

Brad laughed huskily.

“Ah, let me guess.” Josh’s eyes rolled. “You had the stamina of a stallion at the age of thirteen.”

Blond Suit shrugged. “I don’t remember my first time.”

Josh chewed chocolate coated pretzels. “No?”

“I think the outdoor pool can work.” Brad changed the subject from cringe-worthy memories to tonight’s safety measures. “With us present and security patrolling the perimeters, the teens will keep a low profile. It’s a fair compromise, Logan.”

“Sex is not even on the agenda.” Logan adjusted his diamond stud. “Not for me.”

“Or anyone else,” I said while eyeing Tre, the chortling boy hiding behind Logan’s back. “Got it?”

Tre gave me a two-finger salute. “Yes, Mrs Warren.”

I waited for the red-faced duo to retreat down the hall. “Guys,” I said with a huge grin. “I am so good at this mum shit.”

“Talk about blowing your own trumpet.” Josh hunted the kitchen cupboards for napkins. “Who knows what tonight will bring. I say we revisit your parental skills after the party because some lad will bone a bird in the pool, and we will find comatose females on the stairs, and it will be your fault for agreeing to such nonsense in the first place.”

My mouth was agape. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Josh flung open the pantry door. “Why is there fucking wedding cake in the cupboard?”

“It’s a basketball-themed cake.” Shutting the pantry door, I ordered him back to the buffet station. “Stay away from the baked goods, Josh.”

“Nobody will miss one cupcake,” he bartered, and I held my ground. “Really? You would deny your best friend food?”

“Yes,” I said obstinately, and he groaned like a four-year-old child.

Jace appeared in the kitchen’s doorway. “What did I miss?”

“Josh is eating like a fat bastard,” Brad said while stuffing veggie pinwheels in his gob. “What’s in the bag?”

“New kicks for the birthday boy.” Jace placed the gift-wrapped box onto the table of accumulated parcels. “Is there any vodka going?”

“Great.” Brad’s dark gaze posed intimidation. “You ruined my present. I bought the lad a pair of Jordan sneakers, so take those back to the store.”

“Non-refundable.” Jace obtained the vodka bottle. “I like the dress, Alexa.”

“Thank you.” Pushing off my tiptoes, I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed a hug out of him. “Where’s Charlotte?”

He jerked one shoulder. “Nightshift.”

“What about the roomies? Are they coming over?”

“Jared has a date.” Samosa pastry crunched under his teeth as he sampled appetisers. “Shane might swing by later.”

I waited.

Jace thumbed flakes of pastry from his lips. “Harlyn is busy.”

“Oh.” Well, that’s a shame. I was looking forward to a nice catch-up. “Has anyone heard from Liam?”

Brad’s eyes flicked to the ceiling. “Isn’t he upstairs?”

Liam left the Manor at the crack of dawn. “No.”

“I will hound his arse.” Brad’s thumbs tapped the phone screen rapidly. “If I annoy him for long enough, he will reply.”

I smiled at that. “Noted for future reference.”

“It works like a bloody treat.” He showed me the phone screen. “See? Brad,” he imitated in his boss’s voice. “One message is enough.” His dimple flashed. “I think I pissed him off.”

I laughed lightly. “So, where is he?”

“No idea.” He tucked the phone in his trouser pocket. “Don’t stress. Warren will be here. You won’t let him hear the end of it otherwise.”

“Can I trust you to handle some last-minute touches before the party starts?”

Josh, Brad and Jace blinked in unison.

“I made a list.” Flipping open the notepad, I clicked the top of a pen and it to Brad. “It’s nothing strenuous. Just go through the list and tick as you go along.”

Brad’s finger tapped penned bullet points. “You already sorted helium. I almost lost my head dodging the balloon arch by the entrance.”

“Tick it off the list then.”

“Cake?” He snorted amusedly. “What do you call the fucking eyesore in the cupboard?”

His tactlessness chagrined me. “Then, tick it off.”

“Bar?” He flung the notepad aside. “Take your excessive orderliness on a hike. I am off duty.”

“Alexa.” Jace nudged my elbow. “You worry too much. Logan is not a spoiled brat. You could chuck him a card and some takeaway pizza, and he’d still be grateful. It’s more than he ever got from his mother, right?”

Yes, I did go a little over the top with decorations, but I wanted everything to be perfect for Logan.

It’s his last night living at the Manor.

My heart squeezed.

Brad tugged my ponytail. “Where did you go?”

Why must it be goodbye?

You promised not to make a fuss.

“Sorry.” Imbibing a vodka shot, I chucked the notepad in the bin. “I need to grab the soundbar. Help yourself to the bar.”

Their conversation faded as I strolled through the Manor’s regal hallways. I nearly emerged from behind the foyer’s bifurcated staircase, but female giggles slowed footsteps. I recognised Christie’s voice alongside her friends from the youth centre.

“Thank you for inviting us to the party, Logan.” Her voice sounded awe-inspired. “Your house is huge.”

“Yeah.” Logan’s meek voice suggested that he was uncomfortable. “It’s decent.”

“Where are the others?” Tre asked.

My back relaxed against the wall.

“Outside,” another girl said. “It’s hard to get past the front gates, Logan. You might want to leave them open, so it is less hassle for people to get in.”

“No way.” Tre stepped in for his friend, and then, his voice dropped to an almost undetectable whisper. “Warren lives here. He ain’t risking shit.”

Chewing my thumbnail, I listened to them gossip.

“Shouldn’t parties have, like, I don’t know, music and stuff?”

“That’s what the speaker is for, baby!” Tre chimed.

Logan led them into the dining room. “What’s in the bottle?”

My listening techniques heightened.

“Rum.” The girl’s heels clicked against the marble floor. “Do you want some?”

“No, I’m good,” he declined, and I smiled proudly. “Hey, don’t touch that. It’s not cool…”

As they disappeared, I peered around the stairs to be sure the coast was clear.

“Are you having fun, Ma’am?”

“Shit.” My heart leapt out of my chest. “I was not spying…” I turned to see a familiar Suit leaning casually against the wall. “Alfie,” I whispered. “What are you doing here? I thought…” Liam promised to bring him back. “I am so, so sorry.”

Alfie’s amputated hand was hidden in his trouser pocket, but he had a parcel wrapped in black and gold tucked under his arm.

“It was all my fault. You tried to do your job, and I kept pushing and pushing until you relented, and it cost you so much. I never meant for any of that to happen. I swear—”

“Mrs Warren.” Pushing himself away from the wall, he came to me, his soft smile soothing the erratic palpitations of my heartbeat. “Mr Warren gave me a second chance. I guess I have you to thank for his newfound forbearance.” Clearing his throat, he lifted his damaged hand. Only, it was not the deformed stump I had imagined. He curled and uncurled bionic fingers. “Nate fitted the mechanical digits. I struggle to hold objects, but I am used to the flexibility already. Just last night, I was able to turn pages in the newspaper.”

My eyes welled up.

“I am glad to be back.” He held out the parcel. “I loved working for you, Ma’am.” His Adam’s apple shifted on a tight swallow. “And it will be nice to see Jax more.” Red besprinkled his cheeks. “When appropriate, of course.”

I melted. “I bet Jax is beside himself.”

“I haven’t told him yet,” he said shyly. “I thought I’d surprise him.”

Jax will smile more now that Alfie has returned. “I have stored Logan’s presents in the kitchen.”

“Yes, I left his gift on the table before I came to look for you.” He placed the box in my hands. “That’s for you.”

“Me?” My nose creased. “Why?”

“I bought them the day after the attack.” He rocked back on the heels of his shoes. “It’s been collecting dust ever since.”

Additional guilt fell on my shoulders. “I don’t deserve gifts from you, Alfie.”

“Ma’am.” He tapped the box. “I insist.”

Setting the parcel on the marble sideboard, I unravelled the satin now, uncapped the lid and waded through layers of metallic gold tissue paper.

His hand touched the bottom of my spine. “I know how much you loved those shoes.”

“I left them in the alleyway.” Stepping out of the red-bottomed heels, I replaced them with Giuseppe Zanotti’s black suede three-strap sandals with gold embellishments. “Why must you be so wonderful?”

He placed the Louboutin shoes in the box. “Would you like me to return these to the master bedroom?”

“Thank you, Alfie.” When the red-headed Suit ascended the stairs to place the shoes back in their rightful place of the Master bedroom’s walk-in wardrobe, I released the breath I was holding. “What?” I asked, feeling the intensity of Brad’s nosiness. “Honestly, I thought I was bad. You don’t even try to hide the fact that you eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.”

His shoulder leaned on the doorframe. “Warren’s here.”

My spirits lifted.

“He is at the bar with Vincent.” His lips snarled. “Christ, I hate the fucking tosser.”

I tapped his chest. “Jealousy is a hideous look on you.”

“Jealous? I am not jealous,” he argued futilely. “Look at my face compared to his ugly mug. There is no comparison.”

“Calm down, Adonis.” I walked away, and he followed. “Hey, if it’s a consolation. You will always be his right-hand man.”

“Obviously.” He squinted. “I am irreplaceable.”

My arms folded as I turned to face him. “Brad?”

He swigged whiskey from the bottle. “Sugar tits?”

I let the disgusting pet name slide. “Liam loves his brother.” Fixing the button of his shirt, I splayed my hands across his chest. “He loves you, too.” Our eyes held for a moment. “Can we forget how much you dislike Vincent for one night? For Logan?” He flicked me in the nose, and I winced. “Asshole!”

“Go and put a bra on.” He shouldered past me. “I can see you mean nipples.”

I would not give him satisfaction by checking. “Nipples are all I have.”

His head reappeared around the doorway. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Liam

Logan’s sixteenth birthday party was in motion. Obstreperous teenagers caroused in the garden and tailored guards observed from the shadows, while Alexa, in the world’s tightest black dress and sinful high heeled shoes, engaged in conversation with Jace and his roommate, Shane, who arrived only recently to show his face.

Logan is quieter than I had expected. He is in the midst of loud-mouthed Tre and unidentifiable teenagers from the youth centre, nursing the same beer bottle he nabbed from the bar two hours ago. He has avoided the pool, too, and paid his love interest, the vivacious blonde hanging off his arm, very little attention.

“So, let me get this right in my head.” Brad’s folded arms leaned onto the wooden countertop. “I tell you to annihilate the Italians as there is no rational basis for consensus or justice for treachery. You categorically refused the reconsideration of amity between warring families because of the guilt you harbour for Miliana D’Agostino’s murder.” He jabbed a finger in Vincent’s direction. “Mr I-can’t-do-fuck-all-wrong comes along, demanding the eradication of adversaries, and you relinquish for the sake of the Italians vengeful descendants, which, I might add, are not even in their mother’s womb yet.”

I puffed on a blunt.

“And whilst we are on the subject of what a complete and utter fucking tool you are.” His animosities turned directly to Vincent. “You took a shot at Moretti in the presence of officials, including the boss’s wife, which was an unauthorised operation on your part.”

Vincent smiled coldly. “Are you finished?”

“No,” Brad said almost too calmly. “I have only just begun.”

My brother rose from the barstool. “I am sick to the high heavens of your unwarranted belligerence.”

“You know what’s funny?” Brad stepped up to him. “You are a career executor. People pay for guaranteed results. You cannot afford to miss those shots.”

“Firstly, it was a successful hit. Secondly, it was a personal attack. I was not paid to shoot Moretti.”

“You got him in the chest.”

“I still delivered a successful hit on the target.”

“It was a slapdash performance on your behalf.”

“Moretti stood too close to my brother and his wife.”

“You are a sharpshooting marksman. You handle rifles, unlike any other gunman. I don’t give a flying fuck who stood next to the target. If you aimed for the head, he’d have dropped down dead there and fucking then, which tells me that you are withholding information from us.”

Exasperation radiated from Vincent. “I hide nothing from my brother.”

“He is full of shit,” Brad said to me while glaring at the man. “I think you took the rap for someone else’s underhandedness.”

“Really?” Vincent is amused. “Who?”

“I don’t know, Vincy Boy.” Brad popped an unlit joint between his lips. “Enlighten us.”

Josh, loyal to a fault, had Brad’s back. “You haven’t heard from Miss Pearce recently, have you, Vincent?”

“Now, I fraternise with the enemy.” Vincent turned to me. “Please, tell me, you do not believe such outlandishness?”

No, Brad’s had too much to drink. I looked at my second-in-command. “Enough. Now is not the time for contretemps with allies.”

He let out a small sigh.

“There is no favourable outcome when distracted in opposition. We must be on the same side to subjugate the Italians. I had a discernible change of opinion,” I talked to him directly. “Is my reasoning relevant? Does it mean I no longer hold you in high regard? Does it determine how much you are worth to the syndicate?”

“I know my worth.” Brad was closed-mouthed for a few seconds. “Still, I cannot shake the feeling that your brother is not quite honest with us.”

Vincent peeled a green apple with a switchblade.

“Is there any truth in Brad’s accusation?” I asked him outright.

“I took the shot,” he said, unhesitant. “Jones is merely grasping for straws. For some reason, he wants me to be guilty of deceit.”

Brad’s eyes darkened. “To me, you are guilty until proven otherwise.”

“For what purpose?” Vincent ate apple peel. “I enraged my brother for acting carelessly. Would it not be easier for everyone involved if someone unconnected to the syndicate had aimed fire in Hyde Park? I have no reason to lie.”

Brad respired smoke toward the night sky. “People lie to protect the ones they care about.”

“I cherish very few people.” Vincent tucked the switchblade in his trouser pocket. “I love my mother and my brother. Exclude Liam from possibilities because he was present at the time in question. We are left with Valerie, the dying cancer patient. Perhaps she mastered gun techniques while attending church on Sunday. For some wild, imaginative reason, she decided to steal a rifle from her son, even though she has no idea that her son is a hired contract killer. What’s even more incredible is her connections. Presumably, this woman is friends with someone from the institution. After all, how could she know about Liam’s impromptu decision to meet with the Italians at Hyde Park if she were not in cahoots with a syndicate member? Need I go further?”

Brad’s cheek muscle pulsed.

“Why tamper with the surveillance footage if you have nothing to hide?” Nate spoke up for Brad. “Something doesn’t add up, Vincent. Just be straight with us. How can you demand respect and loyalty otherwise? It ain’t like that here. Us brothers, we are family. We value each other’s opinions and support each other through trials and tribulations. Most importantly, we earned each other’s trust. Your shadiness makes it difficult for us to take you at face value. Hell, for Warren’s sake, I want to believe you.” He squeezed Brad’s shoulder. “You might think it’s a hard pass, but Brad wants to believe you, too.”

“I have nothing else to say on the matter.” Vincent tossed the apple stump in the bin. “Brother,” he tapped my shoulder, “I have outstayed my welcome. Arrange a meeting once you have reached a decision. I will be sure to attend.”

When Vincent strolled across the garden to leave the Manor, I turned on the stool and asked Josh for a whiskey refill. I felt torn. If I challenged my closest men, I risked offending them. If I questioned my brother, I risked jeopardising our already strained relationship. As I could not win, either way, I chose to end the discussion.

Alexa conveyed plated cake slices to the bar. “You should have seen Logan’s face when everyone sang happy birthday,” she said with a huge smile on her face. “He was so embarrassed. He might never forgive me.” Noticing the tension in the air, she looked from one man to another. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Brad sank his teeth into bright orange buttercream. “This is good. Make sure you wrap some up for me to take home.”

“Home?” Her brows drew in. “Will you not stay at the Manor tonight?”

His head shook.

“Oh,” she said, disappointed by him choosing to leave. “But you always stay in the guest room.”

“Maybe I want to get laid tonight, Alexa.” Wiping crumbs from his lips, he hurled the napkin in the bin. “Anyhow, enjoy the rest of tonight’s shenanigans. I got to bounce.”

Alexa watched him disappear through the crowd of rowdy teenagers. “What’s wrong with Brad? He looks upset.”

Nate pulled on his suit jacket. “He’s alright.”

“Yeah.” Josh stepped down from the raised bar. “Thanks for the invite, Alexa. I’ll be at the office tomorrow, Boss. Nice and early.”

With a flat smile in my direction, Nate dropped a kiss to Alexa’s temple before both men followed Brad into the Manor.

Alexa slid up to my side. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” My arms wound around her back. “Tonight is for Logan. Business can wait until the morning.”

“Did I take it too far?” Tresses of dark hair blew in the wind. “With Logan’s party, I mean. I thought he’d love the cake.”

The cake was far too ostentatious for a sixteenth birthday party. “I am sure Logan appreciated everything you did to ensure his night was special.”

Alexa’s fingernails stroked the nape of my neck. “Logan doesn’t like people.”

I smirked. “Relatable.”

“He loves the men.” Her eyes lowered to mine. “He seems quite taken by Christie, and he has a lot of time for Tre. No one else seems to matter, though. I made a huge mistake by inviting so many people here tonight. It’s not his scene, Liam.”

“Hey,” I scolded lightly. “You forgot a significant detail.”

Her frown held. “I did?”

“You forgot to mention how much the boy loves you.” I palmed her cheek. “Whatever Logan feels right now is beyond you, Alexa. You did nothing wrong.”

Music amplified in the background.

Alexa’s gaze trailed Tre as he dashed across the manicured lawn to dive headfirst into the swimming pool. “I will go and look for him.”

“No.” Kissing her cheek, I stood. “Let me find the lad.”

Nodding, she hugged her middle section. “What should I do?”

A group of half-dressed young girls skipped past us. “You should send everyone home.”

Her teeth gnawed her bottom lip.

“Jax,” I called, and the suited man appeared from the shadowy hedges. “Can you and the others escort the teenagers off the premises?”

His head dipped. “Should I arrange transportation?”

“Yes.” Alexa stepped in. “Make sure everyone is home safely.”

I walked alongside her on the path, where stationed solar lights twinkled. “We should fuck tonight.”

“Liam,” she berated, half-heartedly slapping the side of my arm. “Why must you be so crass? And have you ever heard of spontaneity?”

“I thought aloud.” My arm draped across her shoulders. “It’s the dress, baby. It’s far too short.”

She turned in my arms to look at me. “Do you disapprove?”

“No.” My fingers teased the back of her thigh. “We need to address the lace, though. My men can see everything.”

Her lips pursed. “Brad tried to warn me.”

My teeth nipped her jawline. “I bet he did.”

Teenagers complained behind us.

“They don’t want the party to come to an end.” She glanced over my shoulder. “Right, I need to help the Suits. Go and find Logan. I will start cleaning the kitchen. Maybe then,” she whispered, “we can pick up where we left off.”

My tongue swept the shell of her ear. “You, naked in bed, is all I need.”

“It’s a date.” She kissed my cheeks, the tip of my nose, and then burnt my lips with a long, fused kiss. “Hurry up.” Her shoes clicked on the patio as she sauntered to the occupied decking area. “Right, come on. It’s time to leave.”

Using my thumb to wipe her red lipstick from the corner of my mouth, I traipsed beside the meandering hedges, looking for the boy. Everything else faded. I no longer heard the headache-inducing rap music or the raucousness from sloshed teenagers.

My footfalls replaced the sound of Alexa’s laughter and the guards’ raised voices. I heeded inclination, bypassing the colossal pool house, and found myself standing outside the unused garden shed.

Previously, Tony hung windchimes from the painted roof, attached flower baskets beneath the windows and added Adaline’s shell inspired dreamcatcher to the dense, towering tree. Touching the rough bark, I lowered my gaze to the ground. “I lived in an allotment shed once,” I told him. “The owner abandoned it, so how could I not seek safety?”

The wooden door creaked open. At some point throughout the night, Logan had changed into a black tracksuit to match his ball cap. He held two unopened cans of beer. “Do you want one?”

I took one from his hand. “I yelled at you once. I was frustrated by your dwelling of misfortunes. You resided in a Manor yet cried for the seediness of your past.”

He studied Adeline’s feathers. “I remember.”

“I was insensitive,” I admitted, and his glassy gaze found mine. “I had forgotten what it felt like to be you. You see, I was not born evil, Logan. I walked a very hard road before I learnt to detach myself from pain.”

His voice thickened. “Your parents left you behind, right?”

I nodded slowly. “What is worse? Complete abandonment or abuse and neglect?”

“Both are equally unfortunate.”

“My mother walked away.” Cracking open the can, I sipped beer. “If nothing else, her withdrawal gave me the opportunity to prosper. Your mother stayed, which clipped your wings. Our past is not equally unfortunate. You had to live with someone who couldn’t bear the sight of you.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “You struggle with this most.”

“Yeah,” he rasped. “I don’t know, Liam. I should be at the pool, celebrating with friends.” He laughed once. “Those aren’t my friends. They came here for Tre. And birthdays? I don’t like them all that much. It’s unwanted adulation. I hate being the centre of attention. But I feel like shit because Alexa tried hard to make me smile tonight, which is more than my mother ever did.” He downed beer to wet his dry throat. “Sorry, I sound so ungrateful.”

My hand crushed the can. “We have a lot in common.”

He snivelled. “How so?”

“I think birthdays are the most overrated date on the calendar,” I said airily, and he cracked a small smile. “Why would I want yearly reminders of how old I am getting? I wish to age in peace.”

He chuckled. “I ain’t got those worries yet.”

I harrumphed.

“It’s not just about the party.” His expression became serious. “I am scared.”

I felt his fear to the bone. “Why?”

“I turn sixteen tomorrow, which means I have to find my own way in life.” He looked away. “We might share similar demons, but I am not as strong as you, Liam. You ran away from the system, and then what? You slept in sheds every night until you got lucky?”

“No, I met a homeless man. He took care of me until I was of age.”

His stare gazed into the distance. “Where is he now?”

“Dead.” I sipped beer. “I tracked down my biological father, killed him, stole his money, which was enough to put a roof over my head, and then I met a boxing instructor. He gave me a full-time job and taught me how to fight.”

Logan listened intently.

“I had to leave for reasons that I will not disclose. Still, I was young, lost and lonely. I paid people to work for me.”

“Doing what?”

“You are not naive, Logan.” My brow arched. “Criminality starts at the bottom. I worked my way up.”

He digested every word. “I guess you came a long way from the kid who crashed in shacks, huh?”

I hummed. “Indeed. I learned so much from a young age.”

“Yeah?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Like what?”

“That nothing is impossible. I could be whoever I wanted to be. I could go whenever I wanted to go. I controlled my own destiny.” I faced him head-on. “All I had to do was believe in myself.”

His mouth opened and closed. “I can do that,” he whispered. “I can be—”

“The best version of yourself,” I interjected, and his head bobbed. “Who said that I doubted you?”

“Liam, I…” Red stained his cheeks. “Never mind.” He almost walked away, and then, stopping a few metres in front of me, he shook his head vehemently. “No, you know what?” He fronted me. “I have never fought for anything in my life because nothing in life was worth fighting for. But this shit right here, Alexa, you, me, us, I want to fight for it. I love Alexa.” Tears leaked from his eyes. “Hell, for some fucked up reason, I love you, too.”

My shoulders rolled back.

“Am I selfish? Ungrateful? Yeah, I guess I am. But I learnt from the best. You taught me to fight back, stand up for myself, demand respect, and not take shit for anyone.

“You think I give a fuck about making it big? Or trying to work my way up the ladder? I don’t care about the house, the money and the cars.” He grabbed the gold chain around his neck. “All this shit means nothing to me.”

My forehead creased. “Logan—”

“You don’t have to provide. I can keep my head down. I can get a job and pay my way in life. I swear, I will do it. I promise.” His raw sobs broke into hysteria. “Just don’t send me away, Liam. I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.”

My chest tightened. “Logan…”

“You brought me here, so here I am, being real with you.” His lips wobbled as he outstretched his arms. “And being real is all I have left.”

Before he could storm past me, I caught him by the elbow. “Logan.” His breath caught on breathless hiccups. “You demand more merely ten minutes before midnight.” Reaching inside the inner pocket of my suit jacket, I extracted the envelope. “And here I thought this would be enough for you.”

Logan scowled at the envelope. “You got me a birthday card.”

“Technically, you are still fifteen for,” I glimpsed at my wristwatch, “another nine minutes.”

Ignoring the tears on his cheeks, he tore through the envelope, unfolded the document and scanned the signature. “What?” Releasing the papers, he pulled out the certificate. “Holy shit.” Sheets of paper slowly drifted to the grass as he clasped the back of his head. “Are you serious right now?”

Kicking the can aside, I stuffed my hands in my trouser pockets. “I am a serious man.”

He snatched the certificate of adoption off the ground. “Why?”

“Well, Alexa loves you,” I told him, and he hung on to every word. “And, for some fucked up reason, I love you, too.”

Logan licked tears from his lips. “I could have worded that a little better, huh?”

I made a noncommittal noise.

“How does it work for us?” His smile disappeared. “Am I supposed to call you dad? Alexa is too young to be my mum. I guess she could be a cool aunt or something.”

“You are just ours.” I thumb tears from his blotchy cheeks. “That’s all there is to it.”

His fingers gripped my forearms. “Thank you.”

I held his stare. “For what?”

“For not giving up on me.” He peered over my shoulder. “Alexa is coming over.”

Fixing my cufflink, I stood back.

“There you are.” Alexa whacked branches aside. “I have been looking for you—” Logan threw his arms around her, the force nearly knocking her off her feet. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Her worried eyes came to me. “Is he okay?”

My smile was soft and reassuring.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His arms around her back relaxed, giving her room to breathe. “When you promised me the best birthday, I never thought it meant this.” He lifted the certificate between them. “Alexa, I won’t let you down. I promise.”

Smiling to mask confusion, Alexa briefly eyed the adoption papers. “I know,” she whispered, unable to prevent tears. “Let’s talk about this in a minute. Tre is looking everywhere for you.”

Logan kissed her cheek. “I’ll help clean up.” Walking backwards, he gave me a thankful smile. “Does this mean I get to learn how to fire a gun?”

My scowl sharpened.

Laughing to himself, he broke into a sprint toward the Manor. Alexa, too dumbfounded to converse, stared at the place he once stood.

I rubbed her arm, where goosebumps pricked her skin. “I thought you’d be happy.”

Her breath stuttered. “Did you do it for me?”

“Baby, Logan belongs here. You know it. I know it.” My head shook imperceptibly. “It felt wrong to send him away.”

Her fingers fastened at the back of my neck before she pulled herself into my arms. “I love you, Liam,” she said, her legs locking behind my back. “I love you so much.”

“I know.” Entwining our fingers, I placed her hand on my chest. “I feel it.”

“We should turn in for the night.” She smiled against my lips. “I think we earned some privacy.”

My hands squeezed her arse. “Are you weaponising sex again, Mrs Warren?”

Her nose nudged mine. “Is it working?”

“Yes.” I bit her lower lip. “What are you after?”

“Just a date,” she whispered.

“Just a date, huh?”

Our foreheads touched.

We drank each other’s silence.

My thumb grazed her lips. “As if I could deny you.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Alexa

I can’t stop looking at Logan. He slept so peacefully, his legs tangled in the duvet, his dark, messy hair falling over his furrowed brows. His body laid motionless across the bed, the adoption papers resting beneath his palm from where he dozed off reading. Flipping open the old, leather worn journal that he left on the bedside table, I kneeled beside the bed, uncapped the pen with my teeth and scribbled a short message for him to read.

Happy 16th Birthday.

You bring me so much joy and happiness.

My only regret is that I did not find you sooner.

Here is to making memories.

You. Liam. Me. Us.

Our perfect little family.

I love you, Logan.

Your person,

Alexa.

Closing the journal, I tucked it beneath his pillow. Admiring his beautiful profile, his handsome features, the spatter of brown freckles on his cheek and the soft curl of his lips, I slipped a strand of dark hair behind his ear, lifted the blanket to his shoulders to keep him warm and, unable to take my eyes off him, lingered by the bedroom door, feeling whole, complete, the happiest I had felt in a long time.

Logan Warren, the lost boy from the youth centre, had a place to call home. My chosen child belonged here with us now. Who cares what happened in the past or what the future might bring? I get to love this boy for the rest of my life.

Liam learnt to love someone else’s baby. I never thought it would be possible, not with him being such a stubborn man. But he proved me wrong. And as I entered the Master bedroom, satin robe sliding down my shoulders, lace thong falling to my feet, I fell in love with him all over again.

I astride his lower back.

“Morning, beautiful,” he groaned into the pillow, not a hint of him opening his eyes, though. “Where did you go?”

“I took a quick shower.” My lips tickled the spot behind his ear. “I made sure the downstairs was tidy.” I massaged the tight, knotted muscles in his shoulders. “Then, I swung by Logan’s bedroom just in case last night was a dream.”

He respired a tired sigh. “Is he okay?”

“He’s asleep.” My head rested on his upper back. “I am still in shock. I was trying to build up the courage to ask for more time with Logan, but I was too nervous. You have already provided so much for him. Never, not even my wildest dreams, did I think you’d accept him as ours.”

“Logan is in the right place.” His voice was thick and throaty. “Home is where the heart is, remember?”

Threading our fingers on either side of his head, I thumbed his wedding band. “How did I get so lucky? I have all these incredible men in my life.” He was silent while I spoke. “You were always enough for me. But there are not enough days in the year to thank you for Logan.”

He licked his dry lips. “Logan is a good lad. He has a bright future ahead of him.”

I smiled into the nape of his neck. “You can speak freely in front of me. I will not consider you soft-hearted.”

Liam rolled onto his back, keeping me above him. His blue eyes stared up at me. “I see my reflection when I look in his eyes.” His rough palms smoothed my thighs as his heavy-lidded gaze admired my naked chest. “When I was younger, I would often stare at the boy in the mirror, wondering how he got there. Existing felt surreal. The future looked unpromising.”

I fixed his tangled chain.

“Logan was afraid. His fear evoked bad memories, forgotten emotions. I truly want to protect him from such tribulations.” His steeled jaw relaxed. “What time is it? It’s still dark outside.”

“Five thirty.” My fingers traced the prominent lines of his abdominal muscles. “I could not sleep.”

He yawned, his arms stretching above his head. “No?”

My eyelashes fluttered innocently.

His thumbs circled my hipbones. “What’s the look in your eyes?”

“Tesco is a twenty-four-hour superstore,” I hinted, and he was aghast by the idea of early morning grocery shopping. “I could eat ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” he said in disbelief. “Alexa, I will divorce you for avoidable tooth decay.”

I slapped his chest playfully. “My teeth are perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“Not if you continue to drink ice cream by the gallon.” He tapped my thigh, so I climbed off him. “Let me shower first.”

Thirty minutes later, Liam, freshly showered and breathtakingly handsome, descended the stairs in a grey three-piece suit, a spare hoodie thrown over one shoulder. “Leave the Bentley keys.” Opening the drawer to the foyer’s marble dresser, he plucked out a set of car keys. “We should take the Tesla for a spin.”

“Oh?” He seldom utilised the panoply of vehicles underground. “Sure.”

“Arms up,” he instructed, and I slowly raised my arms. “Pyjamas?” He tugged the spare hoodie over my head. “How will you purchase ice cream when garbed in fleece?”

“Hey, I like this lounge set,” I corrected, strolling through the Manor halls. “Plus, I intend on waiting in the car while you hunt aisles in Tesco.”

The poor sod could not think of anything worse. “Right,” he said tightly, and I had to look away to hide laughter. “What is your least favourite flavour?”

I paused to think. “Rum and raisin.”

He held open the door to the stairway leading to the garage. “Then I shall buy exactly that.”

My trainers skipped steps. “How considerate?”

Before my foot touched the final step, he wound an arm around my waist. “Close your eyes,” he whispered against my cheek. “I have something to show you.”

Frowning slightly, I closed my eyes.

“I will smack your arse raw if you peek,” he warned, and I grinned impishly. “Give me your hands.” I felt his scrutiny as my palms slid onto his waiting hands. “You really are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, Mrs Warren.”

My heart rate quickened. Heat travelling to my cheeks, I held his hands tighter. “I believe you, Liam.”

“Good.” His thumbs grazed my knuckles. “Step down.”

I hesitated.

“As if I’d let you fall.” His hold went to my waist as he coaxed me down from the final step. “Good girl.”

My footsteps echoed throughout the expanse of our concrete garage. “Liam?”

His ring-laden fingers covered my eyes. “Josh claimed you were decent behind the wheel.”

His manly scent immersed me. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I encountered numerous potential casualties.”

“But you refrained from killing pedestrians.”

I mumbled uncertainties. I mean, there was that one guy who nose-dived into a pile of recycling bags to escape the violent strike of my vehicle. And there was the afternoon jogger who fainted on the spot when I swerved around his momentarily paralysed position on the curbside. I should probably include the postman who nearly suffered death at my hands, too; I had never seen so many airborne letters.

Yeah, I am not Lewis Hamilton. I cannot be trusted to drive anywhere with living humans. Just chuck me in an empty car park to practice parallel parking for the rest of my pathetic existence.

I can only imagine the news headlines.

Alexa Warren, the killer driver.

Off with her head!

“Alexa?” Liam’s chin settled on my shoulder. “Give yourself more credit.”

His sneaky behaviour dawned on me. “Liam,” I said cautiously. “Did you bring me downstairs to drive one of your precious cars? If so, I suggest that you reconsider. I do not trust myself in a Tesla.”

“Well, the Tesla is off-limits to the killer driver.” The empath dared to ridicule. “You understand.”

Rather than die with embarrassment, I chuckled to myself.

“It was delivered yesterday.” He placed a key on my palm. “I was waiting for the right opportunity to show you.”

Understandably confused, I opened my eyes and stared at my husband. He looked eager, excited, which was a rarity in itself. “What was delivered yesterday?” My gaze drifted over his shoulder to the black Mercedes-Maybach S-Class with a luxurious burgundy leather interior. “That is not for me, is it?” My initials personalised the private number plate. “Oh, shit. You don’t actually trust me to drive that, do you?”

“Yes.” His hand met the small of my back. “Gratefulness is a prerequisite.”

“I’m sorry.” Fumbling with the car key, I took a wary step closer to the unique presence of sparkling excellence. “It’s magnificent. I am just…stunned.” Fingertips outlining the bonnet’s chrome trim grille, I peered through the passenger side window to marvel at the individualised car mat. “Thank you, Liam. I have no words.”

He gestured for me to get behind the wheel. “Do the honours.”

Squealing in ebullience, I ducked into the driver’s side and ran my hands over the leather steering wheel. “You big softy.”

“Behave.” He got comfortable in the passenger seat. “Well, buckle up. Let’s take this beauty for a spin.”

I adjusted the seat closer to the wheel. “What if I get pulled over? I am not licensed to drive.”

He tossed a counterfeit driving licence on my lap.

“Very well.” Gingerly, I disengaged the handbrake, started the engine and eased onto the accelerator. “Liam, I am nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous.” He watched the garage’s motion sensor door elevate as I drifted up the mounded concrete. “There are men outside, so take your time.”

Nodding, I drove the car out of the underground onto the Manor’s front asphalt, where suited men grouped together for takeaway coffee and morning cigarettes. “Where would you like to go, Mr Warren?”

“Tesco.” His arms crossed. “You wanted ice cream.”

Gravel crepitated beneath the tyres. Cruising toward the Manor’s exit route, I dropped into neutral while the guard unlocked the wrought iron gates. Once freed from all-encompassing security, I thanked him with a slight wave and drove straight onto the main road.

Liam watched the world pass on by through the window. His hand found its way to my thigh. “Tesco is in the other direction.”

“I know.” Flicking the indicator to the right, I steered into the next street and drove to the land of nowhere. “I saw the blueprints on your desk.”

His fingers drew patterns on my thigh. “Is there a question?”

“I don’t know.” My lips puckered. “Maybe.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Go there if you must.”

After a short-lived drive around the streets of London, I parked the Mercedes in the garage beneath Timothy Andino’s Casino. Although Liam had barely discussed renovations with me, he sounded passionate about his new investment. He provided a tour of the central room’s spaciousness that once homed tumultuous slot machines, poker tables and high-roller gamblers.

“I had everything ripped out,” he explained, taking in the high ceilings, the old chandeliers with gossamer adhered to crystal droplets. “I plan to extend the bar and build a function room down the back. We want somewhere for customers to unwind. Think dim lights, ambient music, calacatta marble and luxurious fabrics.” He painted a blank canvas. “Brocade and jacquard.”

Studying the impressive marble stairway, I stepped over bestrewn debris and dismantled furniture. “What’s upstairs?”

“Office.” He followed my line of vision. “It overlooks the entire casino floor.”

I took in a breath. “What’s downstairs?”

“Working project.” He pointed to the outmoded jukebox. “That’s going on the skip.”

I held his hand while he led me behind the disorganised bar. “Is there any champagne?”

His eyes widened a touch. “Isn’t it a little early for celebratory drinks, Mrs Warren?”

“It is never too early for alcohol.” Finding an unopened bottle under the countertop, I arranged two plastic cups on the threadbare beet mat. “Besides, you live on a liquid diet, so what’s the issue?”

“No issue.” Popping open the button of his suit jacket, he slid onto the tattered leather bar stool. “I missed this image.” His eyes never left me as I uncorked the bottle to prepare our drinks. “I spent many a night watching you tend to customers.”

I remember. “And I spent many a night pretending not to notice.”

Liam wore a boyish smile.

Discarding the oversized hoodie, I pulled my hair into a messy bun atop my head and poured bubbles into two tumblers. “This is us,” I said with a half-smile. “Do you love me?”

“Yes.” Clanking our cups, he knocked champagne back in one gulp. “Always.”

My stare explored the papered walls, where Demask remnants threatened to peel from the smooth surface. “I bet this place was beautiful before contractors turned up.”

“Perhaps.” He cared not for the casino’s history. “May I have another?”

Taking the plastic cup from his hand, I poured a generous amount of champagne into the bottom. “That’ll be twenty pounds.”

He blinked in dismay. “For cheap champagne?”

“For champagne served by the best barmaid within the City of London.”

His eyes glittered in assent. “Baby, will you come back?”

I fell silent.

His hand found mine across the countertop. “Rule with me.”

“You want me to leave Inseparable Youths for late-night whiskey service.”

“No, I want you to co-own the casino with me, or any establishment, for that matter. I am open to the idea of new investments if it’ll appease you.”

“I don’t know.” I chewed the corner of my lip. “You broke my heart the last time we mixed business with pleasure.”

“It’s different now,” he argued his case. “I am your man. You married me. There is no confusion between us this time.” He waited for a response. “Listen, if this is about other women, I can assure you, there will be no working girls in the casino.”

“It’s not about other women. You promised fidelity, and I believed you.”

Relief softened his gaze.

“We live together. Therefore, we spend a lot of time together. Too much time together might hinder our marriage.”

He was displeased. “I disagree.”

My brow quirked. “Of course, you do.”

“You are it for me,” he said throatily. “In ten, twenty, thirty years’ time, I will love you just as much as I do right now.” A rare blush warmed his cheeks. “You are my soulmate, Alexa. I am a better man with you at my side. And that’s where you belong. Here, with me. Diarchies.”

I looked away.

“You agreed to attend syndicate meetings, so what’s the difference?”

“Well, I have never actually attended closed-door conclaves with you or the men. Plus, I am a woman. No one will take me seriously. And honestly, lording it over the Suits feels wrong. Can you imagine Brad taking orders from me? He will have a hissy fit.”

“My men will fall into line because I demand it.”

I let his assurance sink in. “What is expected of me?”

“Just be yourself.” His finger touched my wedding ring. “I value your input and trust your judgment. I have great faith in you.”

I tackled the conversation masterfully. “If I agree—and that is a big if, Liam—will you let me soar or hide me in your shadow?”

His reply died on the tip of his tongue.

“Yes, first and foremost, I am your wife. But you cannot have it both ways, not where the institution is concerned. Phillip Henry is a good example. You asked me to lure him to the hotel and then chastised me for compliance.”

“I am unchangeable.” His arms outstretched. “Sue me.”

I squinted. “Jealousy clouded your judgment.”

“Empathy clouded yours.” He made a valid point. “Listen, your protection is non-negotiable. I will always have your best interest. However, I will learn to take a step back and trust the process, even it fucking kills me.”

Working for the syndicate meant leaving Matthew and the others behind. Most importantly, it meant turning my back on our teens. I am not ready to say goodbye. My job paid scarcely, but it was never about the money. Helping those in need gave me a sense of fulfilment. Guiding the young and impressionable was purposeful.

“I will give your proposal some thought,” I said noncommittedly. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I have teenagers to consider.”

“Fair enough.” Liam plugged in the jukebox, and neon lights began to flicker sporadically. Tapping the keypad, he selected “My Way” by Frank Sinatra. Peeling off his suit jacket, hurling it on the rear of the stool, he rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows and extended a hand. “May I have this dance?”

To Sinatra’s light baritone voice, I held onto his hand as he led me to our make-do dancefloor in the middle of the room, where cardboard boxes, overturned furniture covered in dust sheets, and builders equipment surrounded us.

Lowering his lips to my hand, he kissed each knuckle, pulled me close, chest to chest, and turned me in his arms. Each step flowed with synchronisation. Shutting my eyes, I mentally decluttered the room, and when I reopened my lids, regal resplendence clambered the walls. I imagined a majestic ballroom, debonair sommeliers and dashing guests. I saw suited men on the gaming floor and in the players’ lounge. Bodacious spenders by the vestibule.

Liam spun me out of his arms, and sequels of laughter made breathing almost impossible. I never feared an embarrassing faceplant to the floor, though. I trusted him not to let go.

Locked in each other’s gaze, we moved to melodic instrumentals. I shadowed his predatory grace, his seamless steps along the once carpeted floor, remembering our first dance as possible love interests, our first dance as partners and our first dance as a married couple. Still, I felt butterflies as though I had met him merely seconds ago.

He brought me close, his hand on the bottom of my spine, his lips near my ear. “I faced it all, and I stood tall.” His hoarse voice sprouted goosebumps along the bare skin of my arms. “And did it my way.”

Protected in his possessiveness, I held onto his shoulders. “Regrets, I have a few.”

His lips pressed to the side of my head. “Too few to mention.”

I chuckled into his neck, then, caught off guard, gasped at the onslaught of his firm lips. His hands captured my head as his mouth overpowered mine. “Car?” He groaned between kisses. “I want you.”

Of course, I was in a mischievous mood. “Last one there gives oral.”

He shoved past me.

“Liam!” Breaking into a haste sprint, I dodged delivery boxes, hoping to beat him to the entrance. He was faster than me, so I fabricated an unwanted visitor. “Who’s that?” I pointed to the dark alcoves. “I saw a man.”

“What?” He was panicked into an immediate defence. “Where?”

Bypassing the exit route, I ran straight past him to clear the stairs leading to the room that’ll someday throne his office.

“Alexa!” His heavy footsteps pounded up the marble stairs behind me. “I read a quote once.”

“Yeah?” Not looking back, I held onto the gilded handrail. “What’s the quote?”

“Thomas Sowell.” He was hot on my heels. “Deception is one of the quickest ways to gain little things and lose big things.”

“Really?” Out of breath, I reached the double doors, keeling over at the waist. “What is big enough to give me second thoughts?”

Looking ever so smug, he came to my side. “My cock.”

I pushed his shoulder. “Caveman.”

“Vixen.” His mouth snatched the air from my lungs. His raw, bruising kiss was like fire to my skin, burning me up from the inside out. Ripping the vest off my body, freeing my breasts, he lifted me in his arms and backed me up against the office door until it swung open for us to find an improvised bed. The cluttered desk captured our fall. Everything, from old paperweights, heaped folders and replaceable computer monitors, crashed onto the floor. His teeth sank into my neck. “Let’s eliminate these hideous pyjama bottoms.”

“They are not hideous.” Kicking the trainers in opposite directions, I clung to him, helping him rip the fleece bottoms down my legs. Tearing through the buttons of his shirt to reveal his muscle-bound chest, I curled my fingers around the waistband of his trousers. “I happen to like anything that offends you.”

His hand cupped the back of my head. “Always one to press buttons.”

My tongue lazily caressed his. “Well, what are you waiting for, Mr Warren?” Unthreading his belt buckle, I unzipped his trousers. “I am at your complete mercy.”

Liam’s engorged cock landed in his hand. He gave it a tight stroke, a firm, painful-looking squeeze, and pre-cum leaked onto his fingers. “I will never fucking tire of you.”

My heart palpitated. “Promise?”

His sweat-misted forehead laid on my shoulder. He encouraged me to lock my legs around his waist and used one arm under my backside to elevate me to his liking. His thick, swollen crown pushed through my silken folds, deep enough for me to grapple the collar of his dishevelled shirt. “Shit,” I keened, writhing beneath him.

“Give me a moment.” Bracing his forearm above my head, he moved his hips once, pulling me down to the base of his shaft, and settled into breath snatching silence. “Fuck, I need to master control when around you.”

I was beautifully full and aching. “Since when did you doubt your stamina?”

“Since I forgot how to breathe in your presence.” His fingers seared the side of my waistline. “When was the last time you and I fucked?”

“You and I?” My stare burnt into him. “As opposed to you and who else?”

I received an eye roll. “Don’t be so foolish.” His tongue swept from my throat to my chin until our lips locked. “I blame insufficient sex for risible intemperateness.”

If I weren’t so aroused, I’d slap him. “Charming.” Pushing the shirt emblazoned with Ermenegildo Zegna over his shoulders, down his arms, I tossed it on the plastic-covered wing chair. “If you want a permanent sex ban, keep talking.”

His hand travelled south to get a feel of my dripping sex. With his shaft buried to the hilt, his fingers parted my folds, and he taunted the sweet bundle of nerves, slow and steady, increasing the need to combust.

I gripped his wrist. “Not yet.”

Understanding passed between us.

Liam’s arms slid under my neck, caging me beneath him. His soft lips touching the scar beneath my eye, he settled between my slackened thighs, the slow thrust of his hips, silently demanding space for movement. My legs opened fully, giving him more room to move. I held onto his neck, fingernails digging into his skin as I matched his unhurried thrusts. His hands found mine in the midst of intoxication, and he pinned them above my head, threading our fingers, the wedding bands united. His hips rolled forward, slow yet meaningful, and when he kissed me, the type of all-consuming kiss that set my soul alight, I gave myself to him, falling apart in his arms, knowing he’d catch me. “I love you,” I whispered, riding through waves of pure pleasure.

Mumbling words of adulation, he drove into me, in and out, prolonging the intensity of recurrent orgasms. “I’m high for you, baby.” He kissed me as though his life depended on it. “Fuck if you don’t make me weak.”

Our eyes aligned as our tongues stroked, and our hitched breaths heated the meagre gap between us. He worked me, long and deep, at a controlled pace until not letting go became too much to bear. When he groaned, throbbed and emptied inside me, I heard his whispered affections, his undying love. “Give me five minutes.” His breathing was strained. “I’ll go again.”

I tapped his naked arse. “You might want to answer the phone first.”

He wiped sweat from his brow and fished the phone out of his trouser pocket. “It’s Brad.” Calming his erratic breathing, he set the phone to his ear. “This better be good.” When Brad spoke, his expression greyed. “What?” He pulled back, and I winced from the sudden emptiness. “When? What did he have to say?”

Picking up our discarded clothes, I began to dress.

“No.” His nostrils flared. “I will head over. Meet you there.”

He ended the call.

My blood turned ice cold. “What happened?”

“Business.” He buttoned up the creased shirt and rezipped his pants. “Go home. Check on Logan.”

“No, don’t do that.” My stare was fierce. “You asked for diarchy. I want to know the nature of Brad’s call.”

His eyes, brewing a storm, ran over me. “Have you reached a decision?”

Knowing what he meant, I remained unforthcoming.

“Until then, I do whatever necessary.” He yanked the vest over my head. “Without you.”

“No.” Haphazardly dressed, I followed him downstairs. “Liam, I am your wife first. I deserve answers.”

Grabbing his suit jacket from the bar, he shoved his arms through the sleeves. “Moretti.” Gold Desert Eagle in hand, he slammed in a magazine round. “I’m going to fucking nail the bastard.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “Where is Vincent?”

Shrugging, he walked away.

“I forbid such recklessness,” I said contemptuously, and his determined strides halted. “I mean it.” He said nothing, so I added, “At least, wait for Brad.”

Liam stormed toward me. I prepared for a vitriolic attack when his arm suddenly wrapped around my shoulders, and he kissed me, stealing the oxygen that I breathe. I wanted to melt into his embrace. But not under these distressing circumstances. Not when he refused to listen to me.

My hands palmed his cheeks. “I will go with you.”

“No.” His hands smoothed down my arms. “Go to Logan.”

I was on the verge of tears. “Liam…”

“Baby.” His forehead rested on mine. “Do you trust me.”

Nodding, I got a handle on my breathing.

Liam’s lips graced mine once more before he walked away.

In less than three hours, I would learn something.

It was a devastating kiss of atonement.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Liam

Besuited men thronged the casino’s entrance. Catching the Bentley keys from Jax, I ordered everyone to trail behind Alexa’s Mercedes to ensure she returned to the Manor and waited on the street corner to watch their vehicles speed down the road. Knowing my wife was in safe hands, I collapsed behind the steering wheel, fired the engine and, ripping away from the curbside, drove full speed toward the address Brad provided via text message.

Moretti will come alone.

It should have been hassle-free, but when I spotted a recognisable Bugatti in the wing mirror, I swerved into the nearest petrol station.

Vincent pulled in behind me. He soared from the car and took furious strides closer.

Jerking the driver’s side door open, I stood in time to meet his wrath.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His ire earned curious glances from people fuelling their cars. “You have to wait for backup, Liam. Do not risk your safety for the sake of foolish bitterness!”

I saw red. “You better watch your fucking mouth.”

Vincent kicked a pebble from under his leather shoe. “Brad asked you to wait.”

“Yeah?” My shoulders tensed. “He told you that himself, did he?”

His eyes bore guilt. “You know he didn’t.”

“Did you tap my phone?” I questioned, and he looked away. “Vincent, I will fuck you up.”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you.” Tresses of dark hair fell over his brows. “Hate me, brother. I care not. What matters is your safety. You do not communicate with me, so I must do whatever is deemed necessary for cognisance.”

“We will deal with this matter later.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. “I have Moretti’s location. The bastard will die today.” He seized my elbow. “Release me, Vincent.”

Brad’s Bentley screeched into the petrol station.

Vincent stepped back to watch my right-hand man rise from the parked vehicle.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Brad’s car bleeped when he locked the doors. “No one invited you, Vincy Boy. Do us all a favour and fuck off. This is Syndicate business.”

My brother brooded for a few seconds. “Jones?”

Brad spat a toothpick on the floor.

Without warning, Vincent punched Brad square in the face. Staggering into the Bentley, Brad licked the blood from his cracked lip and, switching gears, lunged into a fistfight. He charged at my brother, who anticipated counterattack, and tackled him across the ground.

“You motherfucker!” Brad yelled as the pair rolled for dominance on the concrete. “Warren, I will fucking end him!”

I glanced at my wristwatch. “That’s enough.”

“Oh, Lord,” the woman at the petrol pump rubbed her chest. “I have children in the car!”

Vincent rolled on top of Brad. He strived for an upper hand when Brad threw an uppercut, catching him clean beneath the chin.

“I said, that’s enough.” Gripping Brad by the suit jacket, I yanked him away from Vincent, who landed a right hook to his opponent’s face. “Vincent!”

“Fuck him!” Vincent pushed to his feet, effacing blood spatters from his cheek. “My loyalties lie with you and you only, brother. I will wring his goddamn neck!”

“Do it.” Brad shirked out of my hold. “I don’t trust him. How is he here? Did you call him? No, I bet you didn’t. Yet here he is. Always in the fucking know!”

I rubbed weariness from my eyes. “He is my brother,” I said calmly, and Brad’s vicious glare came to me. “You are my brother. Seeing you both behave like this wounds me.”

Both men collected themselves.

I rubbed the stubble of my jaw. “Do not make me choose.” I captured Vincent’s stare. “By blood, I am loyal to you.” My thumb swept the cut on Brad’s eyebrow. “By choice, I will never walk away from you.”

Brad and Vincent shared an unreadable look.

“If you respect me,” I continued with a low, strained voice. “If you love me, end animosities. Learn to trust one another.”

“I want to trust him.” Brad’s hand smoothed down his creased shirt. “Who fired at Moretti, Vincent?”

My eyes rolled. “Brad—”

“Clayton,” Vincent admitted, and I shot him a sharp look. “He thought he was helping me.”

Brad’s jaw slackened. “You didn’t take the shot?”

Vincent’s head shook slightly.

“You lied to me,” I whispered, and the vein in his neck protruded. “Vincent?”

“All I seem to do is pick up the pieces for other people’s mishaps.” He chuckled dryly. “Where does it get me, huh? Hate from him.” He gestured to Brad. “From you.” Regret pooled in his eyes. “Now, I risk my grandfather’s love.”

Brad side-eyed me.

“Grandfather?” I asked in disappointment. “What are you talking about?”

“You met him.” Vincent’s two hands flattened over his dishevelled hair. “He runs the bar for me.”

My lips cinched. “The old guy?”

His backside slumped onto the Bugatti’s bonnet. “Clayton Warren.”

Brad whispered expletives.

Against my better judgment, I expressed dispiritedness. “Right.”

Compunction dampened Vincent’s countenance.

“What did I do in my previous life?” I asked, knowing he had no answers. “He hates me.”

“I told him not to get involved,” he stressed, but I no longer cared to listen. “He was angry, Liam. Moretti left me for dead.”

“Vincent,” I cut him off. “I have wasted too much time trying to understand you.”

Panic etched across his features.

“You have disappointed me time and time again. I wonder, would your grandfather have risked the shot if you were present?” Before he could reply, I held up a hand. “We both know the answer. My wife’s nearness did not matter. My nearness did not matter. It was worth the gamble, just as long as he avenged you.”

“I am not responsible for anyone’s actions but my own.”

“But you did cover for him. You allowed me to believe that you were the shooter. At what point did you plan to tell me that Raymond’s father roamed this godforsaken earth?”

His head hung in shame.

“You love me,” I said, and he looked at me from beneath dark eyelashes. “But you love them more.”

“That’s not true,” he argued, and I tsked. “Liam, I am trying to do right by everyone. You have no idea how it feels to be me.”

“Affirmative. How could I possibly understand how it feels to be loved by the people who share my blood?” My lips gnarled in repugnance. “To hell with you. To hell with all of you.”

“Liam…” Vincent flinched when car doors slammed. “You need to leave. Someone called the—”

“What’s the commotion?” An approaching officer asked. “Hands up where I can see them, Warren.”

Four police vehicles parked beside our cars, flashing blue beacons cast intermittent lights on the floor. I slowly raised my hands, locking my fingers behind my head.

Vincent put himself in front of me. “It was a minor dispute between brothers.”

“Stand down,” the other officer ordered. “I have reason to believe that you carry weapons, Warren.”

Brad joined Vincent’s side. “No laws broken here.”

A short, plump man snatched Brad by the collar of his shirt. “Frisk the bitch.”

Vincent’s cheeks scorched red. “On what grounds?”

The younger police officer found a small clear bag in Brad’s pocket. “Cocaine.”

The plump fucker grinned. “Chuck him in the wagon.”

“For what?” Brad chortled. “It’s empty—” Two men closed in. “Christ, keep your knickers on. No need to ruin the suit. I will come willingly.”

“Move,” the officer demanded, but Vincent’s back fused to my chest. “Bring him in.”

To prevent Vincent’s forced arrest, I stepped out. “Let him go.”

“No can do.” They handcuffed my younger brother. “Take him in.” Shoving Vincent aside, he pointed at me. “Hands behind your head.”

I listened to instructions.

Pride danced in his eyes. “Tap him down.”

Two hands patted my legs, working their way to my groin. When his knuckles grazed the Eagle in the waistband of my trousers, I blew out a long breath. “Firearm,” he confirmed, slipping the gun into a clear evidence bag. “Fight, and we will restrain you.”

What a fucking disaster.

***

Vincent

My finger drew imaginary patterns on the table. Even though the radiator in the corner should emit heat, it was cold enough to tint the lips blue. I licked said lips. Yes, a nice, warm beverage would go down lovely. Roasted coffee beans would take the edge off twitchiness, too. With that thought in mind, I threaded my fingers to prevent uneasy movements.

“Where is my coffee?” I asked, and the detective conducting the interview disregarded any requests. “It is freezing here. I see mist when I breathe.”

“The possession of an offensive weapon is an extremely serious offence which normally carries a term of imprisonment.” The detective placed an item on the table; one switchblade tucked into a clear evidence bag. “You are aware that it encourages violence.”

I hummed. “You frisked without probable cause.”

His cheap, tasteless suit irritated the bones of me. “The police have the power to stop and search if they have reasonable grounds to believe you are in possession of prohibited items.”

“It is a folding blade. It is not disguised nor stealth. I have not used it in a threatening manner.” I reached for the bag, and his hand crashed on top of it. “Easy.” My lips twitched into a woflish smirk. “I am quite harmless.”

He slipped the evidence into a folder. “Are you familiar with our knife laws?”

“A non-locking pocketknife with a three-inch blade length? I have committed no crime. It’s merely cutlery.” Removing the green apple from my inner suit pocket, I plucked the fragile brown stem between pinched fingers and swivelled it on the table. “I am partial to flaying.”

His left eye twitched. “Was that an innuendo?”

“My taste for fruit is hardly salacious.” Detective Donny Stevens stood in the corner of the interrogation room, his foot propped against the wall behind him, his arms folded across his chest. “You are awfully quiet, Detective.”

Donny popped a bright blue chewing gum bubble. “Observation.”

I glanced at the one-way mirror. “Why doesn’t he join us?”

Detective nameless homed in on me. “Who?”

“Your lead investigator.” I glared at the faceless man behind the mirror. “I can smell the brown-noser from here.”

“He is not for you to worry about.”

“I am not concerned.”

“You should be.”

“Why?” I rolled the apple from one palm to the other. “If you do not charge me in the next thirteen minutes, you will have to release me.”

The man’s backside perched on the table. “I am willing to negotiate.”

Donny coughed once.

“Fine.” Rubbing the apple against the lapel of my suit jacket, I sank my teeth into the waxy layer. “Humour me.”

“Have you ever used the knife in the act of violence?”

“Even If I did, I would not tell you.”

“Police were called at the scene due to public disturbance. Upon arrival, they searched three men in question,” he spoke to the recorder. “Mr Bradley Jones. Mr Vincent Warren. Mr Liam Warren. Can you explain in your own words what the commotion regarded?”

“Well,” I licked the juice from my lips, “I punched Jones for being a persistent pain in the arse. He retaliated. I have the split lip to prove it. My brother interceded. A few choice words were exchanged. I do not wish to press charges; I should imagine Jones is on the same page.”

His eyes did the odd, twitchy flicker again. “With all due respect, Mr Warren. I am uninterested in family disputes.”

I sucked apple juice off my thumb. “I figured as much.”

He closed the file. “Can you confirm your relationship with Liam Warren?”

“Well, the surname is easily perceived.”

“Mr Warren,” he cautioned.

“Oh, this is outlandish.” Hurling the apple over one shoulder, I folded my arms. “You see, our mother, Valerie Wentworth, and our father, Raymond Warren, passed half of their DNA. Liam was born first. I came along years later. I guess that means we are brothers.”

“Are you close to your brother?”

Of course, my heart responded. It beated for Liam. “I love him unconditionally.”

His stare narrowed. “Enough to fight his honour?”

Donny coughed twice.

My cheek ticked. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He had hairy knuckles. “Vincent, what is your relationship to the suspect’s wife?”

“Suspect,” I said nonchalantly.

“Is your brother angry?” He paced the room with his hands behind his back. “How far would he go to manipulate his wife?”

My head tilted. “This conversation took a sharp turn.”

“I have reason to believe that your brother threatened to kill you,” he spoke confidently. “Am I right to presume this unconditional love is unreciprocated?”

“Ah, I see where this craziness is headed. Lying tactics to encourage false confessions. My brother threatened to kill me, so I wielded an apple cutter.” My feet kicked onto the table. “I suppose it is quite plausible. Very amateur, though.”

He stopped pacing.

“My brother did not threaten to kill me, Detective.”

“I have reason to believe otherwise.”

“You might need to find a new source.”

Our eyes locked.

He was a grumpy sod with bewhiskered cheeks. “How old was the suspect’s wife when they met?”

This time, I looked at Donny. “I will not answer further questions.”

“Is your brother responsible for the London fire, Vincent?”

Blood thrummed in my veins. “Charge me or release me.”

“Liam Warren is a renowned criminal.”

“Really?” I was humoured. “How fascinating?”

The detective was on a role. “He is a drug baron.”

I chuckled at the outlandishness. “What does he sell?”

A folder landed on the table. “Take a look for yourself.”

My arm swiped the notes off the table. Paper fluttered around us. “Charge me or release me.”

His moustache quivered. “You will pick up every last photograph.”

My chair legs scraped on the floor when I stood. “Charge me or release me.”

“What will it take, huh?” His neck craned as he looked up at me. “What do I have to do to get an admittance out of you?”

Towering the old fool with an air of indifference, I pressed the recorder’s button to end the tape. “Police coercion is a crime, you hypocritical piece of shit. Desperation is embarrassingly pathetic. You are grasping straws, Detective. I will not stand here a moment longer entertaining such preposterousness. For the last time, charge me or release me. Either way, I will sue for undue pressure. You will not force a nonsensical confession from me.”

He gulped audibly. “I want to protect you.”

“He’s my brother,” I spat, and he recoiled. “We are cut from the same cloth, you fucking idiot.”

Donny touched my elbow. “I will release him under caution.”

“Yes,” the incompetent idiot stuttered. “Have a nice day, Mr Warren.”

I stormed out of the interrogation room. “I have a good mind to sue,” I said as Donny chased behind me. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

“I am not authorised to discuss the case with you.” Donny led me through halls lined with security cameras. “You need to sign out.”

I snatched the pen from him. “Message.”

He knocked the receptionist’s window. “Assent.”

The woman muted her earpiece. “Pardon?”

“Paperwork.” He accepted the proffered clipboard. “Sign.”

I scribbled signatures in highlighted boxes. “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

Donny played the part. “I understand your frustration, Sir. Please leave through the front entrance without agitation, or officers will be forced to detain you.”

“Save your breath.” I left the pen on the counter. “I will happily comply.”

Leaving Donny at the main desk, I strode through the occupied waiting area, the unbearable sound of quarrelsome drunks and foul-mouthed working girls ringing in my ears when a familiar voice had the hairs on my neck stand to attention.

I hesitated by the rotational doors.

Alexa Warren.

I felt her.

“I want to see my husband,” she demanded and, somewhat spellbound, I pursued her voice. “Nate, I don’t understand. I was with him this morning. Everything was fine. Please do something.”

Turning the corner, I found Nate and Josh first, stood between them, my devastated sister-in-law. Her hair was wild. Her cheeks were flushed. But her eyes, they were sad, devastatingly sad. Buried in a faux fur coat, she walked from the metal bench to the vending machine. And then, she came to a sudden stop. “Vincent,” she croaked, and my heart stopped beating. “What happened?” Her heels clicked along the floor as she hurried toward me. “Vincent?”

My hands captured her by the elbows. “Angel,” I whispered, bringing her in for a long, tight hug. “Breathe.”

“I can’t,” she cried, melting in my embrace. “Vincent, Donny texted—”

My hand covered her mouth. “No.” My lips were dangerously close to her ear, where the most delicate drop of diamonds scintillated. “Not here.”

Nate tapped my back. “What do they have on him?”

“What?” Alexa scrubbed the mascara from her cheeks. “What type of question is that?”

“I am not sure yet.” My bones rattled together. “It’s not good.”

Josh spat out a curse. “Where is Brad?”

I slumped onto the bench. “He’s still in there.”

“Why did they bring you in?” Alexa trembled from head to toe. “Vincent, talk to us.”

“I said,” I yanked her in by the wrist, “not here.”

“I won’t survive it.” Her lips wobbled. “Not without him.”

Nate concealed his expression behind an inked hand. “I need to call Carl.”

Josh followed him outside.

Unable to composure herself, Alexa fell to one knee on the filthy floor. “No.” Helping her sit on the bench, I turned to face her, my thumbs cleaning the mascara-stained tears from her red, blotchy cheeks. “Pull yourself together.”

Tears leaked from her hazel-coloured eyes. “I love him, Vincent.”

My heart fractured.

Keeping an arm around her waist, I pressed a kiss to her temple. “Likewise.”

***

Brad

I am Hank fucking Marvin. If I’d have known these tossers conspired to keep me as a hostage, I’d have smashed three breakfast rolls smothered in HP. Those bad boys would have been in my face before I jumped in the Bentley this morning. Like, my stomach weeps for fodder. Just some greasy bacon would have sufficed—melted butter. Oh, I love butter. That and some mean pork sausages slapped beneath a runny fried egg: coffee and whiskey.

I salivated at the thought of both. “Kill me.”

“Mr Jones.” Mr Tawdry poked me in the shoulder. “Are you ready to meet us halfway?”

“No, I am not. I am far too hungry. It’s making me hangry.” My head pounded all over. “You are supposed to provide snacks, right? All I want is a bacon butty.”

Tawdry looked at his fellow officer. “Get this man a packet of nuts.”

“A packet of nuts.” I sat straighter. “Have you seen the fucking size of me? A few measly nuts won’t cut it. I need carbs, like, yesterday. Morsel. The audacity. If you want me to talk, bring me a burger.”

“You are in no position to demand more than refreshments.”

“Ah,” I wagged a finger, “I know how this works. You want to slap my arse for ruining my life. Well, officer, it’s my life to ruin. If that’ll be all.” When I stood, his palm adhered to my shoulder. “Remove the claws. I am hardly a threat without my empty baggie.”

“I am authorised to offer community resolution,” he said, and I scowled. “For eligibility, admit responsibility.”

“If I want to snort Charlie up my fucking snozzy, that is my prerogative. It’s not a case of supply and demand. Now, give me a tap on the wrist and send me on my merry way.”

“If you take accountability, this will not form a criminal record.” He tossed an old file onto the table. “Well, in your case, it will not worsen your criminal record.”

“Worsen?” My arse returned to the seat. “What do you have on me? Drunk and disorderly?”

Adjusting his reading glasses, he flipped open the file. “Common assault. Low-level shoplifting. Speeding without due care of attention. Theft and assault occasioning actual bodily harm.” His glasses went to the top of his head. “This morning, you were found in possession of controlled drugs with the intent of supply.”

“We discussed that already,” I pointed out smugly. “I am a glutton for narcotics. That doesn’t make me a bastard dealer.”

His colleague came back with a packet of chocolate-coated peanuts. She dared to slap the disrespectful snack on my hand. “Here.”

I threw the packet on the floor. “You are awfully presumptuous, officers.”

“We are the law.” Tawdry rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows. “Not you.”

“Christ.” My tongue clicked. “What next? Fixed penalty charge for a litter offence?”

I shivered.

I cannot think of anything worse than litter picking.

“The garage owner said you were assaulted.”

My cheek was a tad sore, not that I’d admit it. “Quarrel amongst brothers. I will not press charges.”

“Really?” He was very uptight for a young geezer. “Vincent would like to press charges.”

He must think I was born yesterday. “Good for him.”

“Vincent claimed you hit him first.”

“As I said, good for him.”

“Why did you fight?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“If released, will the dispute continue?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He handed the file to his female colleague. “What is the relationship between you and Liam Warren?”

The question collected scattered thoughts.

He leaned in. “Answer the question.”

I patted my suit jacket pockets. “Where are my toothpicks?”

“What?” He blinked rapidly. “Mr Jones—”

“I will not answer any more questions without my toothpicks.”

“How many times must I say it?” The black hairs in his nostrils thrashed. “You are in no position to make demands.”

“Then take your fucking shit elsewhere because I got nothing more to say.”

He pulled the box of toothpicks out of his trouser pocket and slid them across the table. “Answer the question.”

Slipping a toothpick between my lips, I deliberately nicked the tip of my tongue, reducing overwhelming thoughts. “Warren is my boss.”

His fingers clasped together as his elbows went to the table. “What is the nature of your employment?”

I tasted blood on my tongue. “Security.”

“Do your services preserve a certain organisation?”

It took a lot for me not to laugh. “I ensure the safety of my boss.”

“Why is your boss endangered?”

“Successful people are often endangered.”

“You speak cryptically.”

“No, I speak like someone who gives zero shits about what you have to stay.”

He revisited the file. “Bradley Jones.”

Vomit slithered up my throat. “Don’t call me that.”

“Is it not your name?”

Breathe, Jones. “Brad will suffice.”

“Mr Jones,” he said to undermine. “You were born and raised in Leeds.”

“Yeah?” My brows raised. “What about it?”

“When did you meet Mr Warren? Was it before or after you arrived in London?”

“I don’t see how this line of questioning is relevant.”

“Answer the question.”

I whistled a tune.

He puffed out a breath. “Bradley…”

“I asked you not to call me that.” I felt a twinge in my chest. “Will you respect my wishes, Detective?”

“Sure.” His hand waved flippantly. “If you have a reasonable reason as to why I should not address you by your forename.”

“It evokes bad memories.” The toothpick wedged between my front teeth. “Satisfied?”

The female officer often looked at the mirror.

“You know, this interview is very dramatic for a bunch of guys and their squabbles.” With that, her gaze dropped to the ground. “Shall we cut to the chase?”

“They never found her.” Tawdry held up a missing person document. “Tiffany Fisher. It’s odd, actually. I have records of her father’s concerns but not yours. Did you not share his worries? She was your girlfriend.”

“Why would I be worried about a woman who ran away with my best friend?” I licked the toothpick to the corner of my mouth. “Bitter sounds more like it.”

He shifted on the chair. “Were they having an affair?”

Tiff’s green eyes rounded in horror. “Apparently,” I whispered, recalling her screams. “I never asked.”

Blood splattered the walls.

Blood. Gore. Bones.

“I was at work.” Brian was on my side of the bed. “When I got home, the house was on fire. A neighbour told me that she saw Tiff and a guy climb into a taxi. I mean, I never received a phone call. No letters. Christ, to this day, I don’t know where the fuck she went.”

He stared deep into my eyes.

I know what he saw.

Hell, I fucking smiled.

“Let’s get back to that later.” He slid the paperwork to the side. “Mr Jones, I am a straight shooter. I will ask a few questions. If you work with me, I will release you on bail.”

“Bail?” I scoffed. “I never committed any crimes.”

“You were found in possession of a Class A drug, Mr Jones. It’s enough to imprison you for a minimum of five years.”

My knuckles rapped on the table. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Have you witnessed Mr Warren in any illegal dealings?”

I will kill this arsehole. “No.”

“Have you assisted Mr Warren in any illegal dealings?”

I will start with his toes. “No.”

“Are you aware that Mr Warren is a renowned criminal?”

Oh, I am going to make this motherfucker scream like a bitch. “Sounds like gossip.”

“Are you aware that Mr Warren held a woman against her will?”

My knuckle taps ceased. “That’s a new rumour. Who is this alleged woman?”

He tossed a picture of Blaire on the table. “Do you recognise the lady in the picture?”

I will deface the bitch right after I make Tawdry choke on his hacked cock. “Yes. Blaire used to work at Club 11.”

He was delighted. “Mr Warren’s nightclub?”

I nodded.

“Why did she leave?”

“Well, judging by this bizarre conversation, she left to do the dirty on her former boss.”

“Miss Pearce is in witness protection,” he informed me. “She claimed that you knew of her captivity and did nothing.”

My faced heated. “I will answer no more questions without a lawyer present.”

He gave me a soft, lazy smile. “Do you need one?”

“Her name is Blaire. At least, that is what she told us. If this interrogation is based on her bullshit, I feel sorry for you. Her lies know no bounds.”

“Miss Pearce,” he corrected, “is terrified of you and your boss. In fact, she is in fear of her life. Not to mention the mental trauma she has to endure for carrying the suspect’s child.”

The toothpick fell from my mouth. “What?”

“Miss Pearce is pregnant,” the female spoke up. “A paternity test will be carried out.”

Fucking Christ. “You should do that.”

I wanted to rip the smile off her face.

Her lips pursed. “Will Mr Warren be the father?”

My tongue pushed into my cheek. “No.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The difference between you and me is I was around Blaire. You are taking her at face value. I know her better than you, Detective. She is a pathological liar. She is a master manipulator. Anything she has said to you, I can guarantee, is a complete fabrication of what lies beneath. But, by all means, listen to your sad, intimidated, feeble little witness. Let her make a mockery out of you.”

“Did Mr Warren hold Miss Pearce against her will?”

“I want a lawyer.”

“I want answers.”

“Listen, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. You could beat me within an inch of my life. My response to you will not change. I will not sit here and lie about my boss to suit your needs. So, arrest me, charge me, or release me. That is all I have to say on the matter.”

“What goes on behind closed doors?

I whistled once more.

“Is Club 11 a brothel?”

I grimaced. “Seedy.”

He read notes. “Do women sell sex at Club 11?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Does Mr Warren profit from their closed-door meetings with clients?”

My whistled tune was prolonged.

“Where are your parents, Mr Jones?”

I heard voices in my head.

“Mr Jones, I asked you a question.”

A bead of sweat trickled from my temple.

“Mr Jones,” he said impatiently. “Answer the question—”

“If you do not let me out of this fucking room,” I lunged toward the mirror, “I will lay everything out on the table.” Whoever stood behind the glass could see the threat in my eyes. “You don’t know shit about my life. I know yours, though.” My fingers splayed across the mirror. “Little Miss goody two shoes over there is in bed with her cousin.”

She gasped. “Excuse me?”

“Your guy,” I threw a thumb in Tawdry’s direction, “well, he’s into men. But he hasn’t stepped out of the closet yet.”

He lurched to his feet. “That’s a lie!”

“I could expose all of you. You are recording me, right? Everyone can hear me. I’ll start from the very top.”

Tawdry switched off the recorder. “Mr Jones!”

“I mean, I can start with parliament.” The room door crashed open and officers stumbled in. “You want to question our moralities? Do you want to take down my boss? Go ahead. Watch me sing like fucking canary.”

A fresh-faced detective grabbed my arm.

“Brothel,” I repeated in sheer disgust. “If Club 11 is the home for sex scandals, I bet your fucking arse every tight-lipped prick in this place paid a visit. Hey, invite everyone in here. I have the memory of an elephant. I could name and shame right now.”

A grey-haired detective appeared at the threshold. “Jones.”

Yes, I recognised the tosser.

I winked. “Cherry says hi.”

He tugged the collar of his shirt. “Let him go.”

Tawdry was nonplused. “Sir, he might talk—”

“Not in the way you’d like.” Exiting the room, I strolled behind two officers until I reached the main reception desk. “I am not signing that.”

Getting a handle on my breathing, I went outside. It was dark now. And cold. Fuck it to hell. My balls shrivelled up to my arse.

Bentleys crammed the curbside as everyone waited for their boss to make an appearance.

What do I tell them?

If I’m here, the boss is still under interrogation.

Christ, get it together, Jones.

“Brad?” Alexa ascended the concrete steps. “Is Liam behind you?” Her worried gaze went over my shoulder. “What did they want? Did they say anything?”

Noticing Josh, Nate and Vincent across the road, outside of the corner cafe, I coaxed her away from the building. “You have to promise not to panic.”

“Great.” Her pained expression kind of tugged on the heartstrings. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Nate’s fist-bumped my knuckles. “What do we have?”

“A fucking shit storm.” I rubbed my cold hands together. “They got Blaire in witness protection. Apparently, she’s pregnant. And she told them Warren’s the dad.”

Alexa flinched. “What?”

Vincent’s hand squeezed her nape. “She’s lying, Angel.”

“Oh, I know she is lying.” Her face was murderous. “Don’t tell me they believe her?”

I nodded.

Her fingers gripped her throat. “I feel sick.”

Nate’s mouth was agape. “Do they have proof?”

My brows gathered.

“About her pregnancy.” His wide-eyed stare zoned in on the police station. “Brad…”

“We got this,” I assured, but he, too, looked ready to pass out. “Listen, if Blaire is pregnant, and that kid is yours…” I refrained from grunting. “Christ, I hope the kid isn’t yours.”

We fell into silence.

I had a lot to say.

But I will wait until Alexa is out of earshot.

***

Liam

I never considered myself an alcoholic. Now, though, as I craved strong liquor more than life itself, I thought about vices. I smoke cigarettes and weed, drink whiskey for breakfast and snort cocaine to function. Yes, I suppose I am dependent on the aforementioned. Well, in my defence, I deserved a hit after today’s unpredictableness.

My wife’s face came to mind.

Fuck, I bet Alexa is worried sick. I need to get a message to her, let her know that I am okay. Maybe I can call her the second they release me. I owed her an apology for leaving the casino this morning.

Chief Superintendent Reginald Burton sat opposite me. “What happened?”

I remained sangfroid. “A bit of commotion between brothers.”

His ungroomed eyebrows tugged inward. “Were there any brandished weapons?”

I dusted the dirt off the shirt’s once-crisp cuff. “No.”

He slouched in the chair. “Then, why did they pull you in?”

“Random spot check. I had the Eagle.”

“Shit.” His forehead crinkled. “Give me a few hours. I will see what I can do.” He stood in sync with the door jerking open. “Detective.”

“Chief.” The man held a folder to his chest. “Illegal or unethical activities cause the risk of consequences. A conflict of interest is prejudice on your part. You could be criminalised.” He dropped the file on the table. “The Metropolitan is within their rights to question your credibility as a senior officer.”

“I beg your pardon.” Reginald’s face turned beet red in rage. “You better watch the way you address me, boy.”

“Your close relationship with Mr Warren could affect your judgment impartially or objectively.”

Reginald looked like he’d seen a ghost. “There is no conflict of interest.”

“Either way,” the other man continued, “I am not prepared to sit back and watch you jeopardise this case.”

“Case?” Reginald’s spine uncurled. “What case?”

“Careful,” the toffee-nosed prick warned. “I have evidence to suggest soliciting, extortion and bribery.”

“Impossible,” I spat, and his gaze came to me. “I barely know the man.”

Carl’s head shook imperceptibly, an order to stay quiet.

“Burton has been in your back pocket since you hit the ground running,” the detective said to me, but his steadfast glower seared into his senior officer. “Wilful misconduct, monetised benefits and abuse of power are serious offences. You know the maximum penalty for police corruption.”

“You don’t want to go there.” Reginald jabbed a finger in the man’s chest. “Walk away while you still have the chance.”

“Oh, I do want to go there.” He squared up to the old man. “You see, I have been building a case against that corrupt arsehole for months. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. If you come between me and this case, I will send the evidence to CPS. You know how they handle bent coppers like you. But if you value your position as an official, leave the room, let me do my job, and I can make said evidence disappear.”

Reginald did well to rein in furiousness. “It’s your funeral, Detective.”

His jaw muscle pulsed. “Was that a threat?

“It’s a goddamn promise!” Burton’s rage soared feverishly. “Put Warren in the fucking slammer.” His hand lashed out wildly. “Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

Although on the face of it, the detective remained calm and collected, the dews of sweat dripping from his temple suggested that the entire ordeal discountenanced him. “He is incompetent behind bars.”

“Do not underestimate his allies.” Reginald put them nose to nose. “You might want to sleep with one eye open.” To avoid further accusations, the man exited the room without a backward glance.

The detective loosened his tie. “Would you like anything to eat or drink before I start the interview?”

I blinked.

Blowing out a dramatic sigh, he pulled out a chair directly opposite me. Once seated comfortably, he leaned over the table to turn on the tape recorder. “Detective David Michaels interviewing the suspect.” He looked at Carl. “Please state your name.”

My lawyer checked the time before he noted something in his file. “Carl Bishop.”

David waited for me to state my name.

I watched the reels of tape turn. “Liam Warren.”

“You are under surveillance. Digital interview room to ensure admissible evidence, recording to discuss the crimes in which you, Mr Warren, are suspected of.” He pointed to the rotating cameras. “Police officers arrested the suspect for being a public nuisance and for the possession of an illegal firearm. Mr Bradley Jones and Mr Vincent Warren are also in police custody.” He clicked the top of a pen. “Mr Warren, how do you plead?”

I relaxed in the plastic chair. “Insanity.”

David was in no mood for jokes. “Following months of investigation, I have decided to bring Mr Warren’s interview forward. Based on this morning’s unlawful behaviour, I believe he is a threat to the public.” Opening the file, he unclipped pages from the binder. “For the record, I would like to state that Mr Warren has faced multiple charges over the years.”

“For the record,” Carl interjected, “I would like to state that my client was found not guilty in previous court hearings.”

David noted something in his folder. “Let’s start with the basics, Mr Warren. Why do you own a gun?”

“Protection.”

“Are you in fear of your life?”

I chose not to answer.

“Have you ever used the gun in question?”

My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.

“Have you ever harmed someone with the gun in question?”

Folding my arms, I outstretched my legs under the table, crossing them at the ankles.

David placed an evidence bag on the table: the gold Desert Eagle. “For the record, I exhibited the suspect’s confiscated weapon. Mr Warren, can you read the engraving?”

“Why?” My face twisted up. “You know it belongs to me.”

“Where did you get the firearm?”

“I bought it.”

“From whom?”

“I can’t remember.”

“When did you purchase the firearm?”

“I can’t remember.”

“If that will be all, I would like you to release my client on bail until his attendance at Magistrates’ Court.”

“Mr Warren’s case is too serious for Magistrates’.” David leaned back in the chair. “Can you please explain the nature of your relationship between you and Mrs Warren?”

I looked at Carl before saying, “You cannot be serious.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Alexa is my wife.”

“How did you meet Mrs Warren?”

“She worked for me.”

“Doing what?”

“Barmaid.”

“Was Mrs Warren a barmaid at Club 11?”

“Yes.”

“For the record, can you state Mrs Warren’s age?”

I was suddenly concerned for Alexa. “My wife’s age is irrelevant.”

“How old was Mrs Warren when you met.”

My hands turned into fists.

“How old was Mrs Warren when you propositioned her?”

My fist slammed on the table. “I will fuck you up!”

“For the record,” Carl’s hand touched my shoulder, “I would like to remind Detective David Michaels that the age of consent for sex in England is sixteen.”

He dug the knife deeper, twisted the blade in my chest. “Was Mrs Warren at the legal age of requirement when you propositioned her?”

“Is my wife here?” I mused, and he curbed a smirk. “If she is, go and ask if I took advantage of her.”

His thumb clicked the pen top unceasingly. “Just answer the question, Mr Warren.”

I had no reason to lie. I am not ashamed of my relationship. “My wife was nineteen.”

“Can you state your age for the record?”

My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. “Thirty-one.”

David jotted down notes. “How would you describe your wife’s mental health at age nineteen?”

“What?” My heart thumped against my ribcage. “Can he ask that? What the fuck does it matter? You caught me with a gun. Fucking charge me. End this nonsense.”

“For the record, Mr Warren refuses to acknowledge his wife’s mental health issues—”

I point in his face. “For-the-record-me one more fucking time, and I’ll wrap that radio around your goddamn neck.”

“What my client is trying to say,” Carl intervened, “is he doesn’t understand the relevance of his wife’s involvement in this interview.”

David slid a sheet of paper toward Carl. “An atypical antidepressant.”

Carl read the highlighted passage. “Mirtazapine.”

“Mrs Warren was treated for depression around the time she met Mr Warren.”

Alexa had never popped a pill in front of me. “She never took them. Even if she did, how is it relevant?”

“Did you force Mrs Warren to live with you?”

“What?” His question felt like a slap to the face. “No, I did not force her to live with me. I protected her.”

He turned the page. “Are you familiar with the term Lima Syndrome?”

I laughed incredulously.

“Are you familiar with the term Stockholm Syndrome?”

My eyes went to the ceiling.

“Did Mrs Warren develop feelings for you under duress?”

I leaned forward. “Ask her.”

“I will.” He flipped the page. “Is Mrs Warren in contact with family members?”

I refused to answer.

“Is Mrs Warren in contact with her mother?”

I refused to answer.

David sighed. “Mr Warren.”

My finger rotated my thumb ring. “Adaline Haines was murdered.”

“Is Mrs Warren in contact with her father?”

“Yes,” I said, and he looked up. “Tony Roberts. He visited just recently with his partner, Camilla.”

He blinked owlishly. “I meant her biological father.”

My blood fired hot. “My wife believes Tony is her father. I would like to keep it that way.”

His eyes slithered into slits. “Are you familiar with the name Patrick Haines?”

I shook my head.

“Are you familiar with the name Larry Fagan?”

My head shook again.

“Do you expect me to believe that an intelligent man like yourself is politically uneducated? Did you not attend City Hall alongside Mr Larry Fagan, formally known as The Mayor of London?”

I picked my fingernails.

“It has come to my knowledge that you dated Mr Fagan’s step-daughter, Miss Hellen Bennet.”

Carl was instantly alert. “And who brought this to your attention?”

“Reliable witness.” David proceeded to scour notes. “Are you aware that Mr Fagan is missing?”

I breathed through my nose.

“Are you aware that Miss Bennet died in a tragic fire?”

My knuckles tapped the table.

“Did you date Miss Bennet before she died?”

Carl touched my knee.

My cheeks hollowed. “Yes.”

David stared for a moment. “Did the relationship end on good terms or bad terms?”

“It ended exactly the way it should have.”

He was agitated. “Meaning?”

“I do not have to explain my reasoning for leaving Miss Bennet.”

“Right,” he clipped. “You left Miss Bennet to be with an ex-girlfriend.”

“To be with my soulmate,” I said through gritted teeth. “I was in love with another woman before I met Miss Bennet.”

“Then, why did you date Miss Bennet?”

“Sex,” I said monosyllabically. “Company. Pastime.”

“Why did the relationship end between you and Mrs Warren?”

“You have the file. Do some research.”

“Mr Warren.”

Carl nodded.

“I thought Alexa died in the estate fire. Of course, upon her return, I wanted to rekindle. I am only human, Detective. Is it illegal to leave one woman to be with another? Have I committed a crime for choosing her?”

“Alexa was announced dead.” His eyes ran over paragraphs. “When the metropolitan learned of her return, they brought her in for questioning.”

I was silent.

“I have Miss Taylor Johnson’s notes.” He held up the paperclipped document, the pages attacked with multicoloured post-it notes. “Mrs Warren explained that she did not fake her death. Where did she go?”

I stared at the mirror.

“Mr Warren, I asked you a question.” When I chose not to answer, he tossed the document on the table. “I have reason to believe that you know Mrs Warren’s whereabouts on the night in question.”

“Hearsay is inadmissible at Crown Prosecution,” Carl reminded him. “How credible is the unnamed witness, Detective?”

“Oh, I have more than one reliable witness,” David said haughtily. “According to a certain witness, though, Mrs Warren returned to her childhood captor. For the record, I would like to inform Mr Warren that the witnesses in question are willing to testify in a court of law.”

My laughter was throaty.

“Answer the question, Mr Warren.”

“Alexa did not return to her childhood captor willingly,” I said angrily. “My wife was taken and held against her will.”

“Were you enraged by her abduction?”

I am more enraged by the lurking rats. “Who are these so-called witnesses?”

His cocky smirk flashed a dimple. “Did you take matters into your hands or allow the law to intercede?”

My throat cleared.

“Did you,” his hands flattened on the table, “take matters into your own hands?”

“No,” I said whispery.

David’s stare revisited the file. “Are you familiar with the name Angelo Moretti?”

“No,” I said without hesitation.

“What about Angelo’s lover, Diego Serafini?”

The walls felt like they were closing in on me.

“Are you familiar with the name Alberto Moretti?”

“Somewhat,” I said airily.

“Are you friends with Alberto Moretti?”

I ignored the question.

“Where is Mr Moretti?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“For the record, I have reason to believe that Mr Moretti and Mr Warren were involved in the Safe Deposit Limited’s diamond heist. Recap: Imported diamonds from Russia were cleared by the foreman at the port of London, London Gateway, before the suspects in question seized transit vehicles to obtain cranes.”

Carl took off his black-framed glasses. “I would like a moment alone with my client.”

“That’s not necessary.” David rubbed his chin. “Mr Warren, were you involved in the Safe Deposit Limited’s diamond heist?”

“No,” I lied.

He scribbled something on the notes. “Mr Warren, are you familiar with the name Kellie Crawford?”

I masked uneasiness. “Yes.”

Carl listened intently.

“What was the nature of your relationship with Miss Crawford?”

I fixed my cufflink. “We fucked.”

“Do you admit to having a sexual relationship with Miss Crawford?”

“Yes,” I said curtly, and his brows jumped. “Am I supposed to lie?”

He glimpsed at his wristwatch. “Are you aware that Miss Crawford is missing?”

Kellie is dead and buried. “No.”

“Did the relationship between you and Miss Crawford end on good terms or bad terms?”

I rubbed two hands down my face. “It ended exactly the way it should have.”

David’s eyes were hard. “You rekindled with an ex-girlfriend.”

I craved a stiff drink. “Precisely.”

The door knocked.

“Come in,” David authorised.

Dressed in rich Italian fabrics, Detective Donny Stevens strolled across the room. “We released Vincent Warren with a warning.”

David’s head dipped. “Mr Jones?”

“Released under bail.” Donny sat at the table. “He will attend Magistrates’ Court at a later date for community service options.”

I stifled amusement.

“For the record, Detective Donny Stevens from homicide joined the interview,” David spoke to the recorder. “Mr Warren was just explaining his relationships with Miss Bennet and Miss Crawford.”

Donny avoided eye contact.

“Mr Warren, in your own words, can you please explain the relationship between you and Miss Crawford.”

Carl nodded slowly.

“She is a regular at Club 11. I liked what I saw.”

David twisted in his seat. “Proceed.”

I pursued anyone that resembled Alexa. “She reminded me of someone,” I said quietly. “She felt familiar. I enjoyed her company.”

“Who pursued who?”

“I did.” Kellie’s face flashed in mind. “I invited her to the office. We shared a bottle of Macallan.” My throat tightened. “One thing led to another.”

David wrote something down. “Go on.”

“Is he fucking serious?” I glared at Carl. “He’ll be asking the size of my cock next.”

“Just answer the question, Mr Warren.”

“We snorted cocaine and fucked,” I told him. “Kellie gave decent head, Detective. Happy?”

His cheeks burnt red. “When was the last time you saw Miss Crawford?”

The night she told me that she was pregnant. “I don’t know.”

“Did the relationship end on good terms or bad terms?”

“Mr Warren rekindled with Mrs Warren,” Carl spoke on my behalf. “There is no conspiracy, Detective. My client previously stated that he was still in love with his girlfriend, Alexa Haines.”

Donny’s chin rested on his fist. “What’s the deal with you and Jessica Pearce?”

My brow quirked. “Who?”

David swigged from bottled water. “Do you deny any involvement with Miss Pearce?”

My eyes darted between both detectives. “Who the fuck is Miss Pearce?”

Extracting a photograph from the folder, David tossed it in front of me. “Perhaps this can jog your memory.”

I lifted the image of Blaire and Nate exiting The Grape and Vine. “You mean, Blaire.”

“Blaire?” He looked flummoxed. “Were you misinformed?”

“This woman is an ex-employee,” I flung the image back at him. “She told me that her name was Blaire.”

David was unprepared for the minor setback. “What was the nature of your relationship with Miss Pearce?”

“As I said, she was an employee.”

“Did she enjoy working for you, Mr Warren?”

Carl stepped in. “Has Miss Pearce given a statement?”

David ignored Carl’s question. “When did you first meet Miss Pearce?”

I found her in Flamur’s ramshackle of a basement. “She applied for a job at the club.”

“What is so great about this club?” David probed. “Women seem to flock around you.”

“You’ll have to ask them that question directly.”

“I’m curious.” Rising from the chair, David began to circle the table. “Did Mrs Warren apply for a position before or after her sister?”

“Yes, Kathy Pearl worked at Club 11. Yes, it was before I met her sister, Alexa. Yes, we fucked like animals before we parted ways as unlikely friends.” A small smile touched my lips. “Did that satiate curiosity, Detective?”

He wore a smug expression. “Where is she?”

I understood the question. “My wife or her sister?”

“Kathy.” He was white-faced with exasperation. “Where is Kathy Haines?”

I lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” His hands were buried in his trouser pockets. “Perhaps this might help you to remember.” When he gave Donny a curt nod, the man dumped images of Kathy’s graveside on the table. “For the record, I exhibited crime scene photography. Pathologists could not confirm the cause of death due to decomposition, but they did confirm the women in question’s identity through dental DNA in forensic odontology.”

I felt light-headed.

Carl was becoming agitated. “I request a moment alone with my client.”

“Mr Warren,” David stood by the mirror, where behind the glass, other officers scrutinised the interview, “I would like to confirm that the evidence in which I have shown is that of Miss Kathy Haines, your wife’s older sister.”

“I would like to state that my client is in shock.” Carl flicked through the photographs. “He is aware of the emotional upset this will cause his wife.”

Donny tucked the images into a neat pile.

“Mr Warren, did your wife raise any concerns regarding her sister’s disappearance?”

“Alexa visited the metropolitan police department to ask for help. They turned her away.”

David frowned at that. “On what grounds?”

“Age, I guess.” I met his stare across the room. “They had no reason to believe that Kathy’s absence was suspicious or questionable.”

“Did your wife suffer in Kathy’s absence?”

I almost said, ask her, but I did not want to burden Alexa. “Yes. Alexa loves her sister.”

His back rested against the wall. “Are you aware of the Haines case, Mr Warren?”

I studied the rotating security camera. “Of course.”

“Does Mrs Warren remember what happened the night she was abducted?”

I nodded.

Donny handed him another file.

“Mrs Warren escaped captivity at age twelve with her older sister, Kathy Haines.” He was quiet while he refreshed his memory. “Are you aware that both sisters had been starved, beaten and sexually abused by their captor?”

I nodded.

“Are you aware that Kathy Haines developed feelings for her captor?”

My head shook.

“Are you aware that both Kathy and Alexa Haines lied to the metropolitan police department to protect their captor’s identity?”

“They were children.” I rubbed my neck. “They didn’t know any better.”

“Incorrect.” David closed the file. “Kathy Haines was twenty-one. She was old enough to understand the difference between right and wrong.”

“My wife was a child.” Images of beating the man to death played vividly behind my eyes. “I will speak for my wife.”

“Did your wife,” he said mockingly, “ever explain why she concealed information from the police department?”

I sucked my upper teeth. “She was scared.”

Carl is losing patience. “Again, I would like to ask, how is the line of questioning relevant, Detective?”

“Did Mrs Warren provide any names?”

I understood the question. “I don’t understand the question.”

Donny entered the conversation. “Does Alexa know her captor’s identity?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Are you familiar with the names Zamira and Flamur Bajramovic?” David presented images of the couple in question.

Donny gave me a tepid smile. “Choose your answer wisely, Mr Warren.”

“What is this?” My eyes bounced from David to Donny. “The good cop, bad cop negotiation. Do I look fucking stupid to you? Do you think I can’t see what you’re both doing?”

David’s pen snapped in his rigid fingers.

“Go ahead,” I snarled. “Use oppression on a man like me. I fucking dare you.”

“For the record,” David looked at the recorder, “Mr Warren is showing signs of hostility when in police custody. I would like to add that he has behaved in a threatening manner throughout the interrogation.”

Carl stood abruptly, the legs of his chair shrieking against the floor. “Once again, I would like to request a moment alone with my client!”

“I am almost finished.” David came to my side. “Mr Warren, were you found with an illegal firearm?”

Blood roared in my ears. “Yes.”

“Do you distribute illegal imports?”

My breath shuddered. “No.”

“For the record, I have evidence to prove the suspect is lying.” He exhibited more photographs that could be used against me. “Mr Warren, are you guilty of money laundering?”

Carl repacked his leather suitcase. “My client will not answer any further questions.”

David’s foot tapped on the floor impatiently. “Mr Warren, do you launder money? I have evidence. I will present it. I will get the answers I am looking for.”

“I said, my client will not answer any further questions!” Carl snapped. “Detective, psychological coercion when conducting police interrogation is illegal. Evidence derived from intimidation and oppression is inadmissible in court!”

“Mr Warren.” David’s mouth almost tickled my ear. “The exchange for sexual services for money is legal. This does not include owning a brothel, pimping or pandering.”

I burst out laughing. “What? I’m fucking pimp now?”

Donny’s hand covered his mouth.

“Do you manage working women at Club 11?” David went for the jugular. “For the record, the club in question is owned by the suspect.”

I faced him head-on. “It’s a nightclub.”

“Do strippers provide sexual services to clients in exchange for money at Club 11?” His glasses sat on the tip of his nose. “If so, do the strippers in question provide a percentage of their earnings to you, the suspect?”

Carl squeezed my shoulder. “Do not answer any more questions.”

“If so, I would like to restate that pimping and pandering are illegal.”

Carl turned off the recorder. “Detective Stevens, as there is not enough evidence for CPS, I request pre-charge bail. You are not in a position to charge, so my client must be released pending further investigation.”

“The suspect has a history of offending.” David turned the recorder back on. “The general right to bail does not apply to murder, manslaughter or serious sexual offences.”

Carl thrust a hand through his hair. “Has my client been accused of indecent assault?”

Donny regarded me warily. “We have an accuser in witness protection.”

My eyes rounded. “What?”

“I will ask you again, Mr Warren.” David’s backside plonked on the chair. “How did you meet Miss Jessica Pearce?”

“I fucking saved the bitch.” I let out a short breath. “Is it her? Is she the victim in witness protection?”

“Miss Pearce made a statement.” Donny popped a chewing gum bubble. “She claimed that you imprisoned her and administered substances with intent. When she tried to escape, you beat and raped her repeatedly.”

“Conflicting reports with no other witnesses.” Carl collapsed on the chair. “This is a typical case of he-said-she-said.”

David’s arm slid across the back of Donny’s chair. “Let the suspect speak, Mr Bishop.”

I was at a loss for words.

“Mr Warren,” David pushed. “Did you sexually, physically and emotionally abuse Miss Pearce?”

My thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge between my closed eyes.

“Did you force Miss Pearce to engage in sexual activities?”

I stood to let blood flow through my body.

“Did you ever share a bed with Miss Pearce?”

My heart threatened to burst out of my chest.

“Mr Warren—”

Snatching the chair, I threw it at the one-way mirror, the half-silvered, semi-transparent glass cracking and splintering. “Fuck’s sake!”

I am royally fucked.

David staggered to his feet. “Mr Warren—”

“No,” I retorted, the blood in my veins pumping hot. “No, I did not abuse the woman.”

Carl fisted the back of my suit jacket. “Calm down.”

“Calm down,” I muttered in bewilderment. “She accused me of fucking rape!”

“Did you murder Miss Hellen Bennet?”

I felt dizzy. “No.”

“Did you murder Miss Kellie Crawford?”

I clasped the nape of my neck. “No.”

“Did you murder your wife’s sister?” David pushed and pushed until I could not think or see straight. “Did you kill Kathy Haines? Did you bury her body at Saddleworth Moor?”

I swallowed acidic bile. “No.”

“Did you murder public figures,” David was in my face, “Mr and Mrs Bajramovic?”

A red veil fell over my eyes. “No.”

His teeth bared. “Did you enslave Miss Pearce?”

I snatched him by the throat. “I will fucking end you.” A commotion broke out around me, yet I only saw him. “I don’t need weapons,” I said threateningly, shoving him against the wall. “I could snap your fucking neck with my bare hands!”

“Warren!” Carl tried to force himself between us. “Don’t do this! Fall back.” Police officers stormed into the interrogation room. “He is in shock! Do not mishandle my client!”

Someone yanked me away from David. Before I could hear his choked breath, the officer shoved my chest onto the table, wrestled my arms behind my back and snapped handcuffed across my wrists.

“Here.” David dabbed sweat on his forehead and set another evidence bag on the table. “Does this gun belong to you?”

The officer forced me to sit down.

“No.” I did not recognise the weapon. “You are desperate, Detective.”

He tossed a bag of ash-covered bullet casings next to the revolver. “What about those?”

I searched for recollection and came unstuck. “No.”

“Are you aware that an arsonist burnt Mr Bajramovic’s private compound to the ground, Mr Warren?”

I peered up from beneath furrowed brows.

“Everyone died. Most of the victims were burnt within the compound. Except for this man.” He hurled an image at me. It landed on my lap, but I would not give him satisfaction by looking. “He crawled out of the building on his hands and knees. He died three days later in hospital. We ran the gun and the bullet found in his chest through the system. It was a match.”

Carl’s eyes told me not to answer.

My teeth gritted. “Where did you get the gun?”

His smugness grated on my last nerve. “That’s not your concern.”

“It’s mine,” I lied, and Carl drew in a sharp breath. “It belongs to me.”

Donny’s neck clicked. “He is lying.”

My lips twisted in disgust. “I have no reason to lie.”

“False confession due to police oppression.” Carl fixed his skewed tie. “My client is confused. I request a short break effective immediately.”

David loomed at my side. “Mr Warren, I am arresting you for possession of a firearm and assault with intent for resisting arrest.”

Carl jumped to his feet. “My client did not resist arrest!”

“I am arresting you on suspicion of dealing in firearms. Making threats to kill. Putting people in fear of violence.” Detective David Michaels took great pleasure in laying down the law. “Man living on earnings of prostitution. False imprisonment. Rape. Sexual assault. Procurement of intercourse by threats. Procurement of a girl under the age of twenty-one.”

I was numb. “Alexa is my wife.”

“I am arresting you for the suspicion of multiple murders.” His chin elevated. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be given as evidence. Any last words?”

Matching his stance, I spit in his face. “Fuck you.”

He left the saliva on his cheek. “I am taking you to Crown, you son of a bitch.”

***

Alexa

My coffee was cold.

It’s been on the low wooden coffee table for nearly two hours.

Vincent is watching me.

I wonder what he’s thinking.

Scared, I guess.

He loves his brother.

Brad is sitting beside me.

He hasn’t shut up since we got comfortable in this warm, inviting cafe. And he ate everything in sight.

Josh had to leave.

His grandmother had a fall.

Yeah, Josh was torn.

He wanted to stay here with us.

His nanna needs him more right now.

Nate is anxious, though.

His boss is still under interrogation.

His ex-girlfriend might be pregnant.

Nate might be the father.

That coffee looked appealing now.

Yet, the thought of coffee consumption nauseated me.

Logan.

I need to message Logan.

“Logan’s fine.” Brad’s hand curled around my knee. “I texted him already.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

An old-fashioned fireplace blazed deep-hued flames and embers beside me.

Rain spattered the windowpane.

Drowning.

It’s almost as if I am drowning.

“Angel.” Vincent’s hands found mine across the table. “You need to breathe.”

Breathe, I thought.

It’s easy, Alexa.

Just like Liam taught you.

Nice and slow.

In and out.

My lungs refuelled.

My chest seemed lighter.

No, it still felt tight, restrained and restricted.

I saw Donny approach the cafe.

He looked terrified.

Why is he sad?

Releasing Vincent’s hands, I rose to my feet. I walked, yet I detected nothing under my feet. Not the wooden floor or the colourful fringed rugs.

Breathe, Alexa.

You need to breathe.

Baby, breathe.

Everyone stood in unison.

Donny pushed through the door.

His apologetic eyes came to me first. “Warren was denied bail.” He glimpsed behind to be sure no one watched him. “It’s bad.”

Brad was soul destroyed. “How bad are we talking?”

Looking at Vincent, Donny smiled flatly. “They’re going for life imprisonment.”

“No.” A sob ripped from my throat. “Please, no. Don’t say that to us—don’t say it to me.” Vincent caught me in his arms. “Vincent, you have to do something!”

Vincent stared into space, whispering undetectable words in my ear, his hand rubbing the length of my spine.

“I’m sorry,” Donny said in a subdued voice. “I cannot stay here. If the department caught me talking to you? I am fucking screwed.”

I felt the cold wind on my back when he fled the cafe.

Clinging to Vincent’s shirt, I stared at the ceiling, the panels blurred, hazy, tears rolling down my cheeks. My cry travelled from the depths of my stomach.

Brad held my left elbow.

Nate held my right elbow.

Vincent held my waistline.

“Tonight, we will regroup,” Brad said huskily. “Tomorrow, we will make London bleed.”

“It’s not supposed to end this way,” I cried, wiping moisture from my eyes. “Oh, God. I am struggling to breathe.”

“The Brotherhood will not take shit lying down.” Nate pulled on a beanie hat. “They’ll regret the day they turned on us.”

Vincent wanted to believe them.

I wanted to believe them.

Blinking tears away, I shook my head to regain focus.

“Angel?” Vincent’s head dipped to put us eye-level. “Talk to us.”

Dizziness teetered my feet. “I don’t feel so good…” Outstretching my arms, I tried to reach for something to hold onto. “Brad—” I fell into darkness.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Alexa

Insufficient time expedited the process. In a few hours, the crown prosecution service will issue the metropolitan police department a search warrant to tear down Warren Enterprise.

Numerous Suits operated multifarious vehicles to convey evidence—that could be used in court—to the Manor.

Nobody slept. Nobody ate. Everyone collaborated to protect their boss.

When officials brandish a search warrant at Club 11, they will find nothing but licensed alcohol, weights and measures, gaming legislation, door supervisors, food safety, data protection, health and safety and insurance.

They will not uncover illegal drugs, firearms or prostitution.

Delivered produce boxes hoarded Club 11’s underground chambers, not stainless-steel shackles, metal fetters, rot-proof ropes, steel manacles or wrought-iron chains.

Officials will not recover deleted surveillance footage or coax betrayal from loyal subjects.

Yes, I am one step ahead of those underlings.

Jobsworths.

William, the Grape and Vine manager, sent employees home and closed the restaurant until further notice. He traded formal attire for informal clothing, casual jeans, tan boots and a cable knit sweater.

Working tirelessly until the early hours to shred sensitive documents, Will destroyed confidential paperwork to eliminate a paper trail whilst the rest of us prepared the Manor.

Brad went through files with a fine-tooth comb. “Will’s loyal, right?”

“Yes.” I tucked Liam’s leather wing chair behind the desk. “I hardly know him, but he seems nice.”

“He’s got Warren’s back.” He emptied files onto the low table. “Do you want to hear something funny?”

I rubbed goosebumps from my arms. “Sure.”

“When I first met Will, he had a sixty-year-old slab of meat in his mouth.”

My nose crinkled. “What?”

With a naughty twinkle in his eye, he made a strange hand-tossing gesture.

“You might need to break it down for me, Brad.”

Nate collapsed onto the sofa in a fit of husky laughter.

“What?” My hands threw in the air. “I don’t understand the joke.”

Logan gagged. “Gross.”

“Now, the sixteen-year-old makes me feel uneducated,” I said, and the men’s laughter crescendoed. “Can somebody please tell me?”

“Logan, cover your ears,” Brad ordered, and Logan popped headphones over his ears, the ones he pretended to use while eavesdropping. “So, before Warren took ownership of The Grape and Vine, it belonged to my ex-girlfriend’s father, right?” When I stared unblinkingly, he sighed. “Are you listening?”

“It just sounds weird.”

His glare honed. “What does?”

“Brad and girlfriend in the same sentence.”

“Ex-girlfriend.” He dumped paper in the bin. “So, Tiff’s dad never liked me. He thought she could do better. I mean, looking back, he had a point. A man like me didn’t offer a promising future.”

If only he could see you now, I thought.

His stare held mine for a long moment. “Tiff went missing.”

I poured whiskey into a glass for him. “Where did she go?”

“Eternal rest,” Nate drawled. “Along with her lover, Brian.”

Brad was briefly lost in thought. “Daddy dearest made a fuss.” He thanked me for the refill. “He hounded me for months, screaming accusations, demanding his daughter’s whereabouts, threatening to call the police. I was fucked. I had to bring it to the boss’s attention.”

Nate kicked his feet onto the coffee table. “Brad was scared.”

“Have a fucking day off.” Brad drank whiskey thirstily. “I was more concerned for Warren. After all, he started the fire that night.”

Logan’s eyes widened a fraction.

“Warren decided to pay Gerald Sr a friendly visit.” Brad poured himself another drink. “When we entered Sr’s office, we found a young guy going to town on him.”

“Brad,” I scolded, and when Logan snickered, the three of us gave him a questionable look. “A slab of meat in his mouth? Really? That’s what you meant? Oral?”

Blond Suit raised one shoulder.

“Brad was appalled by the entire ordeal.” Nate grinned at the memory. “Gerald was married.”

“To a woman.” Brad was still, to this day, repulsed. “And Will was too young to be basking in wrinkly old man balls.”

I am out of depth with this lot.

“Warren did his thing.” Nate scratched his chest. “He had sole proprietorship of the restaurant once he eliminated the problem. Then he offered William a new lifeline.”

My brows met. “It’s unlike Liam to trust someone straight off the bat.”

“Bossman’s perspicacious.” He clicked to the packaged boxes, and Nate rose from the leather with a tired sigh. “Come on, Nate. We are running out of time.”

My palms rubbed together. “What can I do?”

I will not stand around like a spare part.

Brad ran empty by three a.m. Ploughing through energy drinks while ransacking Liam’s home office, he unplugged the computer and the laptop, emptied drawers, cleared units, and then stripped the Manor.

Liam’s life dissolved into nothingness.

My life fell apart through blurred vision.

I packaged diamonds in padlocked safety boxes.

Cold firearms submerged in void fill chips.

Taped drug parcels crammed leather suitcases.

Top of the range vehicles clustered the Manor’s extensive driveway.

My husband’s prize possessions.

His earned possessions left beneath the winter sky.

Josh steered the final vehicle outside, the Aston Martin Valhalla.

Rain besprinkled the monochromatic cars exhibition.

If Liam were here, he’d have a stroke.

I felt bad for Josh. He looked pallid, weary and troubled. If not for his boss, then the old, debilitated woman in hospital. He loved his grandmother. It’s the two of them against the world, with no other family members to acknowledge. This morning must be hard on him. Rather than be at his nanna’s bedside, he laboured at the Manor with his brothers.

I chucked him a bottle of water. “How are you feeling?”

Josh ran an inked hand down his face. “On edge.”

His grandmother had a bad fall while hanging the washing out to dry.

“She needs a hip replacement.”

“Go and be with her, Josh,” I said, but he refused to leave. “Let us take care of the rest. Everyone will be here when you get back.”

“No, I got to keep the brain ticking over.” His leather shoes struck the marble floor as we walked the expanse of the garage. “What’s up with you, anyway? You fainted, right?”

“My anxiety kicked in.” Honestly, everything happened so quickly. In one breath, I was wrestling for oxygen. In the next breath, I saw dizzy spots and struck the ground hard. I earned a lovely shiner, too. “I will be okay.”

Josh’s tattooed finger tilted my chin. “You don’t look okay.” He assessed the red puffiness around my eye, which had darkened two shades since I caught the end of the cafe’s wooden coffee table. “It’s sore.”

I chewed my lower lip. “It’s fine.”

“Alexa.” He kneaded the back of his neck. “Listen, the syndicate is worried about you. Shit, I’m worried about you.”

Tears formed in my eyes.

“He will come home.” His hand absentmindedly worked the knots in my shoulder. “It’ll take more than a bunch of crackbrained bootlickers to hold Warren down.”

I blew out a choppy breath. “I hate the thought of him in a cell. Alone.”

His lips met in a tight line. “He’d opt for solitude. It beats unwanted company.”

Yes, Liam would rather be left with his thoughts to contend with. Still, knowing he slept in a small, unaired room, with heavy-duty bolts on the door and unbreakable bars in the window, sickened me to the core.

My husband is strong, physically, mentally and emotionally, but confinement is enough to send anyone around the bend. Years of slumming it for Liam are long forgotten. Deprivation might evoke distressing memories.

Of course, I dreaded the worst. Liam can wreak havoc, lose his temper and become violent if harrowed. Yet, now, more than ever, he had to master self-restraint. Alas, adopting a new personality is easier said than done. He will not change. He will lose control, and I am utterly helpless from beyond prison walls.

“Here.” Brad hurled a protein bar at me. “No,” he berated, and, bemused, I paused with the bar almost tucked into my jean’s pocket. “Eat it now, not later. Bossman has enough on his plate. He shouldn’t have stress over his wife’s fucking wellbeing.”

My mouth fell open. “Fuck you, asshole.”

Ripping the toothpick out of his mouth, he kvetched for no apparent reason. “Just eat the bastard protein bar, Alexa.”

I lunged it at his chest. “You do not get to tell me what to do.”

He kicked the bar across the garage. “She is such a stubborn bitch.”

Alfie winced.

“Yeah?” My hand thrust his chest. “And you are a spoiled brat.”

Stomping toward the entrance, he muttered under his breath, “It takes one to know one.”

My nostrils flared.

Stepping out of a heeled Louboutin, I lobbed it at his back.

His entire body stiffened.

My shoe crashed on the floor.

“How about this?” I put my hands to my hips. “I’ll start eating more when you flush the drugs down the toilet.”

Brad snarled at me.

“Come on, guys.” Josh’s hands lifted between us. “This is not us. If you fight, you’ll regret it later.”

Blond Suit scoffed. “Highly fucking doubtful.”

I scoffed back. “Ditto.”

Josh made a strange noise in the back of his throat. “Did I miss something?”

My upper lip curled. “Brad being his typical self.”

“Not Alexa refusing to eat again,” Brad fired back. “The woman fainted a few hours ago and blamed stress. It has nothing to do with her gauntness. Isn’t that right, Alexa? Correct me if I am wrong.”

I refused to cry in front of him. “You are wrong.”

Josh and Alfie had a silent conversation.

Picking up the bar on the floor, Brad, tearing the wrapper with his teeth, marched toward me.

My blood boiled. “If you put—” He snatched my jaw, pried my lips open and attempted to ram chocolate gunk in my mouth. “Brad, I will beat the living shit out of you!”

“Fucking eat already!” His angry voice shook me to the bone. The mangled-up protein bar whacked my hand. “Quit being so difficult, Alexa!”

Chewing chunks in morose silence, I clutched the torn bar, watching Brad abscond the garage with a lump in my throat. And then, the poor guards had to endure his never-ending verbal onslaught as he yelled orders across the front garden.

Josh was not responsible for Brad’s impertinent behaviour, yet he slid me an apologetic smile. “Brad’s a little overburdened.”

I rubbed the moisture from my eyes. “Distressed or not, he had no right to humiliate me like that.” Accepting a silk napkin from Alfie, I wiped melted chocolate off my lips. “Shall we continue?”

“Alright.” Brad clapped loudly at the entryway to get everyone’s attention. “Break time is over, ladies. Let’s get everything underground.”

Taking a moment to calm down, I squatted by my handbag for a quick sip of water.

Alfie crouched beside me. “Are you okay, Ma’am?”

I nodded.

His smile was grim. “Would you like me to do anything?”

“Just help the men,” I said quietly. “Please.”

He grasped the nape of my neck for a firm, reassuring squeeze, and then he fell into line with the others.

Dumping the water bottle in the bag, I rubbed my clammy hands on the back of my jeans and, with bated breath, placed a palm on the stonework wall tile for the biometric fingerprint detector to disengage the lock. The undulated marble floor disconnected in the middle, uncloaking the garage’s secret staircase and subterranean vault.

The men descended into the Manor’s abysmal depths to bury transported documentation, illicit goods and personal belongings.

From across the garage, I caught Brad in my sights. Just as quickly, his gaze changed course, and he signalled for everyone to move it along.

The men exhausted every ounce of energy they had, alternatively carrying heavy boxes below, stacking them in neat piles against the concrete wall.

Sliding Liam’s leather gloves into a clear bag, I handed them to Josh. “Put those somewhere safe. He will look for them once he gets out.”

Brad whistled. “Close it up!”

Palming the unviewable touchpad, I authorised the floor interconnection.

Years of hard work were concealed beneath the Manor.

Every vehicle returned to its rightful place.

Obstruction of justice is bittersweet.

I felt oddly satisfied by our attempt to outmanoeuvre the police, but at the same time, guilty for hiding everything that is Liam.

“Clean the vehicles,” I said, and two members of the syndicate stepped forward. “Liam’s exposition of cars is merely for display purposes.” My fingertips drew a heart on the Maserati’s bonnet, where minerals from dirty rainwater blemished the steel grey exterior. “David Michaels will look for unusual activity. He will know that we moved them to hide something.”

My heels echoed as I strolled outdoors. Sunrise was among us, the sky a cold, picturesque pallet of blues and lilacs scattered upon a soaring burnt orange sun. I tilted my head back to feel the wind in my hair, to seek comfort in a moment’s breather. Peace and quiet lasted for ten seconds before the final transit van rolled down the driveway. A man in all denim jumped down from the high vehicle.

Yawning behind a hand, I fished the folded cheque in my back pocket and handed it to our hired help. “Do they bite?”

He tucked the cheque in his frayed leather wallet. “Only by command.”

I shivered. “I’m scared of dogs.”

“You should be.” Unlocking the van’s backdoor, he wiggled his fingers into latex gloves. “Do you want to lure these babies out, or should I?”

Pulling on a pair of gloves, I extracted a thick slab of raw, bloody steak from the container he left on the floor, the crimson juices dolloping on the concrete. “I need them to like me.”

“Bruno is my favourite.” He opened the van’s double doors fully. “Hold the meat up high and click your tongue.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brad yanked my ponytail. “Give me that—”

“I am more than capable, Brad.” God, he is driving me crazy. “Just stand there and look pretty.”

He listened, albeit he stood in front of me.

Inhaling a lungful of air, I clicked my tongue. “Bruno.” Through the darkness, I saw a pair of vicious eyes and razor-sharp teeth, where saliva dribbled from gnarled lips. “He looks friendly.”

Posing a deadly threat, Bruno, the chain-collared guard dog, graced us with his alpha presence. He was powerful, thick-skinned and frothing from the mouth.

Holy shit.

Raising the meat high, I clicked my tongue.

With a spine-shattering bark, he pushed off his back legs and, while I squinted and squealed, his teeth sank into the steak. My eyes opened in time to watch him drop onto all-fours. He ripped into the snack like a starved animal, one that hadn’t eaten for months. His tongue fluttered across his wide mouth, lapping up blood as he stared up at me.

I patted his head. “Good doggy.”

The guy whistled loudly for Bruno’s friends to come out and join us. The hyperactive dogs jumped out of the van for their trainer to feed them.

Honestly, I was taken aback by their temperament. Yes, they looked scary—I bet they could snap me in half with one bite—but they were also very tame and easily controlled.

“My advice?” The guy flipped his ball cap backwards. “I would leave six roaming the gardens and put eight indoors.”

I kneeled to rub the spot behind Bruno’s ears. “Does he work better alone?”

He sparked a cigarette. “Yes.”

“I want him in the garage,” I said calmly as the dog licked between my fingers. “He’s so big.”

“Roman Rottweiler.” He patted Bruno’s back. “He’s a giant.”

Brad rocked back on the heels of his shoes. “You can leave.”

“Oh, yeah,” the guy stuttered. “I’ll swing by tomorrow to pick them up.”

Attaching the chain to Bruno’s collar, I walked him toward the garage. “You better make those bluecoats squeal, Bruno.”

Detective David Michals arrived at the Manor four hours later, his entourage in tow, and slapped a search warrant on my hand, as predicted. While the metropolitan police department turned my house upside down, I sat on the front step with a mug of lukewarm coffee. I sipped to the sound of their raised, frustrated voices. Every now and then, suited men strolled past with boxes of evidence, storing them in the back of police vehicles.

Bruno barked savagely from the garage. Of course, the prowling dog was not enough to hinder the officers’ search, but his merciless, blood-thirsty growls most definitely sped up the process. In actuality, the cowards practically sprinted through the cars to evade Bruno’s ferocity. When they finally reappeared, with only one box between them, Bruno got comfortable by the entrance, his eyes trained in on them as they teetered across the manicured lawn.

“Bruno, I might keep you,” I whispered into the mug.

From my vantage point, I saw David’s shoes before he towered before me. “What in God’s name did you do?” He wore a bulletproof vest over his white shirt. “I went to the club and the restaurant. I combed through the casino. Mrs Warren, I conducted a search and found fuck all.”

“Do not raise your voice at me.” Leaving the mug on the step, I stood up. “You found nothing because my husband is innocent..”

His face was mere inches from mine. “Hindering the prosecution is illegal.”

My teeth flashed a wicked smile. “I have committed no crimes.”

“Why would you protect him?” He stared at me in utter disgust. “Where is your compassion for the victims?”

I could not see Brad or Josh, but I felt their scrutiny from inside the Manor, where they listened to our squabble from behind the ajar door. “My husband is innocent.”

“You need help,” he said, and he meant it. “He brainwashed you, Mrs Warren. You are not endangered anymore.” He palmed my arms. “I can help you. With me at your side, we can send him away for a very, very long time.”

I peeled his fingers off my arms. “If you finished the search, I want you to leave.”

“Is that the result of his temper?” He pointed at my sore eye. “Does he still hurt you?”

My head eased back a touch. “What did Blaire tell you?”

David was suddenly guarded. “Enough to make me concerned for your wellbeing.”

“Do not entertain his bullshit, Alexa,” Nate, who had appeared from nowhere, slid his arm across my shoulders. “You got everything you were looking for, Detective?”

David only looked at me. “Who gave you a black eye?”

“I did,” I argued, and his head shook. “Not that it’s any of your business. Now, if you are quite finished with this ridiculous search, I’d like you to leave the premises.”

David was not ready to leave. “Where did you dump it?”

I feigned cluelessness. “Dump what?”

His face was red and freckled. “Where did you hide the documents from Club 11?”

Tapping my chin with a red-polished fingernail, I pretend to think. “Down the toilet.”

“You will regret this, Mrs Warren.” He chucked an envelope at me before he stomped toward the horde of police vehicles.

No, I regretted nothing.

I will unleash hell on earth to protect my husband’s empire.

Tearing through the envelope, I re-entered the Manor.

Nate closed the door behind us. “You good?”

I eyed his begrimed shirt and muddied face. “Where did you go?”

“I exhumed bodies.” His fingers scrubbed grass stains from his cheek. “If Blaire leads bluecoats to burial grounds? Shit, it ain’t worth the risk.”

Knowing Nate had to dig up corpses for disposal left a bitter taste in my mouth. Yes, the removal of bodies was reassuring, but it’s unfair. He shouldn’t have to do something so gruesome because of the traitorous bitch. “Are you okay?”

Nate pulled a disgruntled face. “Not really.”

I tugged the sleeve of my blouse. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I ain’t worried about Blaire.” His lips pursed. “Do you believe them?”

I understand the question. Truthfully, though, I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Blaire has proven to be a spinner of lies too many times to enumerate.

“I don’t want her kid, Alexa.” He looked on the verge of a mental breakdown. “I just don’t fucking want it.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions yet. For all we know, Blaire’s not even pregnant.” Unfolding the letter, I read the first paragraph. “Oh, God.”

His eyes dipped to the paper. “What?’

“It’s Liam’s plea and trial preparation hearing next week.” My stomach knotted. “It’s starting to feel real, Nate.”

He took the letter for a quick read. “It’s okay. The judge will set a court date, and then Carl can work his magic.”

My temples throbbed. “I might go and lie down.”

Nate’s chin jerked. “We’ll call if we need you.”

I spent two hours in the bath, an entire bottle of vodka on the marble counter. Turning on the hot tap with my toe, I added extra bubbles to the water and watched them fizzle along the warm surface. Touching the puffiness around my swollen eye, I lowered further into the watery depths, feeling empty inside.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

I blinked. “Who is it?”

“Sugar tits,” Brad said meekly. “So, can I come in for a second?”

“Give me a moment.” I gathered foamy suds to cover my non-existent breasts. “Okay.”

Gingerly cracking the door open, Brad peered into the en-suite. “Are you decent?”

I nodded.

Locking the door behind him, he placed his back to the wall and slid onto his backside. His unbuttoned shirt hung loosely on his broad shoulders. “About earlier,” he whispered, uncapping a bottle of Macallan. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I turned off the hot water with my toe.

“I’m stressed, anxious, concerned, sad—the list is bastard endless.” His jaw sharpened. “It’s been us for a long time.”

My folded arms rested on the edge of the bath. “How did you meet each other, Brad?”

“Right place at the right time.” He sipped from the bottle. “I have never looked back.”

A single tear fell down my cheek.

“Warren saved me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “He’s kept me sane ever since.” He lifted my wrist to his lips for a chaste kiss. “It’s all pointless without him.”

“Liam saved all of us.” I threaded our fingers together. “It’s time we returned the favour.”

Brad ignored the tear on his cheek.

If my husband’s second in command falls to pieces, where does that leave the institution?

Reaching for the towel, I held it in front of me as I climbed out of the bath and knotted it around my body. “Save your tears for the pillow, Brad.” He soared to his feet until his presence towered above me. “Liam needs us more than ever. We cannot allow heartbreak to fail him.”

His expression darkened. “I am angry.”

“Good,” I said fiercely. “Use that anger to prevail.”

CHAPTER SIXTY

Alexa

I switched to autopilot. Flashing lights deprived sight, and members of the press roared uncountable questions, slandering my husband, making damaging statements about his reputation.

Raising the clutch bag to conceal my face, I fused to Brad’s side as his outstretched arm warded off investigative encroachment.

Tears shaped into unpreventable droplets behind black tinted sunglasses, exuding into rivulets of wretchedness on my cheeks.

Each step toward the Central Criminal Court enervated my psyche for hopefulness, the building’s gilded Statue of Justice casting judgment as I feared the prosecution’s vanquishment of the defence counsel.

Pessimistic thoughts painted a formidably vivid image of my future, where undying love faded into distant memories and ultimate loneliness greyed the final years of existence. Silently weeping in premature grief, I strode into the baroque style foyer, which very much resembled St Paul’s Cathedral with its series of axioms, biblical references, commemorating paintings and domelike ceilings. Rich marble floor tiles gracing footsteps, I removed the glasses from my eyes, slipped them into the bag and joined the debonair men in the middle of the Ancaster stone arches.

Brad Jones.

Vincent Warren.

Josh Fitzpatrick.

Nate Alzaim.

Jace Williams.

From my standpoint, I saw suited men near the wooden benches. I recognised Alfie, of course, and numerous night guards from the Manor, but there were unfamiliar faces, too. People I had never seen before. They were suited and booted, smartly dressed for the hearing, and they seemed to know everyone in attendance. “Who are those people?”

Josh followed my line of vision. “I don’t know, actually.”

I frowned. “Maybe Alfie can explain.”

Nate scrutinised the two tailored gentlemen closest to courtroom four. “Brad?”

“No idea.” Brad, too, watched the men interact intently. “Perhaps they are here for someone else.”

Josh’s hands rubbed together. “I’ll go and have a nose.”

While Josh sidled to the sharp-featured duo to tap into their private conversation, I repeatedly checked the main door. “Where is Reginald?”

Brad checked the time on his phone. “It’s not safe for him.”

Why is it unsafe for Reginald to show his face? I love these guys, but, as of late, they withheld vital information from me. Last night, when I was struggling to sleep, I roamed the Manor’s halls and overheard the Suits’ confidential discussion in the billiard room. Nate and Josh agreed with Brad’s notion of ‘the less said, the better, to protect their boss’s wife from distress’. I had to stop myself from entering the room and demanding answers. Instead, albeit uncharacteristic, I ebbed away in silence and forced myself to trust the process—to trust them. After all, Liam entrusted his closest men to do right by me. If I started to doubt them, then I doubted my husband.

Still, I felt bilious by the lies between us.

“Alexa, are you okay?” Jace kissed my forehead. “You don’t look too good.”

“I don’t know.” Everyone’s eyes were on me, so close and suffocatingly intrusive. “Am I alone?”

“What?” Brad shared a concerned look with his brothers. “Alexa, why would you think like that?”

“You lied to me,” I dared to say, and Vincent was the only man bold enough to sustain the fierceness in my eyes. “All of you.”

Vincent fixed his silver tie. “In order to lie, I’d have participated in The Brotherhood’s conspiracies. I was not invited to such gatherings, so your groundless accusations are objectionable.” He was annoyingly calm. “By all means, ask me something. I am not one to shirk the challenge.”

“What is everyone keeping from me?” My stare flickered to Brad. “I heard what you said. You told the men not to divulge. When I asked Reginald’s whereabouts, you answered ambiguously.”

Brad licked a toothpick from left to right.

I did not know whether to laugh or cry. “Vincent?”

“Reginald Burton is not permitted to be anywhere near my brother’s case,” he answered honestly. “It would seem that one of the witnesses informed the metropolitan of Liam’s and Burton’s unlawful association.”

“Vincent.” Brad’s face was red with anger. “A word.”

“That’s not necessary.” Vincent’s hands slipped into his trouser pockets. “I will not lie to my brother’s wife because you are too pusillanimous to bite the bullet.”

“It is not about cowardice.” Brad grew agitated. “Warren will go on a fucking rampage behind prison walls if concerned for Alexa.”

I scoffed in disbelief. “Liam dwells in an unenlightened manifestation.”

Brad’s belligerence turned to me. “Surely, you are not that stupid.”

“Guys.” Jace strived to calm everyone down. “People are watching.”

“Fuck them.” Brad’s lips lowered to my ear. “Warren has people on the inside. They will report everything—and I mean everything—that happens out here to the boss.”

I breathed in deeply. “How can you be so sure?”

“Brad’s right.” Nate gave Vincent a haughty look of disdain before he spoke directly to me. “Until we touch base with the boss, we must consider all possibilities. Warren’s smart. He would have lined up hirelings the moment officers chucked him in the slammer.”

“Look, I get it.” Brad tried to reason with me. “You’re his wife. Vincent’s his brother. You guys know better than us, right?” His lips meshed. “Warren was a criminal before he married you. He was a criminal before his estranged brother surfaced. Now, I appreciate how disrespectful I will sound by speaking facts, but I am going to do it regardless. You know the better part of him, which I am thankful for because if anyone deserved some sense of normality in life, it was him. You do not know how his mind operates, though. I do. I have been in his corner since the very beginning. If I tell you, the boss has an informant in his pocket? You better believe it. If I tell you, the boss will not survive if he fears your wellbeing? You better fake smile and walk into the courtroom with your head held high. If you want to challenge me at every corner, do not come to me with tears in your eyes when he self-destructs.”

My mouth opened and closed.

How could I argue the matter?

He is right. And I had to respect that.

“Okay.” Josh reappeared with a spring in his step. “Russian.”

“Russian?” Brad’s forehead creased. “Are you certain?”

Josh’s jaw shifted. “Strong accent.”

“Russians,” Nate drawled. “Are they here for Warren?”

“One of them mentioned Warren’s name,” Josh explained as everyone eyed the men in question. “I caught snippets about their younger brother, too.”

Brad chewed his thumbnail. “Did you get any names?”

“Nikolai and Alessio,” Josh said behind an inked hand. “And they are watching us right now.”

“Noteworthy,” Brad said in a low, commanding voice. “Jot it down.”

Unlocking his phone, Nate tapped details into a password locked app. “Do you want me to put someone on them?”

“Yeah.” Brad’s hand brushed tendrils of hair off his forehead. “Peace of mind.”

Vincent was unflappable. “I can do it.”

Brad was disgusted by the concept. “We don’t need your help, Vincy Boy.”

“I offer my services.” The younger Warren brother’s eyes rolled. “Why must you be so stubborn, Jones? We mightn’t like each other very much, but we are on the same side.”

Brad was overloaded with responsibilities. He had no time for something as menial as two potential foes. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. “But if you don’t keep me in the loop? Forget future alliances. I will never work alongside you again.”

Vincent delivered a curt nod. “You have my word.”

“All Parties in Warren to court one,” a feminine voice spoke into the tannoy, which echoed throughout the majestic foyer. “I repeat, all parties in Warren to court one.”

My feet cemented to the ground. “I am not ready.”

Brad’s hands hugged my shoulders from behind before our fingers interlaced. “Move it along, sugar tits.”

Nate’s knuckles grazed my chin. “You got this, Mrs Warren.”

Briefly shutting my eyes, I breathed in an air of encouragement and led the men to the appointed courtroom. Eerie silence stretched across the oak-panelled room as I became seated on the left-hand side’s wooden benches beside the media and the dour faces of the public. Carl sat opposite the Judge’s bench alongside an unrecognisable male. Both men wore black long-sleeved gowns and barrister wigs to represent the Queen’s Counsel. Detective David Michaels sat behind his assigned barrister with an unreadable expression. Not once did he make eye contact. He scrubbed up well, though. He chose a royal blue three-piece and tan leather shoes for the occasion.

My eyes went to the empty dock in search of Liam. “Where is he?”

Brad’s hand squeezed my bobbing knee. “Breathe.”

I released the breath I was holding. Individually, I glanced at the men. I found Vincent already watching me.

“Crown versus Warren.” The Clerk’s black gown mirrored the counsel. “All rise.”

Everyone stands upon the Judge’s entrance. He was an older male in a black satin gown and full-bottomed wig. His head dipped, and benches creaked as everyone became seated once more. Relaxing in the leather wingback chair, he put on silver-framed glasses, scoured the courtroom and banged the gavel. “Parties in the case of Liam Warren.”

My erratic heartbeat threatened cardiac arrest. I wiped the beaded sweat at my brow and lifted my gaze to coincide with the dock’s opening door. Liam joined the room behind protective glass with two officers, his arms handcuffed by the wrists behind his back. He stood in front of the chair. His stare was steadfast on the Judge.

Brad pinched the gap between his eyes. “Shit.”

My restless panic re-emerged. “What?”

The Clerk asked, “Are you Liam Warren?”

Liam’s face was impassive. “Yes.”

“Mr Warren, did you admit to possession of an illegal firearm?”

My husband nodded. “Yes.”

“Forty-one-year-old Kreshnik Bektashi was shot six times before authorities arrived at the crime scene.”

The Suits exchanged glances in evident confusion.

“He died three days later in hospital.” The Clerk studied notes. “The Colt Combat Elite Government 9mm magazine-fed recoil-operated pistol matched the extracted bullet’s from Mr Bektashi’s chest and the castings uncovered at the crime scene.”

Evoked by troubling memories, I found Jace’s stare, and we had a silent conversation.

“Where are you?” I pressed the blue button, and I stared at myself, standing inside this room, vulnerable and alone. Behind me, in the doorway, was a tall silhouette.

My eyes squeezed shut.

“Get away from me,” I screamed, spinning and impaling his face with the gun.

Groaning on impact, he capitalised on my mechanical rashness, seized my wrist, knocked the Colt from my hand, and spear tackled me to the ground.

Whacking my head on the coffee table, I sprawled out on the ground in transient feverishness. His weight crushed my frame. His breath was warm to my cheek, the stench of stale cigarettes. “Ai do të jetë i kënaqur,” he groaned, wrapping a meaty hand around my throat. “Por është shumë shpejt.” He disarmed me, tossing the spare Colt onto the sofa. “Alexa Haines. It’s been too long.”

Salvation and mitigation were virtually non-existent here. I gasped, bucking beneath him in a useless attempt to gain the upper hand.

Blurry-eyed and frozen in fear, I heard the familiar sound of a clanking belt buckle and violently thrashed my head.

The room span and darkness…

My eyes snapped open.

“Mr Warren pleaded guilty to first-degree murder, aggravated criminal damage and aggravated arson.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “No—”

Brad’s hand covered my mouth. “Alexa.”

“No,” I mumbled, pulling his fingers down from my lips. “Why would he admit to someone else’s crimes? Brad, something is not right. The Colt—

“Not someone else’s,” he growled in my ear. “Yours. Now be quiet.”

“I have to do something. I must be held accountable.” I stood in haste, but the man yanked me down to the bench by the wrist. “Brad, I will never forgive myself.”

“Warren and emasculation do not belong in the same sentence.” He thumbed tears from under my eyes. “You will be incarcerated for self-incrimination.”

I was utterly devastated.

“Liam Warren, you are charged with dealing in firearms, making threats to kill, putting people in fear of violence and living on earnings of prostitution. You are charged with false imprisonment, rape and sexual assault.”

“Oh, God,” I whimpered into splayed fingers.

“You are charged with procurement of intercourse by threats,” The Clerk added, “and procurement of a girl under the age of twenty-one.”

“What girl?” I asked, and the men masked discomfiture. “Who is the girl?”

Brad cursed. “Alexa, I don’t know. Just be quiet.”

“You are charged with multiple murders: Kathy Haines and Hellen Bennet.”

“What?” My sister’s face flashed before my eyes. “How do they know about Kathy?”

Vincent moved to my side. “Angel.” His arm slid behind my back. “You need to breathe.”

“Our former Mayor of London, Mr Larry Fagan. Public figures, Mr and Mrs Bajramovic, Flamur and Zamira. Mr Angelo Moretti and Mr Diego Serafini contrary to common law.” The Clerk turned the pace. “You are charged with aggravated burglary using weapons of offence and firearms, taking vehicles and other conveyances without authority, which effectuated the Safety Deposit Limited Heist and resulted in mass murder.” He mouthed names of victims, but all I heard was the overpowering thud of blood in my ears. “Mr Warren, how do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?”

Liam looked imperturbable. “Not guilty.”

Members of the public sobbed in dismay.

“Your honour.” The prosecutor rose to his feet. “I request for the indictment to be put forward again.”

The Judge eased back in the leather wing chair. “Can you confirm your plea, Mr Warren?”

Liam’s head raised. “Not guilty.”

Vomit forced its way up my throat. Snatching the clutch purse on the bench, I staggered down from the two wooden steps and exited the courtroom to the sound of the Judge’s baritone voice.

I located the restroom at a rapid speed, locked the cubicle door behind me and fell to my knees. Emptying this morning’s coffee down the toilet, I alternated between violent intervals of vomit and sobbing inconsolably. I am blameworthy for the majority of those charges. It should be me inside the dock, not my Liam.

Using scrunched-up tissue to wipe my lips, I chucked it down the toilet and pulled the flush.

Getting a handle on my breathing, I unlocked the door and stationed myself in front of the mirror. I resembled a sick, frail old woman on her deathbed. Washing my hands with soapy water, I dried them, effaced the smudged mascara under my eyes and hunted the bag for chewing gum. Popping three minty sticks in my mouth, I fixed my appearance, leaving open the top gold button of my cream blouse. Loose strands of hair fell from the updo bun. Adding two bobby pins to keep the unruliness at bay, I sprayed fragrance to my wrists and neck. “Sort your shit out.”

I opened the restroom door and immediately clapped my eyes on the Suits. They were waiting for me in the middle of the foyer, but Detective Donny Stevens eyeballed me from the shaded alcove. Ever so subtly, his head tilted to the side, a silent order to follow.

With one final glance at the suited men, I adjusted the hem of my black pencil skirt and skulked toward the fleeing man. He left the courthouse through the side entrance.

Stepping out beneath miserable skies, I rubbed the chill from my arms, the heels of my shoes clicking against the concrete pavement.

Puffs of smoke wafted between us as he smoked a cigarette. Double-checking his surroundings, he tossed the cigarette on the floor, slipped into a matte black Porsche and fired the engine.

Tucking the clutch under my arm, I kept my head down, opened the passenger side door and collapsed onto the leather seat.

His foot eased onto the accelerator. “Long time no see.”

“Right.” Palming the phone, I sent Brad a short text message, asking him to meet me at the Manor. “You waited for me.”

“Yes.” He steered behind a white transit vehicle. “So, Warren pleaded guilty.”

“Liam did not plead guilty to everything.” My chest ached. “How long are we talking?”

Donny threaded the steering wheel through ringed fingers. “He hasn’t faced trial yet.”

“This is bullshit,” I muttered angrily. “I hate Blaire. I expected her to come at me. But not Liam. None of this makes any sense.”

He dropped into third gear. “There are other witnesses.”

My head pounded at the temples. “Who are the other witnesses?”

His lips pursed. “Michaels got them under lock and key.”

“And what’s his problem?” My legs crossed over at the knees. “His bitterness? Hell, it was personal, Don.”

He stopped at the red traffic light.

I stared at the white transit vehicle in front of the Porsche. Understanding tugging a smile to my lips, I sat straighter and pointed. “Is that what I think it is?”

“I can’t believe you only just noticed.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “You owe me dinner.”

Excitement calmed frantic breathing. “Oh, God.” Checking my reflection in a compact mirror, I zipped the clutch bag and left it on the floor. “Do I look okay?”

“You look like Alexa.” When the transit rolled onto the side of the road, Donny pulled in behind it. “You only got five minutes.”

Leaning in to place a chaste kiss on his cheek, I pushed open the door and stepped onto the asphalt.

An officer jumped down from behind the wheel, his leather boots kicking up dust particles as he moved to the back of the vehicle. Unlocking the double doors, he gestured for me to climb inside. “Hurry up.”

I felt his large hands on my waist as I climbed into the back.

Liam sat on the grey bench, his arms still locked behind his back, the seatbelt fastened around his chest. I touched his shoulder before lowering to my knees before him. “Liam,” I whispered, and his eyes cracked open. “Hey.”

A slight smirk twitched his lips. “Hey.” His arms tensed as he tried to pull them forward. “I can’t touch you.”

I palmed his stubbled jaw. “I can touch you.”

His forehead fell to mine. “I missed you.”

“Yes,” I croaked, warm tears pouring down my cheeks. “I missed you, too.” When his soft lips almost grazed mine, I turned my head. “I vomited.”

“I don’t care.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Tell me you are okay.”

Remembering what Brad had said, I faked a smile. “It will take more than metal bars to keep us apart.”

“Indeed,” he rasped, his throaty voice scattering horripilation over my skin. “No questions. I only have you for five minutes.”

I had a lot to say, but for him, I bit my tongue. “Logan gained six pounds.”

Liam’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“In muscle,” I assured him. “Nate has him in the gym every night.” My arms enveloped his neck, and he kissed my shoulder. “Can I ask one question?”

Adoration dilated his eyes. “You wouldn’t be Alexa if you didn’t demand more.”

“How long until I see you again?”

“Four weeks.” His stare roamed over my features. “For the trial?”

“Oh.” I suppressed sadness. “Can I visit you in prison until then?”

His head dropped against the headrest. “Not yet.”

“What?” Disappointment weighed heavily on my chest. “Why not?”

He smirked wolfishly. “That’s another question.”

I looked away.

“Come here,” he said hoarsely, and I clung to his shoulders to straddle his thighs. “Let’s make some promises.”

I shot him a double-take. “I thought making promises was beneath you.”

His bottom lip rolled between his teeth. “I’ll go first. No matter what happens, I promise it will always be you.”

My lips wobbled. “Why does it sound like goodbye, Liam?”

“It’s never goodbye.” His nose nudged mine. “At least, not for us.”

“One minute,” the officer shouted from outside.

Sliding my hands around Liam’s neck, I kissed each cheek, each eyelid, the tip of his nose, and then, I pressed a kiss to his lips. “No matter what happens, I promise to do everything in my power until you are a free man again.”

“I know.” His smile was proud. “I never doubted you, baby.”

Unable to hold back tears, I lowered my head to his chest and sobbed silently into his shirt. His chin rested on my head as he whispered familiar lyrics from our last dance together. His irregular heartbeat synchronised mine. “Strangers in the night, exchanging glances. Wandering in the night. What were the chances?” He inhaled the scent of perfume from the column of my neck, the stubble of his jaw grazing my cheek. “We’d be sharing love before the night was through. Something in your eyes was so inviting.” My head tilted, and our gazes collided. “Something in your smile.”

I smiled, and we both laughed.

“Something in my heart,” I said as the pad of my finger drew a heart across his chest, “told me I must have you.”

His expression became serious. “Baby, I am in love with you.”

“I know.” My thumb swept over his lips, and he caught the tip with his teeth. “I feel it when you look at me.”

The officer banged the door. “I need to get back on the road.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” I said quietly. “I want to take you home.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.” His eyes were lost on me for a moment. “It’s you, I worry about.”

My brow arched. “I’ll be fine.”

He was unconvinced.

Of course, he did not believe me. He knows, deep down, I will fall apart without him.

“And I love you,” I said belatedly, and his breath came out harsh. “Always you.”

The officer banged the door twice.

“I’m coming.” My hand touched Liam’s cheek, and his head turned to nuzzle into my embrace. He left a long, searing kiss to the underside of my wrist before his teeth sank into my skin hard enough to break the seal. “Will you call?”

Liam’s lips kissed away the pain he had inflicted. “Yes.”

I was on the brink of more tears. Closing my eyes, I grasped the nape of his neck, kissed the crease between his furrowed brows and turned before I could witness the heartbreak in his eyes.

“Baby,” he called, but I kept my back to him. “You look beautiful.”

Tears coated my lips. “You always say that.”

Looking back was unnecessary.

I knew he smiled.

“That’s because I always fucking mean it.” Laughing to hide anguish, I kissed the tip of my fingers and bid him farewell. It hurt to leave Liam behind. I walked toward Donny’s parked vehicle on shaky legs. He saw the pain, the devastation. He climbed out of the car in time to capture me in his arms.