Page 1 of The Beast of London & His Pet

Chapter 1

Alessio

While my men continued to discuss possible solutions to our turf war, my eyes were glued to the nightclub feed. A leather-clad woman was sneaking something to a man and he paid her money. The item was tiny and I concluded that it could only be drugs. I went on my phone and sent the picture to the head bouncer on my team.

Me:Who the fuck is she?

His response was instant.

Andrew:That’s Frannie. She is a regular, a nice girl.

I slapped a hand over my forehead and squeezed my skull in the hope that this was a dream and my employees weren't all thick bastards.

“What’s wrong?” Nero asked in his usual gruff voice.

“Come and look at this,” I asked my enforcer and replayed the clip.

“The fucking bitch is dealing in your club,” he said and just like that Nero’s comment set my world straight again.

“Go pick her up, take her phone and ID. I want her in my fucking office, NOW!” I said, ending up yelling, unable to control my soaring anger.

I ran my fingers through my hair only to feel the pulsating vein at the side of my head. Nero vanished, leaving Armandoand Silvio staring at me. She could be working for the Albanians, Polish or Romanians but rather than torture her I wanted to send her back to them piece by fucking piece.

“Silvio, get the plastic out and put it on the couch for our guest,” I said as I reached down to get my gun and plastic ties out.

Life used to be so easy in my grandfather's era. Now we were getting criminal rings from every European country in London. When I took over the family business, I made sure everyone knew of my reputation. I wasn't called the beast of London for my looks.

I messaged Andrew again.

Me:She was selling.

Andrew:She isn't that kind of girl. I've never seen her leave the club with a man.

I glanced at my second.

“Fire Andrew and hire someone who has a fucking brain in their skull,” I snapped at Armando.

“Hey, are you listening to me? This is civilian brutality. I demand that you unhand me,” a piercing voice screeched.

The door opened and Nero held the witch by the scruff of her black leather jacket. He saw the gun and ties on my desk while she continued to free herself from his grip. He frog-marched her toward me. She had long dark brown wavy hair and bright green eyes. Her skin wasn't white like the natives but an olive colour. The Polish wouldn't use someone like her as a drug peddler. They would have her working on the streets. This left the Romanians or the Albanians.

Nero pushed her face down on my desk while he tied her hands behind her back. Her eyes were on my gun and she looked up at me wide-eyed while Nero went through her pockets.

“Hey. Oi, are you deaf, you fucker? This is an invasion of privacy. I do not fucking consent to being pawed. Are any of you assholes listening to me? I do not consent.”

Nero calmly put the pills, phone, money and two plastic cards on my desk before lifting her by her hair and sitting her down on the plastic covered couch. I didn’t want to kill a woman no matter how angry I was. She was tiny and it wasn’t a fair fight.

I lifted her card and did a double-take at her name.

Francesca Nardini.

She was Italian. It explained why she was a mouthy little bitch. We tended to be high-strung. I would know.

“This is digging into my hands, you asshole.”

I wondered if this was why my father told me always to carry a handkerchief. I handed the red cloth to Nero, who stuffed it into her mouth, but she spat it out again.

“I am going to report you. You big stinking ugly bastard. What kind of scent are you wearing? Dog pi—” she ranted but Nero stuffed the hankie back into her mouth cutting off her barrage of abuse.

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