Cassius makes it his business to know who is gets involved with. You don’t become notorious without making the right moves. After taking out his opposition, he’ll be the unchallenged kingpin in London. In all of England. But he needs to move fast to align the pieces.
But what about the piece he never counted on? What about Jazmin?
After the tragic loss of her husband, Jazmin never believed she would be whole again. Then Cassius made all the right moves.
Can Jazmin love again, or is this just too good to be true? Can Cassius make her understand the dangerous game he plays?
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I wait in the hotel lobby for my husband to arrive. He’s been in business meetings all morning, but he still makes the time to see me for lunch. His devotion is even more impressive because we’re coming up on our tenth anniversary in a few weeks. I don’t know what he’ll be planning for that. He treats me like a queen anyway, so how he can top his daily show of adoration is a mystery I’m looking forward to unravelling. I have everything I need, and more. Neither of us came from money — that’s what I love about him. When we met, he’d already made a solid career for himself: he was what’s considered a success, with the fast cars and lavish lifestyle, but when he found me waiting his table, he didn’t worry about my status, just straight up asked me out.
How could a girl refuse? Not only is he one heck of a good-looking guy, with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen, but we meet for lunch every Wednesday. My husband will arrange his work calendar around our regular date which means that we have private space without impinging on our time with the kids. That’s a man worth keeping.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I don’t like to keep it on a ringtone when I’m in such an upscale place. We’ve all seen those crass individuals shouting on their phones like it’s still the 80s, and I will not be that person. Pulling out the handset, I see, without disturbing everyone else, that it’s my husband. I answer, whispering a quiet, “Hello.”
“Hello, darling. I’m sorry I’m late.”
“It’s fine, my love. I know you’re busy.” I check my diamond-encrusted timepiece, which matches his. “You’re not late anyway, sweetie. You still have a few minutes.”
It would have been a surprise if he were late, because other than issues with traffic, he is never late. He sees it as a lack of respect to keep people waiting who have given up their time to be with him.
“I’m outside. I’m just jumping out of a taxi. I’ll be with you in a second.”
“Great, I’ll come out and meet you.” I stand while still talking to him, stepping out of the lobby and assessing the London traffic on the street below the five stone steps that lead to the entrance. I see him sliding out of a black cab, paying the driver with a wave as he leaves him the tip the driver expected but never asked for.
I stand there helpless as he turns. The turn moves him directly into the path of a double-decker bus swerving to miss a tourist aimlessly stepping out in front of it.
The bus doesn’t even have a chance to squeal a tire before it railroads into him.
And still I stand there, watching in slow motion as his head smashes against the windscreen. His blood and his brains and the whites of his eyes make an impact as they were never intended to, and my husband slides down under the bus.
The world screams around me, a flurry of over-busy people with over-busy lives not knowing how to react, but needing to check items off their to-do lists so they will be able to sleep that night.
But all the while I stand there, watching, unable to believe what I already know in my heart.