Criminal Casanova

Chapter 1

Benjamin

Wood’s Writing Emporium, or simply, “The Emporium,” as ninety percent of Twyford, Winchester refers to it, is still dark as I approach. So much for Janice opening up this morning. The woman is as trustworthy as a Nigerian prince wanting to send me twenty million quid via email.

How I wish Clive would hire someone with an ounce of competency.

But noooo, old muggins here has to put up with a woman who’s older than sliced bread and couldn’t care less about running a bookshop—just because Clive nobbled her niece twenty years ago and is still paying for it.

Actually, I’m the one paying the price, considering I have to pick up Janice’s slack.

Hey-ho, just another wonderful day for me. At least I get to unbox a few new releases today and then read them this evening. That’s enough to get me through the working day.

My phone chirps with a notification from my best friend.

It’s just a string of emojis I decipher in seconds because that’s our language now.

Ironic, really, how I work in a place that encapsulates and celebrates the English language, yet I opt for a book, teapot, and film emojis to communicate.

I’m an embarrassment to the books I so love.

The gist of the message is: Kevin will come round tonight for an evening of reading, tea, and a film that will only serve as background noise.

We are rockstars. Some may say we’re losers, but whatever.

I’d rather carve my eyeballs out with a spoon than go clubbing or raving.

Are those still things people do? Hmm, thoughts like that might be why my other best friend, Penny, calls me old, even though I’m mid-thirties.

Speaking of Penny, she has also messaged me an old granny emoji.

Rude. She knows Kevin and I intend to get our literary fiction on tonight, and is unsurprisingly disgusted.

She may like to gyrate next to sweaty people while hopped up on sugary alcopops, but that’s not me. Never has been, never will be.

You may wonder why we are friends. That’s easy. Penny is a loveable arse who saved me time and time again from school bullies. Really, our friendship shouldn’t work because we are very different, yet it does. She likes Kevin too. Occasionally, we all hang out, but mainly I see them separately.

I send her a face with tongue emoji in reply before pocketing my phone.

There are only ten minutes left until the shop is supposed to be open.

Nothing major would happen if I were a few seconds late.

It’s not like we have customers lining up outside, but I know for a fact we will have a few regular shoppers turning up to grab the new stock soon.

I unlock and go through the morning routine at double-time. As predicted, there are three regulars peering through the window as I approach to turn the sign that currently reads Closed to Open.

“Is the new Wallace Skipton book in?” Audrey asks the second the door opens.

“Waiting in the back for me to unbox,” I reply, smiling.

Audrey is probably my favourite customer. She’s completely batty about books. We’ve spent many a morning conversing about the latest murder mystery or “romantic panty dropper,” as she likes to call them.

In the distance, I see Janice wombling up the street like she’s not got a care in the world.

I can’t even say anything because she’ll make up some crap about me being ageist or something, which is laughable.

I guarantee I act older than her. She just pulls that particular card when she wants to get out of being responsible for something other than putting the kettle on.

Grumbling to myself, I turn and greet the other two shoppers. Melody and Jasmine are two young art students who are part of the local sapphic book club. I always let them know when something interesting comes in and, of course, we discuss it at length.

God, I love my job.

“Morning,” Janice calls. She’s as fake as her hair colour.

“Janice, you were scheduled to open up this morning.”

“Really? Well, bless my soul, I must have got jumbled up.”

My arse she did. I smile sweetly. “Never mind. You can close.”

“Oh, but…”

“I have a doctor appointment,” I lie. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Considering we have an audience, Janice smiles with thin lips, her eyes narrowing. “No, Benny, no problem at all.”

I grit my teeth because I detest it when she calls me Benny. Janice is just the worst.

Doing a quick breathing exercise, I push Janice and her bullshit to one side.

I have boxes of books to unload. We have two new thrillers, one romantic comedy, and one gay mafia.

I’ll leave Janice to do the thrillers. My sights are set on the rom-com and mafia books.

I love both genres, as does Kevin, which is why we pre-ordered a copy of both.

“Benjamin, is that it?” I hear Kevin squeal. I laugh because I should have known he wouldn’t be able to wait until this evening to get his hands on the new mafia book.

“Yes, it is, and I cannot believe you didn’t even last a couple of hours.”

Kevin smiles brightly, crazy curls surround his bespectacled face.

I’ve never met someone with such wild hair.

It’s also the blackest black I’ve ever seen.

I’m pretty sure it actually absorbs light.

I was just flipping through a new art book about the mafia-level artist feud over the rights to use the blackest black, but honestly, I still think Kev’s hair could give Anish Kapoor a run for his money.

“Papa needs to touch those fresh pages,” he says seriously. I roll my eyes before handing over his copy. Of course, the first thing he does is bring the thing up to his nose and takes a big whiff. “Oh, yeah!”

“It’s like book crack,” I joke.

“Butt crack?” Audrey enquires as she rounds the corner. Her arms are already five books deep.

“Book. Book crack,” I repeat. “You know, when you get a fresh one and have to smell it?”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” she answers. “There is nothing better.”

Straight away, I imagine what Penny’s reaction would be to this conversation. It makes me laugh.

“Anyway,” Audrey continues, “Janice just left. Told me to tell you she suddenly felt squiffy.”

My arms drop to my side. She’s got some bloody nerve. I look at the giant clock above the cash register. Janice has literally been in the store for less than twenty minutes.

“Whoa, Benjamin, your face is like a really unnatural red.”

“I need to make a call,” I seethe. Clive is in for an ear-bashing.

“I’ll watch the register,” Kevin comments, already moving towards the vintage till.

It takes seven minutes of arguing and me threatening to quit before Clive finally gives me the go-ahead to hire a new store assistant.

Janice can suck eggs. I’m the one who runs this store on the daily.

Clive knows he would be up shit creek if I left—not that I would.

I was totally bluffing. I love the Emporium and hope one day, when Clive retires, he’ll make me a partner so I can continue the store’s legacy.

Feeling my blood pressure drop slightly, I stride with purpose to the cashier’s desk where Kevin is finalising Audrey’s sale.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” Audrey asks when I stop by her side.

“Perfect. Did you get everything you wanted?”

“Oh, and more. Kevin pointed me in the direction of a new fantasy series I can’t wait to get stuck in.”

We say our goodbyes and then I twirl in place to face Kevin. “Do you want a job here?”

Kevin’s eyes grow wide. “Are you serious?”

“As Clive’s stamp collection.”

“He finally gave in, huh?” He laughs.

“I told him I would walk out. So yes, he crumbled.”

“Then, yes. I mean, let’s be fair, I work harder than Janice in this place, anyway.”

“That’s what I said to Clive when I told him I wanted you on board.”

“Well then, it looks like you have a new store assistant.” We high-five, naturally.

Kevin is an artist. Specifically, he draws comic books, and he’s brilliant at it.

With it being a freelance job, he tends to be in the bookshop a lot, so this is a perfect set-up.

Janice will work a few shifts, and because I’m not horrible, I didn’t get the old bat fired.

But at least I now have a chance to really make this place into something.

Kevin shares my vision and love of books. We are a winning team. I can feel it!

We didn’t last until the close of day before both Kevin and I cracked open Simon Peterson’s Criminal Casanova. The title needed work, in my opinion, but the story is as gripping as I thought it would be. Plus, it’s all about the guys, which ticks my box.

“He can’t marry him,” Kevin gasps.

“He will. It’s the only way to save his brother,” I respond.

“But the MacLeans are awful.”

“Obviously, but Ryan doesn’t have a choice.”

“What about Todd?”

“He’s a secondary character. Ryan will marry Lee to secure his brother’s safety, and then he’ll become the consort to Lee and take over the family business!”

“I couldn’t do it,” Kevin says, shaking his head. “I mean, sure, mafia kings are hot! But to marry one? No, I don’t think so.”

“Not even to save your brother?”

“I haven’t got a brother.”

“Hypothetically, you wouldn’t marry a hot mafia boss to secure your family’s safety?”

Kevin puts down the book and tilts his head. He’s doing some deep thinking, which leaves me a few minutes to collect the receipts and put them in the till.

“No,” he suddenly says. “I mean, what would my family be doing anywhere near a bunch of mobsters? It’d be their own fault. Why should I give up my freedom?”

“Cold,” I laugh, “but you’d still fall in love with the mob king. That’s the whole point of it!”

He shakes his head. “I just don’t believe it. In books, yeah, obviously, that’s why it’s fiction. In reality? No way.”

The doorbell jingles, catching my attention because we are ten minutes from closing. Who in their right mind thinks ten minutes is long enough to browse a bookstore? Crazy people, that’s who.

Kevin is still waffling on about how inconceivable marrying a mobster to save a family member and then falling in love would be. My attention is on the three humongous blokes who have just stepped inside.

Without taking my eyes off them, I bat Kevin until he shuts up. He goes to ask me what’s wrong but then clearly spots the men, who are now splitting up, each taking a different aisle. Why are they still wearing sunglasses? They’re indoors!

Placing my book under the till, I straighten and smile. I’m intimidated by the sheer size of them, but I’ll try not to show it. Kevin is not doing such a stellar job either as he steps behind me to hide.

“May I help you?” I call to them.

Silence.

The door jingles again. Tearing my eyes away from the men, I look towards the entrance. I really hope it’s a police officer.

It’s not.

A man, clad in all black, with platinum-blond hair slicked back into the tightest man-bun I have ever seen, stands staring at Kevin and me.

The term “deafening silence” comes to mind.

It’s as though the world outside of the shop has been muted, and the only thing registering is the thick atmosphere these people have created.

“C-can I help?” I ask again, my voice thankfully holding steady—sort of.

The blond slowly drags his sunglasses off his face. I’m met with stunning eyes, one blue and one green. Jesus, he’s like a baddie in one of the thousands of books I’ve read.

“Benjamin Moss?” His voice is rich and deep. His accent is Italian, I think.

Straightening my back, I pull myself up to all of my five feet and four inches. “That’s me,” I answer, and then berate myself. Why did I just willingly identify myself to a stranger who looks like he could break my neck with a flick of his wrist?

His eyes squint ever so slightly, and his gaze roams the top half of my body. I’m sure he’d do a full sweep if the cash desk weren’t in the way.

“I’ve been looking for you.”