Please Note

‘Rough Diamond’ was originally released as part of the ‘Dangerous as Sin’ anthology.

Reviews

5 Stars: “Need More Stars… I am loving each and every minute of these origin stories. I laughed, cried and was on the edge of my seat throughout waiting to see what was going to happen next with Hickman. You get to see that Hickman really does have a heart and where it lies. I cannot wait to see if you see another peek into this life that Hickman leads when he is not working.” Michelle Fortune (Bookbub – Dangerous as Sin antho)

5 Stars: “Wow, loved reading this book it was awesome, the story was mesmerising while the characters were absolutely sensational. Leone Romano is a Mafia boss, and his mistress Katya are out for dinner, he likes to spoil her. They were shot at and Leone told her bodyguard to take Katya home safely then Leone told the bodyguard Hickman to get her out of town, the instructions he received was a shock. This book had so many twists and turns, suspense, secrets, violence, murder, trauma, anger, kidnapping, enemies, lies, betrayal, Lustful, sexy and more emotions throughout.” Shiftybugger (Bookbub – Dangerous as Sin antho)

5 Stars: “Loved it. The author has given us a heart-pounding story that pulls us into the lives of Hickman and Katya.  The story keeps us turning the pages with suspense, danger and steam.” jjohn1112 (Bookbub – Dangerous as Sin antho)

Read a Sample

Rough Diamond – A Hickman Prequel

Chapter One

Leone Romano straightens his jacket, then checks in the mirror, adjusting the knot of his tie. “Hickman, Katya and I are going to lunch, at La Dolce Vita. You’ll be driving us.”
“Of course, sir. But… is Armando ill?”
He glances toward the door, waits a moment, cocking his ear. “Listen, before Katya joins us, there’s something in the wind. I need you…” He aims a finger toward me… “… to keep your eyes open. Stay vigilant.”
“Sir? What are we talking about?”
He palms the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, but something is cooking with the Mancini family. Please don’t ask me for more just now. I don’t have it. Just…” He clicks his tongue, looking frustrated… “Just stay alert.”
“Of course, sir. May I ask your source for this information?”
He taps his nose. “Man on the inside. But keep that to yourself.”
“That goes without saying.”
“I know that, Hickman. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have told you. So, keep your eyes open.”
“Naturally. Sir, would you be willing to give me your itinerary for the next few days?”
He blinks. “Should have thought of that myself, shouldn’t I. I’ll jot down some notes for you tomorrow…”
I haver. “Mr Romano, under the circumstances, I’d like to send Schmidt ahead of us to check out the restaurant. I can drive you and Miss Masterson taking… um… the scenic route… while he makes sure everything’s as it should be over there.”
Romano nods. A short gesture. “Fine. You want me to warn Emilio he’s coming?”
“No need. Emilio knows what I do. He won’t mind. And if there are any surprises at La Dolce Vita, I’d prefer that I am one of them.”
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he raises a finger to his lips. “Shush now. I don’t want Katya distressed.”
As she enters, he slaps me on the arm… “Good man, Hickman. Go talk to Schmidt, then bring the car to the front.” He turns to Katya. “Amore Mio, you look beautiful. Hickman here tells me there is a festival by the park this week, outdoor performances by musicians. Artists’ displays and suchlike. Hickman has suggested we might go see if there’s anything we might want to take a closer look at.”
She tilts her head. Beautiful. Charming. “Won’t that make us late for the table booking?”
“We’ll only take five minutes, a drive-by, just to see if we might like to book tickets, for tomorrow perhaps. Emilio won’t mind. We’re his best customers.” He jerks his chin at me, and I retreat indoors to find Schmidt.

***

Chapter Two

It’s a part of the job that’s mundane but safe. Romano’s Merc is beyond comfortable, a custom job, moulded leather seats and all the luxury extras, polish and wax hanging in the air. And if the privacy screen is closed behind me, I can listen to my own choice of music.
As the pair descend the steps, I hop out of the car, buttoning up my jacket to conceal the holstered Glock. Standing by the rear door, I hold it open as, her arm linked into Romano’s, Katya sashays past, trailing that perfume she wears and the whisper of silk.
Objectively, Katya’s not conventionally beautiful. She wouldn’t photograph well because her features are strong for a woman. Her chin is a little too defined. Her nose a touch too pronounced for the fashion gurus. Her beauty is not of the high-cheek-bones-and-perfect-cosmetics kind. Rather, when she speaks, she comes alive, her zest for life written there. Her intelligence. Her…
Get a grip…
She belongs to another man…
Her dress, ankle-length, haltered, is subtle and elegant, displaying her lovely swan neck, the lift of her chin, her upright posture. Naturally tall, more so in the dagger-heeled shoes, she’s elegant as she walks, with a sway to the hips that ripples her dress and long wrap thrown around her shoulders.
What do you see in him?
As though it weren’t obvious.
At her neck, diamonds splinter the sunshine. Matching teardrops flash rainbows from her ears. And something new. On the fourth finger of her left hand, a ring glitters, the glint of the diamond cold against the warmth of the gold.
But Katya outshines any gems she could wear.
As they draw closer, I extend a hand to the seat… “Miss Masterson.”
She ducks down to get inside. “Thank you, Hickman.” The polite, empty gratitude of the privileged for the minor functionary.
My gut tightens.
“My pleasure.” Clicking the door closed, I trot round to open up for Romano.
Back in my seat, I glance back to the rear-view, speaking over the intercom. “The art festival, sir?”
“That’s right. Just take us past slowly to give us the flavour, then on to La Dolce Vita.”
“Yes, sir.”

***

The festival is worth the drive-by. On a wide sidewalk, edged by trees, backed by the park, every ten or twenty yards, bands and solo singers have set up, each giving voice or beat to their own variety of sound. Between them, a mix of artists are manning stalls and demonstrations, displaying paintings and sculptures. Apparent statues come to life, startling passers-by. It’s eclectic but entertaining.
I crawl the car along. Katya angles to see. “Look at that one. The impression style. His use of colour. Almost a touch of Monet in his work. I’d like to come back to see…”
“We can do that tomorrow, my Love.”
My mobile flashes on the hands-free. Schmidt.
All looking good here
I meet Romano’s eyes in the rear-view. He arches brows in question, and I nod.
A tap on the shoulder. “Hickman, we’ve seen enough. We’re running a little late, so you can drop us at the door. Follow us in when you’ve parked up.”
“I’d intended to go in ahead of you, sir.”
“Schmidt’s happy? Yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s fine, then. He knows what he’s doing.”
Navigating through traffic, I take a short cut, diverting through back-streets to avoid traffic lights where, normally, driving a car of this sort is an invitation to have your windows cleaned with extreme prejudice. Not that I couldn’t handle it, but I prefer not to have to with Katya present.
At the restaurant, I’d normally park right outside. As it turns out, the spot is blocked, a high-sided van parked where there should be a clear space. Romano rumbles. “Who the fuck’s parked that there?”
“Probably a new supplier, sir. Emilio won’t like them doing that during dining hours. Blocking his frontage. I imagine he’s blistering the ears of the driver.”
He snorts agreement as I mount the kerb to let them out. Technically, it’s illegal, but the restaurant staff well know who Romano is. And that it’s his mistress he entertains here…
… well away from the eyes of the world…
Well away from the eyes of his wife…
Does Angelina know?
She must do… Surely?
Tolerates it?
Or has no option?
And Katya’s wearing Romano’s ring?

***

The car parked up, I make my way into the restaurant, first checking that Romano’s where I expect him to be…
His usual table…
… out of sight of prying eyes, a battalion of waiters serve them, one of them being the owner himself, Emilio.
I show myself long enough for Romano to register my presence, nodding acknowledgment as he sees me, before I go on patrol.
In the kitchen, I cast an eye over the staff. They’re all familiar faces, most of them Emilio’s own family. Most of them have worked there since they were old enough to see over the work counters.
Stefano smiles up from where he’s smashing down on garlic with the flat of a knife. “Good afternoon, Mr Hickman. If you’re eating with us, the lasagna’s pretty good today.”
“Later, maybe. When I’m done for the afternoon.” I stroll on back to the main dining area where I find Schmidt. “Everything okay?”
He shrugs. “Yup, ‘cept Emilio’s blowing his nut that Guiseppe’s not turned in.”
“Who’s Guiseppe?”
“His nephew. Emilio expected him to start today, but he’s not shown up yet. First day and all. Emilio’s pissed.”
“I can imagine. Anyway, if anyone’s looking for me, I’m going to check out front. After that, I’ll be on station.”

***

The parked van has gone, giving me a clear view of the frontage. La Dolce Vita, on a quiet street, is set in a very pleasant spot, doubtless one of the reasons Emilio can charge what he does.
Only a few yards away, as one road merges into another in a vee-shaped junction, some foresighted town planner planted a triangular island of grass and trees. There’s even a small fountain, trickling water.
Pigeons flock onto the bowl of the fountain, then descend on some old woman breaking up bread for the birds. The trees flutter dappled shade over the white stuccoed restaurant walls and the wide sidewalk, set out with tables and casual seating. In good weather, the diners often finish their meals with coffee outside. A side alley conceals trash bins and the paraphernalia of business.
Across the street, a parade of stores is topped by a double layer of apartments, roof gardens above. If you want city living, it would be hard to find a nicer spot.
The door swings open, Emilio with his granddaughter, a paper bag in her hands. The old man guides her out. “Now, be careful as you cross the road, Sofia.”
I nod down to the little girl. “Want me to take her across?”
His face creases into a smile. “Grazie. Sì.”
Holding her hand, I accompany her across to the fountain. She’s a pretty little thing. But then most little girls are, aren’t they. While she breaks up bread for the swooping pigeons, I scan for possible trouble. Nothing looks out of kilter.
Does she enjoy being ‘The Mistress’?
Surely, most women would want more than that?
Or is she a professional?
It doesn’t feel like that. Not even in the sense of Katya being a high-level courtesan.
You’re better than that…
Sofia tosses down the last few crumbs.
“All done now?”
“Sì. Tutto finito.”
Accompanying her back to the door, I send her inside.
She gives me a gap-toothed smile. “Grazie, Signor Hickman.”
“My pleasure, Sofia. Now go find your grandfather before he starts to worry.”
Pacing the street, I measure my eye against the restaurant window and any possible line of sight for a marksman. But Romano’s table is chosen for its position toward the rear of the dining room. He and Katya are well out of the view of possible snipers.
Strolling back inside, I patrol the dining area itself, drifting close enough to them to overhear snatches of conversation…
“… but if the Right get in at the election…” she’s saying… “… it could signal the end of freedom for many women. The denial of rights to…”
Romano nods, but it has the look of polite agreement, not real interest.
It’s much warmer inside than outside and Katya has shed the wrap she was wearing. Her hair pinned high, the nape of her neck displays an intricate tattoo; a dragon in shades of bronze, ochre and umber, the tail coiled between her shoulder blades. It’s a lovely piece of work. True body-art…
Must have cost a hefty sum…
As she moves, the canvas of skin and muscle flexing, the dragon moves with her, as alive as she is, eyes of gold and green which follow me as I cross the room.
She could have anyone…
Take her pick…
Perhaps she enjoys the thrill of being the mistress?
Or wants the pros of being a wife without the cons?
So why the ring?
Continuing my patrol, I make my way through the kitchens, the rest rooms. It’s almost routine.
Almost, but not quite…
I know that, even without my sending Schmidt separately, Romano’s sweepers will have checked the restaurant out before he arrived. But of course, Romano’s enemies know that too. I stick to my routine, working through the premises.
She’s wearing his ring…
So… Romano’s going to divorce Angelina?
Doesn’t seem likely…
Her family would never stand for it…
… surely…?
Nothing flags as untoward. Most of the tables are occupied, only one waiting to be filled, set out already with a Reserved plaque in the centre. Some of the other diners I recognise from previous occasions. La Dolce Vita is popular. It’s clientèle tend to return. A few familiar faces are to be expected. And the ones I don’t recognise seem unremarkable…
… A quiet couple, each scooping pasta with a fork, holding hands across the table…
… A family. He’s rattling continuously on about something I can’t pick out, punctuating his proclamations with the jab of a fork. She wears a strained expression. Two teenage boys look bored witless…
Is that what family life is?
… A pair of women, enough alike that only their apparent ages say they’re mother and daughter.
I take my accustomed post in a niche at the back of the room, seeing without being seen, or at least, without being conspicuous. If anyone should notice me, in my dark suit and tie, they’ll take me for a waiter, or perhaps the floor manager.
From here, I have a view over the entire dining floor, the front entrance, and the swing doors to the kitchens. Legs astride, hands neatly folded, I stand ready.
This is my remit. My duty. What Romano pays me for.
And like this, I can watch… Her…
Katya eats beautifully. Not in the over-fussy way of someone showing off, or of some of those women who’ve been taught how to behave, but tidily, with the air of enjoying her food without being ruled by it. Nor does she limit herself to salad or small portions. Food is a pleasure for her. And she’s relaxed enough with Romano that she doesn’t put on a show over it.
He gulps at his wine. Two glasses already. She sips at hers, swallowing a bare mouthful, seeming to drink more to be polite than because she wants it. Instead, she washes down her meal with sparkling water.
Watching calories?
Health conscious?
Romano takes her hand in his, patting his other hand down on top, smiling and nodding, saying something quiet. She smiles back, the light of love in her eyes.
My stomach roils.
Without meaning to, I find myself inspecting my shoes.
Don’t be fucking ridiculous, man…
You’re a professional…
Behave like one…
Straightening up, I resume my vigil.
The door swings open, a group of half a dozen entering. Young guys, already looking tanked on beer…
Stag party?
… loud as they enter. Stefano escorts them to the empty table. Benito brings menus, takes drinks orders.
The table grows louder, rowdier, one of the party jabbing a finger across to his companions. “So, I fucking told him…”
Other customers turn toward the lout. They don’t pay for this in the background. The yobs continue their yelling, growing louder, more boisterous.
I look to catch Romano’s eye. Katya’s sliding sidelong looks at the table, shifting in her seat. Romano head-jerks me across to handle it.
I stroll across, paint on a polite expression. “Excuse me, but could you lower your voices, please. You’re disturbing the other diners.”
Some turn away, muttering. One grins at me, his speech slurring. “Oh, yeah… Sorry.”
“And mind your language. There are ladies present.”
He waves a hand carelessly. “Just said yes, didn’t I.”
Every syllable oozing sincerity…
I’ve barely turned my back, when, “Anyway he wouldn’t fucking shut up, so I…”
This time, moving close in, I lean down, propping myself on a fist beside him, trying not to inhale his alcohol-soaked breath. “I said, calm down. You’re upsetting the other customers.”
Loudmouth’s face reddens and he sways back. “Er, yeah. Sure. Sorry.” The group drop their voices and after a moment, I turn away.
From across the floor, Romano beckons me. I make my way across. “Sir?”
He chin-jerks toward the louts. “Problem?”
“I don’t think so. Just had too much booze before they got here.”
He pats Katya’s hand. “You see. Don’t you worry about anything. Any more trouble and I’ll send Hickman back there after them.” He snorts. “One shot of his ugly face and they’ll run a mile.”
The ugly face flushes. “I’ll return to my post then, sir.”
But Katya speaks up. “Don’t be so rude, Leone…” Her smile turns on me, her words warm… “Ignore him, Hickman. You’re a handsome man, in a rugged kind of way. I think so anyway.”
My throat tightens. “You’re too kind, Miss Masterson. I know my looks are against me.”
She blinks. “Really, Hickman…”
A bloom heating my neck, I’m already retreating to the safety of my niche.
Barely half-way across the floor, and it starts up again… “And I told that fucker that if he doesn’t like it, he can…”
And I’ve had enough. Spinning on my heel, I march back to the table. Emilio’s there before me, looking distressed. “Signori, you must leave.”
Loudmouth’s chair scrapes back as, colouring up, he stands, looming over the much smaller man. “And who’s going to make me?”
I stretch an arm against Emilio’s chest, easing him back. “I will. You’ve been asked politely. Will you leave quietly or not?”
He lurches, blasting me with beer-and-whiskey-breath. “We’ve not had our food.”
“And you won’t be getting it. Not here. Now, go. And take your friends with you.”
He hunches. “Well, yeah, okay. Sorry.”
“Good.” I turn toward the door to open it, but as I do, headfirst, he launches himself at me, his forehead impacting the side of my skull with a Crack!
Fuck!
I stagger, ears ringing…
… but through the stars, I grab him by the arm, swinging him around, using his weight to keep me upright as I punch into his gut before, knocking his feet out from under him, he goes down.
The whole thing lasts under five seconds.
And now I’m on top of him, straddling his chest.
There are those out there who would know how to get out of this situation. Loudmouth’s not one of them. Screaming incoherently, he tries to punch up at me, but he’s not got the angle. Instead, with each attempted swing, I rap my knuckles onto his nose, rattling him. “Like I said before, calm down. You’re going nowhere except out of here.”
Spittle flies with his blustering. “Gonna call the fucking cops on you.”
“Be my guest…” I aim a finger up toward the corner and the cyclops eye of the security-camera. “All of that was on CCTV. The police’ll be delighted to see you attacked me first.”.
I glance up toward Emilio, wringing his hands around and around. “How much do they owe?”
The old man shifts from one foot to the other. “They haven’t eaten yet.”
“They’ve had drinks and you’ll have started preparing the food. How much do they owe?”
He spreads fingers, rocks his hand. “Cento? A hundred.”
Hauling Loudmouth up by his lapels, I reach inside the jacket, pluck out his wallet and hand a couple of fifties to Emilio. Frog-marching the moron to the door, I jerk a thumb to his table… “Out! The lot of you. Take your friend somewhere he can get coffee.” I toss the wallet out onto the street after him.
Loudmouth’s cohorts slump out and away. Around the restaurant, faces smile. One man raises a glass to me. Emilio’s accent thickens as he slaps at my shoulder. “Mr Hickman. Grazie mille. I not know…”
“Not a problem…” I level a finger toward the kitchen… “… Now you get back to your job and I’ll get back to mine.”
“I get you a drink, Signore Hickman. He hurt you. I hear the noise when he hit you. We all hear it.” Around him, other diners nod and mutter.
“Later, Emilio. I’m working. And so are you.”
He stalks off, shaking his head. “S’gonna be one of those days…”
Yeah…
Rubbing at my temples against the thumping inside, I return to Romano. “My apologies, sir. Didn’t think I could leave the old man to handle that…”
My employer is jovial. “Forget it, Hickman. Good work.” He nods sidelong. “Katya here was all eyes for your exploits.” She semi-rises from her seat, her brow creasing, angling to see the side of my face.
I scratch an ear. “Don’t know that I’d call bouncing a drunk exploits.”
Still, I glow inside as Katya brushes her fingertips over my temple. “You’re hurt, Hickman. Leone, you should give him some time off. He might need to see a doctor.”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Romano angles to look too, slipping the handkerchief from his top pocket, offering it to me. “No, you’re bleeding…” I touch my temple and my fingers come away wet, a slick red trickle. “… Go get yourself cleaned up. And like Katya says, take the rest of the day. You’re off-duty. Go get that drink Emilio wants to give you.”
“If you’re sure, sir…”
He gives a lop-sided smile. “There are others here, Hickman. You’re not actually indispensable.”
At the kitchen swing doors, Emilio advances, a green first-aid box in one hand. “Mr Hickman…” He gestures me through to the bathroom.
“Just… stop fussing. It’s nothing. Let me clean myself up. Then I’ll have that drink.”
Retreating to the sanctuary of the bathrooms I eye the damage in the mirror. It really does look like nothing, a bare trickle of blood, although I suspect there’ll be a good bruise where the silly bastard’s skull cracked into mine. It could have been serious. Classically, a side-punch is how boxers go for a knock-out, but Loudmouth wasn’t sober enough to deliver anything properly.
A drink, then go get my head down for an hour or so…
The splash of cold water over my face helps. Gulping a mouthful and rinsing out my mouth helps more.
I breathe in. Huff out. Straighten my jacket and head out…
… and all but walk into a black-jacketed waiter with a domed silver platter balanced on a palm. He veers, steering around me, “Scusi, signore.”
“My fault…” I don’t recognise him. “Um…?”
“Guiseppe, sir,” He flashes a smile and continues on to the dining room.
At least Emilio’s evening should be improving…
From behind the bar, Franco gives me a sympathetic smile and without asking, slides a beer across. Half a minute later, a chaser sits beside it. His boss joins me, pulling up a stool beside me. “Grazie, Signor Hickman. We could not have…”
“Forget it, Emilio. It really was nothing. It’s what I do. What they pay me for.”
“Okay. But what you want now, it on the house. Si?”
“Si…” I tilt my glass toward him. “… Thank you.”
“The lasagna… It very good today…” He cocks a questioning brow.
Surrendering to the inevitable, “I’ll have the lasagna, then.” He beams, rotates, then trots through to the kitchen.
In under five minutes, Rodricco trots out, a tray in hand, setting it on the bar in front of me. “I’d give you a table, Hickman, but as you can see, we’re full…”
“Chill out. They don’t pay the prices you charge here to sit next to the hired help.” I fork up noodles and sauce, then blow air as my tongue scorches. A gulp of beer quenches the flames.
Emilio slaps a palm on my shoulder. “Good, yes?”
“Very good. Yes.” He beams again… “Ah, scusi…” … then follows an upraised hand from one of the diners.
Rodricco tops up my beer then, reaching under the counter, produces a jar of peanuts and a small bowl. “You made the old man’s night. He’d have been like a bear with a sore head if you’d not let him feed you. He’d already had a bad start to the evening, what with Guiseppe not showing up.”
I fork up more lasagna. “Well, at least that’s sorted itself out.”
“Sorry?”
“Guiseppe’s here now…”
Tipping nuts in the bowl, Rodricco pauses, mid-movement. “He is?”
“Sure. I met him as I was coming out of the bathroom.”
Brows beetling, he slides the bowl of nuts to me. “You sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. He’s over there…” I nod across to where Guiseppe, tray in hand, is weaving between tables toward Romano…
Rodricco’s expression precedes his words. “That’s not Guiseppe…”
Guiseppe’s hand shifts for the dome. The smallest of movements. No one would notice except…
I’m paid to notice.
And I’m already moving, charging across the floor… “Katya! Down!”

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