Chapter One
London, night, SoHo, in Little Italy, D’Angelo’s, a jewel of an Italian eatery, the diamond beveled into the center strand of pearls of other bars and eateries was shimmering; it was notoriously chic, even for Gumba Ville. The lads loved it, Made or otherwise. The spaghetti La Daviola was primo, the lasagna thick, house wine rich, great for the pallet and the veal white and never overdone.
It was midnight, another hour to go and the crowds we’re sparse, few suits finishing up, weapons checked at the door, lots of laughter still. The teak and leather bar glistened from racked crystal on the racks above it, Sambuca, Grey Goose, Anisette, the usual suspects, tantalizing liquors glowing from a blue back lit neon. The rest of the place was sparkling, mahogany colored leather booth
