Crazy On You

This is a collaboration between one of America's greatest romance writer's and myself; a writer of comedy and thrillers. Archie Pope, a London gangster falls for the beautiful Isabella Commarata. The problem is that Isabella is the daughter of one Giovanni Commarata, the evil Mafia Don, who controls New York. There's romance and comedy but also some serious warfare going on between two rival gangs. It's a book to both thrill and warm the heart!
The worlds of the New York Mafia and the top London crime syndicate are about to collide! The much feared Pope Crew, a bunch of psychopathic criminals, try to pull off a multi-million weapon trafficking deal with the murderous Mafia Don, Giovanni Commarata. Then Archie Pope, a kitten and flower loving softie blows it by falling for Giovanni's daughter, Isabella - a "crime" punishable by death. War is declared between the two factions. The Popes team up with the Zaffutos - a family under Giovanni's control, and vicious and explosive urban warfare breaks out. All Archie wants to do is woo his beloved Isabella. Everyone else wants him to kill her father. Not ideal conditions for an otherwise beautiful courtship! This is a rom-com with a difference. It's probably the most terse, thrilling, edge-of-your-seat rom-com ever written. Touching but deadly.

She moved in for the kiss and our lips met with an urgent force as we necked wildly. A long time passed before we were finished. Isabella opened her eyes and smiled at me. Then her eyes flashed over to somewhere behind me and a look of horror filled her face.

'Oh my God! Archie! It's Papa!'

The main reason why I am still alive is that I have hypersonic reflexes. I dived to the ground, pulling Isabella with me. Bullets whizzed overhead. The bodies of nightclub ravers standing at the bar fell. Several bullets' destination was the optics and it shattered from the almighty impact, hurtling cascades of glass and liquor across and over the bar, glass shards penetrating the backs of bartenders and the faces and bodies of customers. I spun myself around, hauling out my gun as I spun on my stomach. I held it aloft, pushing the safety level down to fire position, my finger straining against the trigger; I would shoot the micro-second I observed my target. The spin completed, my brain registered 6 armed, black ski-masked figures. Giovanni was eminently identifiable, from his stocky body shape and his cold eyes that wouldn't have looked out of place in a cobra's head. I discharged my semi-auto frantically...

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