The Lady is in Charge

By Susan Horsnell

Why did people believe all gangster bosses had to be male?

In 1925, Sydney, Australia was a beautiful, young, thriving city.

By night, the seedy underbelly came to life.

The lady in charge of part of that underbelly, known as the Queen of King's Cross, was Angeline Dumont.

No one threatened the lady and lived.

No one dared to harm those she considered family...Not if they valued their life.

Sam was the King of Woolloomooloo, a position he inherited, and deserved, from his father.

He was a ruthless mafia boss who didn't hesitate to eliminate those who caused harm to his organisation.

Operating in adjoining suburbs, it was inevitable Angeline and Sam would eventually cross paths, and when they do, the situation has the potential to become deadly.

Who is pitting the two bosses against each other to gain revenge?

Will Sam fall for the ruse and believe Angeline is his enemy?

Can the pair see through the deceit, work together, and become lovers?

Inspired by the story of Tilly Devine-The real Queen of Kings Cross.

 

Note: This is dark romance not for under 18 readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lipstick Publishing
• Release date: Dec 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223498834

Susan Horsnell

I’m an Australian author who lives in Queensland when not travelling and I write in a variety of Romantic sub-genres, including Western,  Historical, Gay, Mafia, and Contemporary Romance.  I have published over 60 books and novellas, many of which feature strong, independent heroines and rugged, alpha male heroes. Some of my popular series include the Outback Australia series and The Carter Brothers series. My books are known for their well-researched historical details, vivid descriptions of the Australian landscape and real life experiences. My work has garnered praise from readers and critics alike, and I have been a Finalist in both the Rone Awards and Laramie Awards as well as being a multiple times International Bestselling Author and USA Today Bestselling Author. If you're interested in learning more about my books:  Linktree https://linktr.ee/SusanHorsnell   

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Contents

Contents

Copyright

Disclaimer

Information

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

About the Author

The Lady is in Charge

Copyright © 2023 by

USA Today Bestselling Author - Susan Horsnell

The right of Susan Horsnell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed, or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon, or similar organizations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.

Disclaimer

This story is set in Sydney Australia and written in Australian English.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

This is a dark romance with reference to guns, drugs, and prostitution.

Inspired by the life of Tilly Devine, the real Queen of Kings Cross.

Edited: Redline Editing

Proofread: Leanne Rogers

Proofread: JA Lafrance

Published by: Lipstick Publishing

ABN: 573-575-99847

Information

SS Orsova was a passenger liner used for troop movements during World War 1 and she commenced passenger services from London to Sydney on 11 November 1919.

The last bomb blitz on London was May 1919 but I have taken literary license for the sake of the story and made it September 1919 so the timeline works.

Gang Structure:

Boss—Head of Crime syndicate/gang.

Senior Man—Underboss. Works alongside Crime Boss.

Warlord—Senior Gangster

Enforcer—Senior Gangster

Teenies—Under 10 years old. Carry drugs, weapons, and parcels between older gang members.

Runners—12-15 years old. Transfer drugs between older gang members and from the docks when incoming shipments, arrange drug deals, deal drugs, and stay in trap houses where drugs are made and sold.

Youngers—Around 18 years old. They have authority over Teenies and Runners. Set up trap houses, recruit Teenies, and are street dealers of larger quantities of drugs.

Links, Baby Mama, Bae, Wifey—girlfriends, used for sex by gang members. Carry and hide weapons, drugs, and money for members of any age. ‘Mama’ is in charge.

Elders—In charge of street operations and trap houses. Deal in large quantities of drugs and firearms.

From Teenies down are not supposed to be aware of identity of senior Boss and Underboss, and although there are no direct dealings, it would be naïve to think this is the case.

This story was inspired by the ‘real’ Queen of Kings Cross in the early 1920s—Tilly Devine.

Chapter One

Sydney, Australia.

5 January 1920.

ANGELINE

I’d never been so relieved to leave my home country of England. War had brought Europe to its knees, and even though there was now peace, people continued suffering everywhere.

As the ship eased into its position at the designated wharf in Sydney Cove, I leaned on the railing and watched from the deck. Ropes were thrown down to be snatched into waiting hands and there was a gathering of people watching us ease alongside. I wondered if they were relatives or sweethearts waiting for someone onboard.

Vehicles stood in wait to receive cargo we’d picked up along the way and transport it to new owners. In Port Said, spices and trinkets were loaded, while in Ceylon, we had taken on tea, diamonds and precious gems—all designated for the new wealthy who had made a fortune in one way or another from the war. Numerous taxis were parked on the wharf, drivers alongside the front doors, hoping to pick up fares and spirit them into the city.

Shouting sounded both on board the ship and the docks below and while waiting to disembark, my thoughts drifted back to the past…

London, England.

September 1919.

ANGELINE

Aged 17

I ran down the street, avoiding others who were gripped with panic and running in every direction to avoid being hurt should another bomb drop. Londoners had been hopeful the bombing of our city was over as it had been a few days since the previous one and…Why hadn’t the air raid sirens sounded in warning?

I’d been at the store a few streets over from my home when the chaos began. Mama had sent me, hoping I would be able to purchase powdered milk. It had been there I’d heard and felt the explosion that had shaken the ground beneath my feet.

Rubble was scattered everywhere in the streets. Houses Mama and Papa’s friends had owned were now gone. Dread overwhelmed me as I neared where our home had once been. In its place was a deep hole filled with bricks and other rubble. I raced to the edge of the hole, screaming for Mama and Papa but as I neared, a policeman grabbed me around the waist, holding me back.

My parents are in there! I screamed while fighting to release myself from his arms.

You can’t go in there, Lassie, he insisted.

Found ’em, a man shouted from where he and others were digging through the destruction.

My hopes soared, only to be dashed when he shouted again, They’re dead!

Noooo, I screamed, again trying to break the policeman’s hold. He turned me in his arms, and I thumped his chest. They can’t be dead.

Do you have somewhere I can take you? A friend or family member?

I shook my head. I have no one and everything I owned was in there.

I can speak to someone about helping you.

I don’t want help, I want my parents.

I know, Lassie. I’m sorry.

He held me while I cried for the loss of the two people I loved most in the world.

Sweetheart, I’m Regina Gray, come with me and I’ll help you. The voice was that of a kindly sounding female and when I lifted my head form the policeman’s chest, a woman, probably in her forties looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. Another policeman stood beside her, and I assumed he must have brought her to me. I’ll take you somewhere you can rest, the woman assured.

Roger, the lass might like this, the man shouted from the pit again. He was holding up a picture frame, the silver glittering in the sunlight that had appeared as the smoke from the bomb cleared.

I pulled from the policeman’s arms, and this time he willingly allowed me to go. I raced over to the man who held the picture out towards me. Snatching it from his hands, I saw it was an image of me, Mama and Papa and cradled it to my chest. The glass was broken but I didn’t care.

I felt a touch to my arm, it was the policeman who had held me. The men will set aside anything they find, Miss, and someone will bring it all around to Miss Gray’s boarding house.

Shock settled into my body. Miss Gray took me by the arm, and I allowed her to lead me through the streets. We stopped before a two storey, brick building with blue lettering across the top that read, Miss Gray’s Boarding House for Girls.

She led me inside and several other girl’s glanced my way before returning to what they had been doing before my arrival. I was shown upstairs and into a small room with two double level cots positioned on each side of a large wardrobe. On the opposite wall were two large chests of drawers. Miss Gray patted the bottom cot to my left.

This will be yours. I’ll have some clothes and necessities sent up but in the meantime, you’ve had a dreadful shock so get some rest. Dinner will be served at 6 pm and one of the other girls will come up to get you.

Miss Gray left the room and closed the door. Exhausted, and likely in deep shock, I crawled onto the cot, buried my head in the pillow and cried for my loss.

***

The following day I was informed the money Mama and Papa had saved in the bank had been withdrawn by local authorities. My parents were given a small funeral three days after their deaths and buried without ceremony. I was sure the funerals hadn’t cost everything Papa had banked, but none of the balance had been forthcoming no matter how many times I’d asked after its whereabouts.

A small locket Mama had been wearing at the time of the bombing had been given to me and now rested against my throat as a reminder of the mother I loved. Everything else that had been found was broken beyond repair and I’d thrown it away.

Time at the boarding house was short lived and I’d been fortunate to escape. After exactly ten days I discovered Miss Gray was not taking girls in out of the goodness of her heart, but as entertainment for gentlemen callers. Knowing I needed to leave, I’d searched the place and found a small suitcase in the cellar, packed as much as I could into it, including the picture that had been recovered, and left to live on the streets. Even that was better than staying and having my body used for the pleasure of gentlemen.

It was when I’d been camped under one of the many bridges in London that I’d met Jacob Knowles. He wandered into our encampment after partaking in a wee bit too much whiskey, if the almost empty bottle he was waving around in his hand was what he’d been drinking from. He’d overbalanced and almost toppled into the fire we’d built to stay warm.

I’d jumped up from the blanket where I’d been seated and wrapping one arm around his waist, steered him away from the danger.

Whoa there…As much as most of us would like something substantial to eat, we’re not terribly interested in human barbeque.

I don’t know you, I’m Jacob Knowles, he slurred. His breath was thick with whiskey and almost strong enough for me to get inebriated on as he moved his face close to mine. Take me home. 

I pushed his face away, didn’t bother telling him my name as he didn’t need to know, and instead asked for his address. What he gave me was nearby, so I decided to help him. With one of his arms draped over my shoulder, and after snatching up my suitcase that I wasn’t willing to leave because it would not be there when I returned, we started off in the direction of his home. He half stumbled along the cobbled streets while I did my best to keep the man upright.

We reached his home, a brick tenement place with a well-looked after garden that was visible in the light from a gas streetlamp nearby and struggled up the steps to his front door. After he fumbled the key, I spent a good ten minutes searching the garden and calling him all kinds of names. Names that should not have been known by a lady, but then I’d been on the streets for almost two months with vagrants, thieves, and others that were down on their luck like me. None of them could be accused of being either gentlemen or ladies in the way they spoke.

The key was eventually located when rays of moonlight caught on the metal, and it glittered. When I’d returned to the top of the steps, Jacob was sitting on the ground, his back resting against the door, and his gurgling snores left no doubt he’d fallen asleep.

I unlocked the door and as it opened, Jacob fell backwards, his head hitting the floor with a loud thud. There hadn’t been a groan or the slightest waver in his snoring. He was out cold.

I pushed my suitcase inside the entry foyer, which was lit by two gas lanterns fixed to the walls, before turning back to Jacob. He was short in height, around two or three inches shorter than me, but where I was slightly built, he was thick and heavy set.

I pondered over our predicament for a few moments before bending over, sliding my hands beneath his arms, and dragging him far enough into the house I was able to close the door.

Leaving him flat on his back in the entry foyer, I went in search of somewhere I could drag him that would be more comfortable.

To my left I found the kitchen fitted out with numerous, white-painted cupboards. Off to one side was a wooden dining table with six chairs. There were no dishes in the sink and the room was spotless which had me curious about the kind of person he hired as his housekeeper/cook. It was obvious he employed someone, I’d never known a man to be so tidy.

It appeared Jacob was a man of means to own such an impressive home so close to the centre of the City of London and I wondered why he’d been stumbling through the streets at such a late hour. I extinguished the lamp that had been left burning in the kitchen.

Passing by the staircase leading from the foyer to the floor above, I entered through a doorway leading into the reception room. Couches, small tables, and a marble fireplace surrounded by shelves stacked with books, confirmed my assumption that the man was well off. Everything was of the highest quality and numerous books were first editions.

The wooden floor had a large, plush rug in the middle, and it would be a much more comfortable place for Jacob to sleep off his whiskey-induced paralysis.

Returning to the foyer, I again slid my hands