What can I say. For some reason after the second line of the prologue, my suspicions were raised as to the quality of the writing to follow. I received this book as a gift from my husband, and was roaring with laughter even on the first page. Who could possibly think up a character called The Honourable James Johnson-St-John-James? Even his parents wouldn't have. Or Sir Brian Ffinch-Farquar, or the Lord Dunkillin?
When I had wiped the tears from my eyes, and endured the first clunkily-written sex scene, I pondered that in my 12 years of working in the City in financial institutions, I had not yet become a multi-billionaire head of my own bank, as the main protagonists of the mafia don's daughter and her husband; son of an embezzler. Neither had most of the people I worked with.
I'm still working my way through the book, and it has been a long time since I have laughed out loud as much as reading that the characters are not planning a summer pregnancy, as winter maternity clothes are more stylish (the male character's musings about his wife), or about their search for a mafia-trained nanny.
You may enjoy this romp if you read it with the tongue-in-cheek it was maybe intended for, or a great comic caper of guns, exploding cars, Russian hit men and that bloody boardroom table that they keep trying to have sex on...