Page 114 of King Of Order

I jerked my chin to his computer, and he groaned, blood seeping from his mouth.

He shuffled to the desk and loaded the required screens while shooting me murderous glares.

I ignored him, reaching into my jacket pocket for my cheroot case, lighting one up, and drawing in the herbal smoke deep into my lungs.

In time, he made his announcement. ‘It’s all done,’ he mumbled, wincing in pain.

I ambled to the laptop, where he took me through various interfaces and transactions.

‘That’s everything?’ I confirmed.

‘Si,’ he muttered through his loose teeth.

‘Excellent. Now pack your shit up and leave Naples. I’ll be waiting in the lobby to ensure you check out.’

I straightened, giving him ample space to breathe again. ‘Remember this, Nicco—if I ever spot you in this town again or within half a country near Chiara, you won’t live long enough to regret it.’

He didn’t respond.

He had no wind remaining in his sails. He nodded, his head hanging in defeat as I turned my back on him, leaving him to wallow in the wreckage of his deflated arrogance.

I left the room, my blood still roiling, body amped, adrenaline high.

I headed down the corridor and into the reception area, where a lone pianist played a concerto on a baby grand.

Settling on a velvet lounge, I focused on the hotel lifts. Until Nicco bolted out of one of them, dragging a rolling suitcase behind him with his good hand.

He barreled forward, advancing for the sliding door exit, pausing for a slight, panicked moment when his eyes fell on me.

With a snarl, terror enveloped his face as he charged out of the resort, heading towards the docks.

I sat back with a chuckle.

Fuckin’ fantastic riddance.

Chapter 24

VALERIO

Iwas about to fold myself from the chair and stroll after Nicco to ensure he left the Ischia Island marina when a voice called out.

‘Rio!’

I slowed my roll before I hit the Montparte front doors, swiveled on my heel, and raked my eyes over Aldo, Chiara’s brother.

He stood beside an oversized plant pot by reception, surrounded by a group of laughing, half-drunk men.

He lurched toward me, eyes lit up.

‘Rio,fotto! What the hell are you doing out on Ischia?’

I braced, hating how several eyes canted my way at his gregarious, loud greeting.

‘Meeting a friend,’ I clipped, keeping my voice low. ‘You?’

He came to a weaving stop before me. ‘I’m out with friends celebrating Tizzi’s buck’s night.’

‘I see,’ I rasped.

---