Page 153 of King Of Order

His bulk, wrapped in an expensive, tailored suit that strained at the seams, radiated a brutishness that compelled me to step back.

His belly hung over his belt, but it wasn’t only his size that rendered him intimidating. It was how he carried himself, with a sense of entitlement and menace simmering beneath the surface.

His round face glistened with a slight sheen of sweat, and his collar only managed to contain his thick neck.

However, his small, dark, and calculating eyes gave me a shiver. They reminded me of a predator sizing up its prey. Despite the layers of flesh, there was nothing soft about him.

He was all coiled aggression, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Beside him stood his son, Damian.

The complete opposite in build, he was rail-thin and almost gaunt, but he was dressed in a designer suit that probably cost more than some people’s yearly salary.

His slicked-back hair and manicured beard gave him the air of someone who spent more time in front of a mirror than in any boardroom.

He had the kind of botoxed face that never moved, his lips curling into the barest semblance of a sneer.

Everything about him screamed privilege—the type of man who had never had to lift a finger in his life.

But behind that polished exterior was a serpent, like his father.

Though lighter than Fabian’s, his eyes carried the same dangerous glint, an unearned arrogance.

He was the variety who destroyed lives with a lift of his thin fingers and wouldn’t flinch while doing it.

Together, they radiated with dark energy that caused the hairs on my neck to prickle—a pair of snakes, coiled and ready to strike at the first sign of weakness.

It wasn’t only their wealth or connections that made them perilous to deal with. It was also the cold, methodical way they moved through the world as if it existed for them to take and devour.

Tale padre, tale figlio. Like father, like son, I thought.

Claudio hung back, his eyes darting between Fabian and me, his nerves on show.

He had every reason to be.

Mauri, my silent protector, stood by my side, playing his role as my second-in-command to perfection.

Claudio didn’t know him, which worked in our favor.

Rio and Alessio were nearby, hidden from sight but close enough to intervene if things went south.

The tension was thick, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

Fabian didn’t bother with pleasantries.

His voice was sharp, laced with annoyance and threat. ‘You’re aware that our family paid Claudio—claiming to represent an anonymous seller—$2 million for a modernist artwork. The deal went into contract, but the pricey creation never arrived. If tonight does not pan out, we will nail you and your brother to the walls of this gallery until these funds are fully returned.’

His eyes bore into me, his intonation laden with menace and warning.

I didn’t flinch. ‘You won’t have to. As promised, we have the canvas of your dreams here in my gallery.’

I masked my anxiety with a calm smile and led him toward the central show space.

My heart pounded as I reached for the light switch, mindful that everything hinged on this moment.

The luminaires flickered on, illuminating the masterpiece on the wall.

Fabian’s reaction was instant—he went still, eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat.

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