Page 23 of King Of Order

Neither beyond stalking my marks, like I planned to this evening.

This was why I found myself waiting in a bar around the corner from Galleria Gisela later that day, sipping fine wine, head back, arms splayed.

A hunter anticipating my prey.

Chapter 6

CHIARA

The wine bar was small, dim-lit, and tucked away on a quiet street.

Rich, dark wood and shelves lined the walls, overflowing with bottles of the finest wines from Italy and the Neapolitan region.

A soft jazz tune floated through the air, the piano notes warm and inviting.

The faint aroma of aged oak and something sweet, like honeyed pears, wafted into my nostrils.

The intimate, almost secretive atmosphere invited one in to sink into sumptuous chairs and disappear, untouched by the outside world.

I slid onto a bar stool, ran my fingers along the cool marble countertop, and leaned in to order a glass of sin.

The bartender, Rossi, a rotund man with twinkling eyes renowned for being a kickass sommelier, lifted my chin, his eyes flicking over me to gauge my mood.

‘Come stai? Hard day?’ he muttered.

I nodded. ‘È stata una giornata di merda,’ describing my shit day. ‘Hit me with your best.’

He pursed his lips, producing a bottle he canted in my direction.

I jerked my chin in assent, weary, anxious, edgy.

Needing relief.

He poured me a generous measure of deep ruby wine that clung to the glass and promised to warm me from the inside out.

I took the first sip slowly, savoring how it rolled over my tongue, rich and bold.

For a moment, the world dulled as I savored the wine’s complexity—hints of dark cherry, a little smoke, and an earthy soft finish.

The bliss faded too fast, and the noise in my head returned, the thoughts I had been trying to drown creeping back in.

One glass wasn’t enough.

I motioned for another, my fingers tapping restlessly against the wine glass.

The second pour was as smooth and delicious, but with every sip, I discerned a tug of my conscience—to stop now? Or keep going?

The familiar warmth spread through me, loosening my worries and inhibitions. But with it came the worry.

Did I need that third pour?

I was well aware it might tip me off the edge.

It’d take me past the point of control, unravel me, back into the folds of my former darkness, and leave me vulnerable.

Yet I fuckin’ needed relief.

My hand was halfway raised for a top-up when I glimpsed a silhouette from the corner of my eye.

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