Page 10 of King Of Order

Her fingers twitched, her entire body shuddering as if coming off a major high.

Lighting the thin cylinder of tobacco, she brought it to her lips with a shaky hand.

‘What do you want, Chiara?’ Olivio growled.

‘What else?’ she smirked, blowing a smoke ring in his face.

He bristled, and I sensed that he’d have slapped her clean across the room if it not for the present company.

She grasped it too, shining long legs in nonchalance yet eyeing him with a deep-seated hatred.

These two were not on good terms. Not in the fuckin’ least.

Her eyes, with enlarged pupils, swung to me. ‘Who’s he?’

I twisted my lips, raking her from head to toe.

‘He’s had some work done,’ she said in husky, raw utterance, staring at my face, covered in blood and bruising. ‘What did he do?’

‘It’s not what he did. It’s what his family’s been up to and the retribution they’re about to receive. He’s here to witness it.’

My body locked. ‘Che cazzo fai?’

Olivio perked up at my obvious distress.

‘Ah, didn’t I mention? You’re here for a front-row seat to your parent’s demise. In moments, they’ll pull up to Cafe Emiglio on the waterfront. We got wind of your uncle’s birthday, and we’ll soon be helping them celebrate with a fireworks extravaganza specially designed for them.’

I went cold, teeth gritting, limbs trembling.

‘Why?’ I managed.

‘It’s a love letter, a message,amica, from one Carlo Abrazzio.’

Our fucking mortal enemy.

‘Rumor has it, from a contact in prison, that your father conspired against The Abrazziofamiglia. The ruthless mofo ordered this hit because we’ve access to the best ordinance in the city. We also like the price agreed on.’

The man shrugged, his piggy eyes gleaming with greed.

Awash with rage, I exploded from the chair like a wounded bull. Aiming my head straight for his soft center mass.

Just before I rammed him, two bodies crashed into me, and I flew across the room, landing in a heavy, painful thud on the floor.

I only managed to turn my face to the ground as a barrage of kicks and hits rained on my back and shoulders.

I roared from the pain until, finally, the torture ended with a growl from Olivio.

‘Set the fucker back up. He can’t miss the show. Ah, here they come.’

Despite the rough rivulets of blood streaming down my face, my eyes pulled to the screen, attention locked on the view from the auto.

In the distance, a vehicle made its way down the avenue.

It was not a crowded evening, and only a few cars were nearby.

My heart lurched as I recognized my father’s Alfa Romeo 2000 1973 series sedan, distinguished in gold, with 130 horsepower.

He fuckin’ loved that car in that particular color.

---