Page 139 of King Of Order

It settled like the gentle rhythm of the waves against the shore.

After waking from the heavy fog of catatonia, my senses were fragile and heightened, as if I were relearning how to live.

Rio appeared to understand that without a word.

He prepared simple meals for me, always something nourishing and warm.

The flavor of his homemade broth soothed me from the inside out, grounding me in the present.

Every gesture was intentional and unhurried, as though time slowed down for us.

Each morning, we’d take a slow walk along the beach, the sand cool beneath my feet, the salt air fresh on my skin.

He never rushed me, not once.

He matched his steps with mine, a steady presence by my side, letting me find my own pace.

Sometimes, we walked in silence, with only the sound of the waves and the distant calls of seabirds.

Other times, he would share small, tender memories of his parents, their love for the ocean, and simple things.

I sensed his grief soften like he was releasing something heavy he’d held onto for too long.

Being with him allowed my heart to mend in ways I hadn’t thought possible.

I could breathe again, more profound than I’d dared to in years.

He found peace, too. We were healing in each other’s quiet company, our pains ebbing like the tide, leaving us renewed, lighter, and no longer alone.

Chapter 29

CHIARA

The mansion buzzed with life from the moment the cars began arriving.

Laughter and voices filled the air, mingling with footsteps on the stone paths leading to the grand entrance.

I stood by Rio’s side, my heart fluttering with excitement and nerves as his family descended upon Villa Teroso like a whirlwind.

It wasn’t long before a flurry of introductions washed over me.

The eldest, Lorenzo, was the clear leader of the clan and a formidable man.

In his mid-to-late thirties, he carried significant gravitas. Sinewy and commanding, each step he took demanded respect.

Tall and imposing, he had broad upper arms. Lean, muscular frame. Body tight as fuck, like a man who prioritized his fitness.

His face, a craggy-hewn sculpture of rugged masculinity and dangerous allure, featured a jawline reminiscent of the iconic figures of Italian cinema.

Dark, slicked-back hair set off piercing inky blue eyes with an alluring and threatening intensity.

He wore sweats and a tee that hugged his athletic, sinewed physique while exuding the confidence and power of a man who ran a secret and influential mafia-adjacent organization.

His ice raked me when he first stepped from the car.

I flinched, and he broke. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he swept me into a bear hug.

Alessio was tall, lean, and muscled. His deep brown, lustrous hair, highlighted in gold, fell to his shoulders. He had a groomed mustache and beard and a chiseled jaw underneath.

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