Page 34 of King Of Order

With a sigh, I picked up.

‘Why the thousand and one calls, Chiara?’ he snapped without so much a greeting.

‘When are you coming to see your father?’ I asked, also doing away with niceties.

Claudio scoffed, loud and belligerent down the line. ‘What’s the use? The old bastard hates me, and the doctors can do nothing for him.’

I closed my eyes, biting back my immediate response. ‘They’re doing everything they can. You know that.’

‘I fuckin’ don’t care,’ he shot back. ‘He left Aldo and me with a mess to clean up. When I do come by, all he does is berate me for trying my best while singing your praises.’

‘You need to come today,’ I interrupted, my patience fraying. ‘It might be your only chance to speak with him before -‘

I didn’t have it in me to say the words.

My brother cursed under his breath.

‘Fine. I’m on my way now.’

‘About time,’ I clipped and hung up without waiting for his response.

An hour later, the hospital door swung open.

Claudio barged in, his face flushed from walking through the maze of corridors, an exercise his hefty bulk was unused to.

He was the kind of man whose appearance belayed the slick arrogance that seemed to ooze from his every move.

He had the look of someone who tried too hard—expensive, tailored suits that didn’t quite fit his stocky frame. Shirts that strained against his pasta-girthed chest. A swagger larger than life, even though he lacked the discipline to keep in shape.

His hair, slicked back with too much gel, clung to his scalp unnaturally, as if each strand was fighting to escape the suffocating pomade.

He carried himself with a bravado that he hoped compensated for his lack of real courage. His dark eyes darted around, assessing everything with a suspicious glint.

Despite the facade of wealth and control, Claudio’s body language screamed insecurity. His fingers were always tapping on some surface, his foot was always swinging, and he never seemed to sit still.

When he entered a room, he expected people to fall in line. His temper flared fast and hard when they didn’t, revealing the spoiled, entitled brat he’d always been.

On sighting him, I rose to my feet, turning off my phone where I’d been sorting through my inbox.

‘What the hell, Chiara? You going to leave me with him?’

I nabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulders. ‘I’ve said my peace. Now it’s your turn.’

It’d also been hours spent at my father’s side. I was done for the day.

My brother inched in front of me. ‘Have you approved the last batch of art sales we put through? Or were you too busy playing the dutiful daughter?’

‘Claudio, not now,’ I clipped, standing to face him.

‘You’d better be headed to your precious gallery to make it happen,’ he demanded, his eyes burning with fury.

My showroom downtown was the primary display space.

I also had a secure storehouse at the Naples port, which enjoyed exclusive customs regulations. It was where we stored artworks indefinitely without incurring taxes, tariffs, or duties.

Two years ago, Olivio and Claudio, realizing my gallery’s opportunities, forced me to put up my artwork as collateral.

Allowing my father and brothers to borrow against their rising sales price to keep our family enterprise afloat.

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