Page 59 of Roberto

After the limo driver dropped me off at my hotel, I told him to return to De Sade to pick up Han.

I was so excited that it took me nearly five hours to fall asleep.

However, I decided not to rely on alcohol to knock me out. I wanted to be sharp and focused the next evening with Mei-ling, and wasting my day with a hangover wouldn’t help.

I also didn’t masturbate, no matter how great the temptation.

When I came, I wanted it to be inside her.

I woke the next morning to a knock on my door. When I stumbled to the door in a robe, the bellman apologized for waking me. He had my dry-cleaned suit, the one I’d worn on the plane to Hong Kong.

I thanked him, took the plastic-wrapped clothes, and gave him myothersuit to be dry-cleaned and pressed. I also grabbed my wallet and gave him an excellent tip.

After he was gone, I went back into the suite and did my exercises: 100 pushups, 200 crunches, and 20 minutes of calisthenics. Then I took a cold shower, shaved, and dressed.

After a breakfast delivered by room service, I called Lau.

Still no news on Xi, Gota, and the meeting.

To be honest, I couldn’t have cared less. I had other things on my mind.

Actually, I only had onepersonon my mind – and she was enough to occupyallmy thoughts.

I called the concierge and explained what I needed; he gave me an address. When I asked if he could call me a taxi, he told me he would have one of the hotel’s chauffeured town cars waiting for me downstairs.

The car was a Cadillac and quite nice. The driver sped me through the streets of Hong Kong, and 25 minutes later we arrived at a silk emporium – a fabric store that only dealt in the finest-quality silks.

The saleswoman helped me make my selections. Once I paid, she wrapped everything up in a box with a beautiful bow, and I returned via the town car to the hotel.

I ordered room service for lunch. After I ate, I paced in my room out of boredom.

Since I had thought I would only be in Hong Kong for 24 hours, I hadn’t brought a laptop, so I couldn’t do any work.

Instead, I decided to watch a movie on the penthouse’s 80-inch television:The Big Short,a film about the 2008 global financial crisis.

I’d already seen it three dozen times. For me, it was the cinematic equivalent of comfort food.

I’m a finance nerd. Sue me.

Italy was six hours behind Hong Kong, and I didn’t want to wake Niccolo too early, so I waited until three o’clock to call him.

“Any news?”he asked as soon as he answered.

“Not about Lau,” I replied. I didn’t want to tell him about Mei-ling, so I quickly moved on. “How was your flight back home?”

“Fine. Long, but fine.”

“How’s Massimo?”

“Presumably still hiding out with the Widow’s granddaughter. I haven’t heard from him.”

“What about the bankers who helped Fausto embezzle from us? Have you looked into them yet?”

“About that,”Niccolo said grimly.“Guess what I found out when I called the first bank on your list.”

“What?”

“Luca Stefanelli, the man who approved the transfer, took a swan dive off a ten-story building just a few hours after it went through. He left a suicide note – printed out from a computer with no signature.”

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