Mafia Kings: Roberto: Chapter 27

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 my other suit 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 one person on my mind – and she was enough to occupy all my 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.”

I blinked in shock, then sighed wearily. “Fausto.”

“Yes. It was the same with every other person on your list. One got hit by a bus, one was found dead by carbon monoxide poisoning in her running car, another overdosed on prescription pills – all within 12 hours of the wire transfers.”

“Goddamn it.”

“My sentiments exactly. I’m guessing our dear uncle threatened their spouses and children to get them to comply, then killed them before they could have a change of heart and rat him out.”

My stomach churned with nausea.

Fausto had them murdered after they’d complied with his demands. And they’d probably only cooperated in the first place to save the lives of their families.

We really were at war with the devil.

“Speaking of Fausto, anything new?”

“No. Lars has us on lockdown, though. Everybody’s holed up in rooms with no windows, 24 hours a day.”

“Good.”

“Good?!”

“I want all of you to be safe.”

“Yes, well, at THIS rate, Fausto won’t need assassins to kill us – boredom will do the job. I know you didn’t call me just to chat, so what’s up?”

“I need you to overnight a case of our 2008 Brunello di Montalcino to the address I’m about to text you.”

I had to pay my debt to Chef Silvestri. After all, he had been an integral part of what had turned out to be an unforgettable night.

After the sobering news about the people Fausto had killed, though, most of the joy had gone out of my little gesture.

“What?!” Niccolo exclaimed. “That’s expensive wine, isn’t it?!”

“Somewhat.”

‘Somewhat’ was an understatement. A case was 12 bottles, and each bottle went for over a thousand euros on the open market. Restaurants often sold them for 2000 or more.

“What the fuck are you doing over there?!”

“Just have the winery overnight it, alright?”

“Sure, sure,” he said sarcastically. “Not like I have anything ELSE to do, like avoid attempts on my life.”

“Fausto didn’t make an attempt on your life, just Dario and Massimo’s,” I pointed out. “Plus, you said you were going to die of boredom. This’ll give you something to – ”

“Just text me the fucking address.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he grumbled, then grew softer. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will. You too.”

“Alright. Talk to you later.”

After texting Silvestri’s name and the restaurant’s address to Niccolo, I watched a second movie on demand: Margin Call, another film about the 2008 financial crisis. More cinematic comfort food.

I liked movies about finance, and there weren’t that many, so I was stuck watching the same ones repeatedly.

I didn’t mind.

By five o’clock, I was almost ready to go when I heard a knock on my door. I opened it to see Han standing there, smirking at me like You sly dog.

“You sent the car back to De Sade a lot later than I expected,” he said as he breezed past me into the room.

“Come in,” I said sardonically.

He ignored my tone and began to fix himself a drink at the mini bar. “And you didn’t bring Mei-ling back to work, either. So – you get lucky?”

“That’s none of your business. But no, I did not.”

Technically, I hadn’t.

Mei-ling had…

And I felt extraordinarily fortunate that the evening had gone the way it did…

But I didn’t want to tell Han any of that, so I kept to my little white lie.

“What the hell did you do all that time?” he asked, surprised.

“Again, none of your business. But we talked.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. He took a sip of whiskey and said, “Well, what do you want to do tonight?”

“I have other plans.”

He raised both eyebrows. “Really.”

“Yes.”

He spied the box with the bow and smirked in surprise and contempt. “What, you’re going to bring her a gift?!”

His general attitude conveyed that he thought I was a moron. Real men fucked women; they didn’t bring them gifts. Especially if they hadn’t gotten laid the night before.

“Yes. So you can go do whatever you want on your own.”

“I can drop you at her place,” he offered.

“I’ve made other arrangements.”

That was the truth. The concierge already had the town car waiting for me.

Han’s face darkened the slightest bit. “Mr. Lau wanted me to entertain you for the evening.”

“Tell Mr. Lau thank you, but that I’ve found entertainment elsewhere.”

Han drained his whiskey and put the empty glass back on the bar.

“Better luck tonight,” he said as he walked out the door.

Asshole.