Mafia Kings: Roberto: Dark Mafia Romance Series #5

My cell phone woke me.

I opened my bleary eyes to white-hot sunlight streaming through the windows.

The digital ringtone, normally just background noise, was like an icepick through my eardrums.

I propped myself up on one elbow and immediately regretted it as my head throbbed and the room spun slightly.

I noted that I was only wearing boxers. I didn’t remember undressing, but apparently I had before I’d collapsed into bed.

I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand and saw Niccolo’s name on the screen. I answered immediately.

“…hello?” I croaked.

“Jesus, SOMEBODY went through the meat grinder,” my brother said cheerfully in Italian. “It’s almost 11 AM – aren’t you out of bed yet? Or did you even GO to bed?”

“Can you not speak so loudly?” I groaned.

“I’m speaking in a normal voice, you little reprobate. How much did you drink last night?”

I glanced over at the bottle of scotch on my nightstand. It was nearly a third empty.

“Too much,” I muttered.

“I’ll bet. Anyway, I’m about to leave Hong Kong.”

“Did you book a private jet?”

“No, I’m flying commercial. First class – got the last seat available.”

My eyes opened wide despite the sunlight setting my retinas on fire. “Is that wise?”

“Flying OUT of Italy was the problem. I don’t think flying IN will be an issue.”

“It’ll certainly be cheaper…”

“Amen. Speaking of money we don’t have, what says Mr. Lau?”

I winced, and not just from my hangover. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him today.”

“Of course not. You’re still in bed, recovering from an epic bender,” Niccolo said sardonically.

“I’ll get the money,” I said crossly.

“About that… be careful.”

“Of course I’ll be careful.”

“No – be CAREFUL. Like you would if we were back home.”

I frowned. “Why do you say that?”Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

There was a long pause. When he finally spoke, Niccolo sounded cagey.

“Look, I can’t tell you HOW I know, so don’t ask… but I have reason to believe that these Syndicate people aren’t going to cooperate with you.”

“Well, they certainly don’t want to – but I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Hrm,” he grunted, not sounding convinced at all. “Don’t react to the next thing I’m about to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because I think it’s possible your room might be bugged.”

Panic flowed through me as I sat up in bed. “What?!”

Niccolo sighed in exasperation. “I just told you not to react.”

“I didn’t say anything – ”

“No, you just freaked out like I told you there’s a bomb in the room.”

My heart hammered in my chest. “Is there?!”

I was severely hung over. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.

“No!” he said with a laugh. “Well, not as far as I KNOW, and I assume it’s extremely doubtful. But are you going to be quiet when I tell you the thing I need to tell you?”

“Yes,” I said crankily. “Go ahead.”

“I think Fausto might have already gotten to your so-called ‘friends’ in the Syndicate.”

THAT sobered me up quickly.

And this time I remembered I wasn’t supposed to react.

“Why do you say that?” I asked neutrally.

“Like I mentioned, I can’t tell you how I know. And I’m not absolutely certain.”

“How certain are you, would you say? If you had to put a number on it?”

“At least 80%. Maybe more.”

My stomach felt even worse, and not just from the alcohol.

Niccolo could be histrionic and over-the-top with others; when he was, it was almost always an act.

But with me, he was fairly down-to-earth… so when he said he was 80% sure, I took it very seriously.

“Like I said, be careful,” Niccolo continued. “This thing with the Syndicate… if it starts to go sideways, get OUT.”

“I’m coming back with the money, Niccolo,” I said quietly.

My brother’s voice was earnest and affectionate – a rarity in most of our conversations. “You’re a million times more important than any amount of money, Roberto.”

I was sincerely touched by the kindness in his voice. “Thank you… but I’m still coming back with it.”

“Alright. Just be careful.”

“I will.”

“By the way, I need the names of the bank managers who authorized the wire transfers.”

I knew exactly why he wanted them.

Anybody who helped Fausto steal from us was going to get whacked – if for no other reason than to dissuade other people from doing similar things in the future.

“Do you have a piece of paper?”

This was one piece of information I wasn’t about to send in a text or email, in case the cops should ever get a warrant to check our phone records.

“Yes, hold on.”

Once he was ready, I listed the banks and the managers who had been involved with the fraudulent wire transfers.

After the trauma of seeing all our money gone, that information was seared in my brain.

“Good,” Niccolo said after he had all the information. “Talk to you soon, little brother.”

I’d been born 10 minutes after Niccolo, so he’d called me ‘little brother’ since we were kids.

As children, he’d done it to annoy me – and it had worked. I’d hated it.

But now it was a term of endearment.

“Talk to you soon.”