Page 30 of King of Omen

Lost in my fantasy, I started when my phone vibrated with a message.

With some reluctance, I checked it.

Mauri and the car were waiting outside.

I sheathed the envelope once again in my breast pocket next to my lighter and silver cheroot case. Rising, I gathered my laptop bag and headed outside.

My housekeeper, Mrs Venetio, gave me a slight wave from the hallway.

I greeted her, smiled and powered to the SUV idling in the carport.

Mauri stood by the vehicle, his expression unreadable as always.

His sharp gaze met mine, and a flicker of something passed through his eyes before he masked it with his usual stoic demeanour.

‘Boss,’ he nodded in acknowledgement as I approached.

‘Come stai?’ I murmured in greeting.

‘I’m well,’ he rasped, giving me his customary response, which I took with a chin jerk.

On paper, Mauri was a qualified executive protection professional, ex-military, and a trained threat specialist who’d become a close friend and my consigliere because of his smart-as-a-whip mind.

I trusted the man with my life, even though he lived alone with his cat, whom the mofo would kill for over me.

His dry statement when he’d interviewed with me a few years ago had nailed the job for him. ‘Celeb work is shit. I’m done with the long shifts, low wages, egos, and pain-in-the-ass clients. I’d much rather toil for a man like yourself who will pay me well, listen to me, has a normal schedule, and is human. I’ll work all hours, any day of the week, unless my cat needs me. Then you’re on your own.’

He’d said it with such savage fierceness that I believed all of it, especially the latter part.

We’d shaken hands on a practical relationship based on mutual respect.

I’d never regretted the hire. Over the years he became a confidant, a silent partner in all my dealings. His loyalty was unwavering, his skills unmatched.

The day he’d decided to stop protecting celebrities and movie stars was my lucky strike.

I slid into the passenger seat of the SUV, the leather cool against my skin.

The engine purred to life as Mauri pulled out of the driveway, navigating the winding roads of Napoli with practised ease.

The silence between us was comfortable, a testament to the years of working together.

The drive was unremarkable, broken only by the occasional sound of tyres on pavement.

We’d enjoyed relative quiet since coming back from Australia.

The families and clans of Napoli were playing nice, almost too so.

My brothers and I didn’t mind as we wound up any loose business ends, links and connections to our former crime associates.

Nonetheless, we’d been made aware of a growing whisper campaign against our moves towards independence. Mauri had intel on several clandestine meetings amongst Alliance members that were a prelude to an unforeseen storm threatening to unravel the plans we were working toward.

A few volatile confrontations and threats we nipped in the bud, and we continued unhindered in severing the ties to our illicit past with surgical precision.

Yet, a lingering unease settled within me, a sense of an impending storm brewing on the horizon. Mauri’s stalwart presence was a reassuring anchor amidst the uncertainty clouding my thoughts.

‘Don Abrazzio today?’ I clarified.

‘Si. 10 a.m. at his office.’

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