Page 67 of King of Omen

I planned to check each room, ensure the landscapers and gardeners had completed their weekly assigned tasks, and do some light cleaning.

Once inside, I moved through the rooms, verifying everything was in order. I even opened the windows to air out the place.

While Lorenzo made calls on the vista-soaked terrace, Mauri limped around the property, checking its security integrity as I dusted.

An hour and a half later, satisfied, I informed both men that I was done.

‘Perhaps we can stop for lunch on our way back,’ Mauri suggested as we piled back into the car.

Lorenzo agreed, ‘Bene, I’m starved.’

‘There’s a fantastic local trattoria in town,’ I offered.

‘Lead me to food, and I shall go,’ Mauri quipped, turning on the car

Soon, we pulled into the village market, finding parking outside the restaurant.

We entered the mom-and-pop establishment, the aroma of fresh noodles and marinara sauce filling our noses. The owner, a man with a round belly and a welcoming smile, greeted us with open arms.

‘Buongiorno! Welcome to La Tavola di Nonna. What can I get for you today?’

We sat down and started with sparkling water for the table. Glancing at the menu, I decided on pasta and wine.

While we waited, Mauri and Lorenzo joked around as men who’d spent time with each other for years did.

The server arrived with our dishes and a bottle of a perfectly matched mild, red Shiraz, which we savoured as we dug into our savoury and abundant fare.

The next hour unfolded into laid-back pleasure, a reminder of the simple goodness of life.

Lorenzo and I sat next to each other, and as we ate, his arm would brush mine, his thigh touched my own, and as we sipped the last of our wine, his arm stretched behind my head.

When he laughed, his breath wafted over my temple, and at one point, he pulled me close, burying his face in my hair when he chuckled.

His touches were subtle, yet each one a possessive claiming, a slow takeover of my defences. I didn’t fight it, I freakin’ welcomed it, my soul thirsting for this man.

‘We need to get back,’ Mauri announced as the sun’s golden rays deepened in colour.

With some reluctance, we rose to our feet. Lorenzo paid the bill, and we exited the trattoria and entered Mauri’s SUV.

Turning my eyes as I stepped in, I saw a pair of bikies loitering on their Harleys in the street across from us.

I had no clear view of their vests, but still, my breath hitched. Shaking off the cold shiver that ran through me, I settled into the car.

Mauri turned on the car, and we took off.

Sated from the food and wine, we remained silent, lost in our thoughts.

We’d just turned into the feeder road, which led to the highway when I heard the thunder of approaching motorcycles.

Not just one or two. At least twenty, clamouring in from behind us.

Lorenzo sucked his teeth, head swinging, eyes narrowed as he stared out the back window.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered.

The road stretching out ahead was empty and desolate, with no sign of civilisation in sight. The mountains loomed on either flank like silent sentinels, watching our impending fate unfold.

I glanced in the side mirror, panic clawing at my chest. My heart skipped a beat as more bikes closed ranks on us, their engines reverberating through the elevated terrain.

---