Page 22 of Broken Honor

My tears soak into her clothes as I beg her to believe me.

Chapter Four – Vieri

The clock strikes midnight.

The sound is soft, but sharp—each chime echoing faintly off the high ceilings of the study.

The reports I asked for are spread across the desk—ledgers, shipment logs, communication transcripts, internal audit slips, payroll records coded under shell corporations. Neat piles, crisp edges. Alfio never disappoints.

My fingers trail over the last rotation schedule, eyes skimming dates and crew assignments. Two names catch my attention—men I don’t remember approving. I underline them quietly with the side of my pen, then move to the next column.

Omero’s anomaly reports are in a separate folder—detailed timestamps, signal inconsistencies, a flagged pattern around the eastern docks. He’s efficient.

I stack the files together with a tap and push my chair back. I grab the gun on the table and slide it into my shirt.

I slide on a coat—black wool, heavy, tailored to my frame. The collar folds sharp against my neck, the lining soft against my shirt sleeves. I button it up slowly and then flick off the desk lamp.

The halls outside are hushed, lit only by the faint wall sconces casting long shadows across the marble floor. The Tavano mansion always settles into this kind of hush after midnight

I walk, hands in my pockets, heading toward the side entrance.

I turn the corner—then pause.

Riccardo’s pressed against one of the walls, half-hidden between two tall columns, and his hands are tangled in the hair of a young maid.

Her dress is hiked up around her hips. His mouth is on her neck, biting softly. Her head is thrown back, lips parted in a quiet gasp as he sucks along the curve of her throat.

His fingers slide beneath her blouse, cupping her breast. She moans softly, arching into him.

I clear my throat.

The sound cuts through them like a blade.

The maid freezes, then jerks away from him, face flushed, eyes wide with horror. She stammers something unintelligible and scrambles to fix her skirt, stumbling back like a frightened deer before bolting down the corridor barefoot, the sound of her footsteps retreating fast into the shadows.

Riccardo leans back against the wall, breathing slow and heavy, still hard beneath his slacks, his jaw flexing with irritation.

“You really know how to kill a moment,” he mutters.

“You really don’t know how to pick one,” I reply coolly.

He zips his pants and straightens his shirt, still watching me through narrowed eyes. “She was willing.”

“She was a maid.”

“So?”

I step past him without pausing. “Don’t fuck the workers.”

“She’s not exactly staff-of-the-year material.”

I stop, glance over my shoulder. “I’m serious. Handle yourself properly next time—or handle yourself alone.”

He scoffs, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Where are you even going at this hour?”

“To clear my head. Pay her four times her severance. And fire her first thing in the morning.”

Riccardo blinks. “You’re kidding.”

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