Mafia Kings: Roberto: Dark Mafia Romance Series #5

The first thing I did was hit the streets of Hong Kong. I didn’t even bother to shower or change my clothes.

I knew I couldn’t walk around in a $20,000 suit without attracting attention, so I used Google Maps to find the nearest clothing store.

I also didn’t want the hotel concierge to see me in my hungover state, which is why I used my phone.

The store was a mainstream corporate chain – a Chinese version of The Gap.

I browsed until I found what I needed:

A black hoodie with a zipper down the front…

Jeans…

Several t-shirts…

Tube socks…

And running shoes.

I also grabbed a pair of sunglasses from a counter display.

The girl at the register greeted me in Chinese.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

She shook her head ‘no,’ so I stayed silent as she rang up my purchases.

It was probably for the best. She got one whiff of the alcohol on my breath, noticed my day-old scruff and bloodshot eyes, and avoided eye contact for the rest of the transaction.

I didn’t want there to be any possibility that Dario or Niccolo might find out what I was doing by hearing from the credit card company’s fraud department, so I paid in cash.

After all, me of all people purchasing from a Chinese version of the Gap? Highly suspicious.

After I paid, I only had a few hundred Hong Kong Dollars left – about $38 US.

That was when I realized I needed a source of funds for my plan.

I returned to the hotel and dropped off my new clothes, then showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth.

I was still too nauseated from my drinking binge to eat, so I skipped breakfast.

I put on my second suit, which was freshly laundered and pressed.

Then I grabbed the check from the safe (the one for $227,000 the El Dorado casino gave me after I played poker with Han) and left the room.

I dropped off my rumpled suit with housekeeping to be dry-cleaned, then headed out again.

I searched Google Maps until I found a nearby bank our family didn’t do business with – one of those giant international conglomerates with a branch in every first-world country.

I walked into the lobby and asked for a manager who spoke English.

I got to speak with someone immediately – probably because of my Rolex and suit.

The manager was a thirty-something man with a chubby face and glasses. He took me into his small office and asked with a British accent, “So, Mr. Rosolini – how might I help you today?”

“I’d like to open an account with your bank,” I said as I slid the check across his desk.

“Certainly,” he said with a smile, which got even bigger when he saw the amount on the check.

“How quickly can the funds be available?” I asked. “Say, 100,000 Hong Kong dollars to start?”

It sounds like a lot, but 100,000 Hong Kong dollars was only $12,800 US.

The manager beamed. “We have an excellent relationship with the El Dorado Casino, so we can probably verify the check and get you that amount within 48 hours.”

“I need it quicker than that.”

His tone became apologetic. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think we – ”

“What if I put up collateral?”

“In that case, we could extend you a personal loan until the check clears.”

I took off my Rolex and slid it across his desk. “Will that do?”

He looked at the watch, blinked, and looked back up at me. “Um… yes, that will do nicely.”

After filling out all the necessary forms, I walked out of the bank without my Rolex but with 100,000 Hong Kong dollars in my pocket.

I returned to the hotel and switched out my suit for the jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie.

I felt extremely odd. Other than when I’d trained with Lars (along with our family’s foot soldiers), I hadn’t worn these kinds of clothes since I was 12 years old.

Ever since I turned 13, I had favored dress clothes and suits.

Yes, I’ll admit it: I had been an unusual child.

The next thing I did was call an Uber.

In case Lau was working with Uncle Fausto, I didn’t want to use one of the hotel’s town cars. Lau owned the hotel, and the driver might pass on information about where I went.

Also, most taxis in Hong Kong were bright red, which would stand out too much for the kind of mission I was on.

So Uber it was.

The blue Toyota Camry shown on the app pulled up to the curb.

When I got in the backseat, the driver greeted me in Chinese.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

He shook his head and said, “No English” in a thick accent.

“Cantonese?” I asked.

He nodded and said something I didn’t understand.

Good.

I had already downloaded a translation app, dictated a message, and translated it into Cantonese.

I think my girlfriend is cheating on me.

I want you to help me follow her, but we might have to wait around for several hours.

Hit the button on the screen and speak into the phone. This app will translate your reply into English.

I thrust my arm through the division in the seats so he could see the text on my cell phone screen.

He read the message and glanced back at me warily. Then he took the phone, dictated something, and handed it back.

Sorry, but I don’t want to get involved.

I had a backup plan for that, too.

I dictated into the phone, “I’ll pay you 500 Hong Kong dollars every ten minutes we have to wait. That’s 3000 Hong Kong dollars an hour, in cash. Would that change your mind?”

3000 Hong Kong dollars was nearly $400 US.

Not bad for an hour’s work.

If we had to sit and wait for three or four hours, he could make a considerable sum.

Once the driver read the message, his eyebrows shot up.

“Okay,” he said in a thick accent.

After that, we were off to the races.

He drove me to the Summit, Mei-ling’s apartment building.

We arrived around 11 AM and parked on the street in front of the high-rise.

I anticipated Mei-ling would head towards the city, so I had the driver point his car in that direction.

I put on my sunglasses and pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, just in case she saw me when she drove by.

“We’re looking for a silver convertible Bentley,” I dictated into the phone, then showed it to the driver.

His eyes widened and he dictated something into my cell.

You’ve got a rich girlfriend. No wonder you want to keep her.

I chuckled and wondered what his reaction would be if he saw my family’s house in Tuscany.

“When we follow her, I want you to stay back at least a hundred feet,” I dictated. “Don’t get too close.”

My driver read the message, nodded, and replied.

Just like a police TV show, the translation read.

“Exactly,” I said with a smile.

We sat and waited for two hours.

As promised, I handed him a Hong Kong 500-dollar bill every ten minutes.

He seemed quite pleased with the arrangement.

Finally, just after 2 PM, the silver Bentley pulled out of the Summit’s underground parking and turned towards Hong Kong.

My heart leaped in my throat when I saw her.

The convertible’s top was down, and she wore sunglasses and a scarf wrapped around her hair to keep it in place.

She was absolutely beautiful –

And for a second, I panicked that I would never have her again.

I pointed and said, “That’s her.”

The tone of my voice was clear: That’s the woman you’re supposed to follow.

“Wow,” the driver replied.

I guess certain words were universal.

He cranked the engine, waited until she was about a hundred feet down the road, then started after her.

My Uber driver proved remarkably proficient at tailing Mei-ling. It made me wonder if he’d followed people before.

He stayed at least 100 feet behind her all the way down the tree-lined hill.

Once we reached the city, he kept two or three cars between us and the Bentley at all times.

Twenty minutes after we started following her, Mei-ling pulled into an underground parking structure.

Though I hadn’t seen it during the daytime, I immediately recognized the building as the one that housed De Sade.

My driver looked at me in the rearview mirror and said something in Cantonese.

I was fairly certain he was asking, Do I follow her into the parking lot?

“Keep driving,” I said, motioning for him to continue down the street.

Using the translator on my phone, I got him to circle back around and park in an alleyway across from the building.

I briefly considered going in after her, then decided against it.

De Sade had security; it would be far too easy for them to throw me out.

I would confront her when the time was right…

And at a moment of my choosing.

I figured Mei-ling would remain at De Sade until she left work, so there was no reason for us to hang around.

I had the Uber driver take me back to the Continental. Once we arrived, I used the translator to ask if he would come back to pick me up at midnight and help me stake out De Sade.

I offered the same deal as before: 500 Hong Kong dollars every 10 minutes, with an extra thousand-dollar bonus for having to stay up so late.

He happily agreed, and I waved goodbye as I stepped out of the car.

An amusing thing happened shortly afterwards.

I walked inside the Continental, lost in my thoughts.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

What would I say to Mei-ling when I finally approached her?

What would she say?”

And why had she reacted so violently when I told her about my family?

As I waited for the elevator, a voice said, “Excuse me.”

I turned to see a burly Asian man in a suit staring me down.

I’d seen him around the lobby. He was one of the hotel’s employees – most likely security.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to know the nature of your business here,” he said sternly.

I frowned. “I’m staying in the penthouse.”

He snorted. “Sure you are.”

That’s when I realized I was still wearing sunglasses and a hood over my head.

I pulled off both so he could get a good look. “My name is Roberto Rosolini. I’m – ”

“Oh – my apologies, Mr. Rosolini,” the man said, obviously embarrassed. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“No problem at all,” I said, and got on the elevator with a smile.

If someone who was paid to be on the lookout hadn’t recognized me, then I hoped Mei-ling wouldn’t either.

Not until I was ready.