Mafia Kings: Roberto: Dark Mafia Romance Series #5

The next morning, one of the hotel’s town cars drove me to the Summit.

I arrived at Mei-ling’s apartment at 10 AM sharp.

We kissed at the door – gently at first, then more passionately.

As I started to inch forward into the apartment, she laughed and pressed one hand against my chest. “NO. If you come inside, we’ll never leave.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I murmured as I kissed her neck.

“You said you wanted me to play tour guide.”

“I think I’d rather you do some other things for me instead,” I whispered, gently nibbling at her ear.

“NO! Stop! Red!” she cried out and giggled, then slapped my arm playfully. “Time-honored Italian system! Time-honored Italian system!”

I immediately stepped away from her.

“Ohhhh… so it does work,” she said with a grin.

“I told you it does. On me, at least.”

“Good to know.”

Rather than take a cab, Mei-ling took me to the underground parking deck of her building, where she led me to a silver convertible Bentley.

“Very nice,” I said admiringly.

“Thank you,” she cooed as she slipped behind the wheel. “She’s my baby.”

We pulled out of the parking garage and took a left. Minutes later, we were winding down the tree-lined road to Hong Kong.

After five minutes, we reached a parking lot nestled amongst the trees. We left the Bentley, walked along a small side street, and reached a covered walkway of steps beside a steep train track.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“The tram line to the Peak.”

“The peak?”

“It’s actually named ‘Victoria’s Peak,’ back from when Britain ruled Hong Kong – but nobody calls it that anymore. It’s just ‘the Peak.’ I think you’ll like the view.”

Before long, a rail car started coming up the incline. It stopped beside the station and we climbed aboard.

The tram was filled with rows of simple benches made of polished wooden slats. The windows and huge glass skylights on top of the tram let in ample sunlight.

Mei-ling paid for two tickets, and we took a seat amongst dozens of fellow riders.

The tram started up again through a thick forest. I gazed outside the window, amazed that a place so wild and unspoiled could exist only minutes from one of the biggest cities on Earth.

A few minutes later, Mei-ling pushed a button beside our seat.

Ding!

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I want you to see Barker Road Station.”

Sixty seconds later, the tram stopped. We exited – and stepped back in time to the 19th Century.

A whitewashed wooden structure of arched doorways and wooden railings looked out over the treetops. We had the station all to ourselves; besides us, the place was deserted.

After I’d had my fill of the view, I took Mei-ling in my arms and kissed her.

We made out for at least five minutes until the next tram came crawling up the hill, at which point she playfully batted me away. “Time-honored Italian system! Time-honored Italian system!”

We boarded the tram and rode the rest of the way up to the top, where an odd-looking building greeted us: a gigantic steel semi-circle perched atop a smaller glass rectangle.

“That’s Peak Tower,” Mei-ling informed me. “Lots of shops inside. The shape at the top is supposed to look like a wok.”

We went inside Peak Tower and rode escalators past various shops and restaurants. Finally we reached Sky Terrace 428, a walkway around the top of the ‘wok’ that offered breathtaking views of Hong Kong and the harbor.

Once that was done, we descended to ground level and made our way to a building along a nearby street. The ragged stone exterior and red roof looked like a kitschy version of a Bavarian mountain inn, but looks were deceiving. Inside was a beautiful restaurant with high sloped ceilings, dark wooden tables and chairs, and a magnificent patio nestled amongst the trees.

Mei-ling slipped a banknote to the hostess, and she made sure we got a marble-topped table right next to the railing with a magical view of the harbor.

“Everything on the menu is quite good,” Mei-ling told me. “Not as good as the restaurant you took me to, obviously, but it’s one of the better touristy places in Hong Kong. I particularly recommend the seafood.”

“You order, then. I trust you.”

She spoke to a waitress in Chinese. Moments later we were sipping glasses of champagne as we waited for our food.

“What are you speaking – Cantonese or Mandarin?” I asked.

“Cantonese. Something like 90% of Hong Kong speaks it. Mandarin is tiny by comparison, maybe 5%.”

We chatted until the food came:

A two-tiered tower of seafood, with chilled lobster on the top bed of ice, and oysters and shrimp on the bottom…

And a bowl of spaghetti with half a lobster on top.

“What’s this?” I asked as I pointed at the pasta.

“Boston lobster spaghetti.”

“Boston lobster spaghetti?” I repeated dubiously.

She laughed. “Does the Italian gentleman not approve?”

“We’ll see,” I muttered as I twirled some of the noodles onto a fork and took a bite.

“Well?”

I made a hmmmm face. “Not bad.”

The consistency of the pasta wasn’t that great, but the spices – which were Asian rather than Italian – were interesting.

“Good ‘not bad,’ or meh ‘not bad’?” Mei-ling asked.

“Well, I’ve never tasted anything like it in Italy.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a complaint.”

“It’s growing on me,” I said as I pried some of the lobster meat out of the shell.

“You can order something else if you don’t like it.”

“No, no,” I said after I chewed and swallowed. “The lobster is excellent.”

“Just not the spaghetti.”

“You’re talking to an Italian,” I said drily. “I have slightly different standards than most people in Hong Kong.”

Mei-ling laughed, then squeezed a lemon onto an oyster and sucked it out of its shell.

We ate and chatted until we were full.

At the end of the meal, things took a slightly serious turn… although it didn’t seem that way at first.

“How long will you be in Hong Kong?” Mei-ling asked, her voice casual.

“I don’t know. I’m here on business, and when it’s concluded, I have to leave.”

“How long will that take?”

“Again, I don’t know. I’m waiting on some other people to come to Hong Kong for a meeting, but they’re taking their sweet time about it.”

“Oh,” she said and looked down at the table.

I reached my hand across the table and took hers. “What?”

She looked up, gave me a forced smile, and looked back down. “Nothing.”

“No – what?”

She kept looking at the table when she spoke. “It’s just… I’m going to miss you.”

My heart skipped a beat when she said it.

“I have some urgent things to attend to back home, but as soon as they’re taken care of, I’m coming back to see you,” I promised.

She looked up at me in annoyance. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make promises you’re not going to keep.”

“Oh, I’m going to keep them.”

She sighed. “You don’t have to pretend this is anything other than what it is.”

“Which is what?”

“Fun,” she said flippantly and gave me another forced smile.

“Actually,” I said quietly, “it’s a lot more than just ‘fun’ to me.”

She peered into my eyes as though searching for the truth.

“…really?”

“Really.”

I wanted to tell her I’m falling in love with you. Hell, I’m already IN love with you –

But I didn’t want to scare her off.

More than that, though, it sounded insane – even to me.

You’ve only known her, what – 72 hours?

And the first 24 of those hours, she hated your guts.

But I knew, deep down, that I didn’t give a damn about the insanity of it.

I only knew I wanted her…

More than anything I’d ever wanted in my entire life.

But I was afraid of overwhelming her, so I kept those thoughts to myself.

She finally smiled. It was tinged with sadness, but it was genuine. “Good. You better come back – otherwise, it’ll be completely unfair.”

“Why unfair?”

She leaned forward, looked at me with bedroom eyes, and murmured, “Because you’ve ruined me for all other men.”

Not only did my heart skip a beat again, but my cock started to stiffen.

“Considering that I only have a limited time… why don’t we go back to your place and let me ruin you a little more?”

She grinned. “That sounds like a very good idea.”