"Buongiorno, Giorgio."
Giorgio felt his neck muscles tense at the sound of that thick, nasal accent.
Filthy Borderland pig. How many times had he told himself this would be the last time? Could he endure it any longer, or should he simply grit his teeth and accept his fate? At least for now. There was no work in this region, nor in the rest of Latium, and he was in no position to be choosy. Deep down, he knew that one day things would go horribly wrong. The sick bastard would no longer be satisfied with groping him or slapping his arse as he cleared the tables. Giorgio would have loved to smash his fist into that fat Borderland face, but Ivo's bodyguards never left his side — not even when he took a piss. There was no one he could turn to for help. He had tried. After the first incident, he had gone to his manager, only to be told to keep his mouth shut. The hotel was all-inclusive — including its guests and their tastes. They tolerated all minorities, and if Giorgio was too bigoted to accept that, he was free to leave. Besides, the client was rich. That meant he was always right, especially with the generous tips he left. From then on, Giorgio had been on his own.
"Good morning, Sir. What can I do for you?" Giorgio whispered, just loud enough to be heard. He clenched his jaw as he turned to face his tormentor, avoiding eye contact. He always called him "Sir," though he knew his name was Ivo — Ivo something. One of those unpronounceable Borderland surnames that sounded criminal.
"How's my favourite waiter today?"
"I'm fine, thank you, Sir."
"Any news for me?"
"No, Sir. No mail for you today."
"Hm. Apparently, no one's interested in me," Ivo laughed. Giorgio forced a smile.
"And how's business at the hotel?" Ivo asked.
"Everything is satisfactory, Sir. We have some new guests…" Giorgio muttered.
"No, you idiot! I mean your business. Are you a maître d'hôtel yet?"
"No, Sir. I need more experience."
"Well, we can take care of that," Ivo winked, making obscene movements with his tongue. Giorgio turned away quickly, pretending to check the lunch reservations.
"Hey, are you still mad about yesterday? I didn't mean any harm. Groping is a compliment, you know…"
"Sir, perhaps in some countries that passes for the highest form of praise, but I would prefer you to stop," Giorgio said firmly.
"Hey, hey! No need for hostility! I want to make it up to you. There's a party tonight at my suite. Plenty of food and booze. I know you're on duty but drop by when you can. I've already spoken to your manager — he said it's fine." Ivo reached into his jeans and pulled out a white plastic card — the electronic key to his room. He slid it across the counter. "Here's my key. I'll be waiting for you, pretty boy. Be there." He gave another lewd wink and sauntered off.
Giorgio's face burned with anger and humiliation. He was about to storm off and confront his manager when the friendly lady from Gaul approached. She and her husband were new guests — polite, quiet people who spent most of their time by the pool or reading in the lounge. She was stunning. A shame she was married.
"Excuse me, Giorgio? Could I have some extra shampoo, please?"
"The cleaning staff forgot to leave enough?"
"Oh no, they're doing a wonderful job! It's just not enough for my hair. I end up using my husband's and leaving him without," she smiled shyly.
"Of course, Ma'am. I'll get you some more." He disappeared into the back office and returned with four extra bottles.
"Oh, four is too much!" she exclaimed.
"No problem at all, Ma'am. I know you're staying a few more days. At least you won't have to come down and ask every time. Take them — our little secret."
"Thank you, Giorgio." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, then slipped the bottles into her purse, flashed him a warm smile, and hurried upstairs.
What a beautiful woman, he thought. Her timely interruption had given him a moment of clarity. It was enough. This time he was certain. If he stayed tonight, something terrible would happen. He had already received his pay for the month, so there was no need to explain himself — especially not to that weasel of a manager.
As a final courtesy, he would tidy up and leave. He noticed Ivo's white card had vanished from the counter. He searched underneath but couldn't find it. Whatever. His next task was taking out the rubbish. Once outside, he jumped into his car and drove straight to his parents' house. He had saved a little money. Whatever the future held, it would be better than losing his honour and dignity.
***
Ivo woke with a pounding hangover. Lately, that was how every morning began. Usually, he relied on home remedies to get back on his feet, but today he felt particularly irritable. The cause of his foul mood was Giorgio. The naughty boy had failed to show up. At first, Ivo assumed he was playing hard to get. When he asked the manager, the man was in a state of panic and revealed that Giorgio had quit without a word. It was a disappointment. The party had been enjoyable enough — plenty of other Latium boys had been eager to entertain him. Still, Ivo couldn't deny he was annoyed he hadn't got a piece of that firm arse. He had grown used to Western promiscuity and expected every Western boy to be open to a bit of fun, even the straight ones. If they refused, society would brand them bigots and homophobes anyway. So, who the hell did Giorgio think he was?
Before heading downstairs, he ordered one of his guards to have the suite cleaned and all the guests removed before he returned from lunch. The guard nodded and vanished.
Down at reception, the manager was dealing with new arrivals. Ivo offered him a sympathetic smile, acknowledging the inconvenience of suddenly being short-staffed. The poor fool barely had time to catch his breath, let alone find a replacement.
Ivo crossed the lounge and stepped out to the lavish pool area. It was another beautiful sunny day in southern Latium. Despite the perfect weather, attentive waiters, and sparkling blue water, the pool was almost deserted. Staying at a five-star resort had become an expensive luxury few could afford for more than a few days. Luckily, money wasn't an issue for Ivo. His friends in Gomora kept him well sponsored. Besides, the lack of tourists worked in his favour — the fewer people around, the easier it was to remain incognito.
His bodyguard was already there, reading a newspaper at a terrace table. Ivo dropped into a lounge chair. At the far end of the pool, a young woman occupied another seat. She was new to the hotel. She and her slender husband spent most of their time outside or in the lounge. The husband wasn't really Ivo's type, but he would do in a pinch. His wife, however, Ivo had despised from the moment he saw her. Everything about her was small: her stature, her breasts, her arse. She was clearly a half-breed — probably some Musulman mix. He loathed her mestizo features, her owl-like nose, her round dark eyes, and raven-black hair. In the golden days of Great Almain, an abomination like her would never have seen daylight, let alone stayed in a luxury hotel among white people and been served by Latium boys. He couldn't understand what her husband saw in her. The man must be half-blind.
Ivo soon dozed off under the umbrella. When he woke, his guard was drinking coffee, and the half-breed woman was still lounging by the pool. After a heavy lunch, he returned upstairs.
He was surprised to find no one guarding his door. His men always informed him if they had to leave their posts. The suite was spotless, and the previous night's guests were gone. He tried calling his bodyguards, but none of those on duty answered. Growing uneasy, he called the guard from the pool and told him to come up immediately.
***
Meanwhile, shortly after the bodyguard left to join his boss, something unprecedented unfolded on the ground floor. Two armed figures — a tall man and a small woman, both dressed in black with balaclavas covering their faces — emerged from the restrooms. They burst into the dining room, where most guests were having lunch, and threatened them with automatic weapons. Phones and electronic devices were confiscated. They forced the manager to herd all staff and guests into the laundry room, where they were locked in and the door barricaded. The manager was kept with the intruders. The man did the talking while the woman covered him. The terrified hotelkeeper showed them the control room, where he was made to cut the electricity and disable the security cameras. The main entrance was blocked. Finally, they gagged and tied him to a chair in his office and locked the door.
***
"Sir, the Internet is down…"
"There's no electricity, either…"
"I hear something!"
The guard drew his weapon and moved cautiously toward the sound coming from the gym. Ivo followed at a safe distance. The bodyguard opened the door and froze. Inside were all of Ivo's security personnel, bound with rope and gagged with ball gags from Ivo's private collection.
"What the hell is this?" Ivo exclaimed, peering over the guard's shoulder.
Suddenly the guard stiffened as the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. He offered no resistance as his weapon was taken. An intruder stepped out from behind the door, holding both men at gunpoint.
***
Things had gone surprisingly smoothly. Almost too smoothly. Alex had recovered quickly from the incident in the Low Lands. Despite Volodja's protests, she had insisted on joining the mission in Latium. Thanks to Salt Cherries, Emin had obtained the name and address of the hotel where Ivo Arsonist was staying. The resort was nearly empty, so they had checked in immediately upon arrival. Emin had been right — a married couple from Gaul raised no suspicions. They paid in cash, and no one bothered to scrutinise their fake documents. They kept a low profile, behaving like typical carefree rich Westerners enjoying the sun.
They had spotted Ivo on their very first night. He and his drunken entourage had burst into the dining room, making a scene and behaving indecently. Other guests complained, but the staff were powerless. Alex had also noticed Ivo's fixation on Giorgio, the young Latium waiter. She had witnessed the man molesting him on several occasions. It shocked her that no one intervened.
By then, she and Volodja had already mapped out the number of guards, their positions, and their schedules. Their only obstacle was gaining access to Ivo's suite. The solution came unexpectedly. One evening, Alex overheard Ivo pressuring Giorgio once again. When the waiter refused the invitation to his party, Ivo had slid his room key across the counter. While Giorgio fetched her extra shampoo, Alex had quietly taken the card and slipped it into her purse.
That morning, after Ivo left for breakfast, Volodja used the stolen key to enter the suite. He knew Ivo wouldn't return until after lunch, giving him plenty of time. There were three bodyguards — too many for him to handle alone. Emin waited outside for Alex's signal.
The guards had been clearing up the mess from the previous night when Volodja slipped inside wearing a gas mask. One of them spotted him and froze in shock. Volodja seized the moment and tossed a canister of Kolokol-1 at the man's feet. The gas hissed out before the guard could react. The others rushed in at his screams, only to collapse as Volodja released two more canisters. He dragged the unconscious men to the gym, tied them up, and gagged them with items he found in the bathroom. Then he ventilated the room and waited.
"You?" Ivo shouted when he recognised Volodja as the husband from the pool.
Volodja smirked at the man's stunned expression and motioned for them to move to the centre of the room. "Tie him up," he ordered, gesturing to the bodyguard.
As Ivo bound the man's hands, he spotted a loose dumbbell bar on the floor. He crouched to hide it from view. Volodja hadn't noticed.
"I knew there was something off about you two. Who do you work for?"
"You tell me. Plenty of people want you dead."
"Scythe, aren't you? What's with the half-blood troll? Couldn't they find you a real woman?"
"Since when do you know anything about women, you faggot? Shut your filthy mouth!"
"You have no idea what you've walked into, boy," Ivo hissed.
Volodja kept one eye on the door, waiting for Alex and Emin. They had no communication devices that day for security reasons. Everyone had their role. The final rendezvous point was Ivo's suite.
Ivo noticed where Volodja's attention kept drifting. The moment Volodja glanced toward the hallway again, Ivo grabbed the hidden bar and swung it with brutal force. Volodja pulled the trigger. The bullet struck one of the bound bodyguards instead. Pain exploded in Volodja's knee as the metal bar connected. Ivo bolted. Gritting his teeth against the agony, Volodja forced himself up and limped after him.
He saw Ivo disappear through a bedroom door on the far side of the vast suite. Ignoring the numbness in his leg, Volodja kicked the door open. Ivo had already climbed out the window onto the fire escape and was heading for the roof.
Volodja crossed the room and was about to follow when he heard a faint ticking sound behind him. He turned. A small black package lay on the bed. Its digital display showed a timer.
Seven seconds remained.