Romanza In Rome

|08|

•Taimoor•

The thin silver band covered in the language of his forefathers sat in between his pectoral muscles. It hung from a thin string, and was his most cherished possession. His great grandfather was an Indian man who had married an Italian woman, this ring belonged to him. It had run in the family since then and his mother had passed it to him, his grandmother's going to his elder brother, Emir. He ran a finger through the loop of it, luke warm water cascading down his back smoothening the tension in them. A hand ran over his tired features, the cleansing face wash running into his eyes.

Muttering profanities under his breath he rinsed his eyes. He was sure that they were rimmed red by now, and a gentle throb in them was to be expected for the rest of the day. The industrial knob filled his palms, slightly colder than his skin. Shutting the water he stepped out the glass inside his bathroom and the mirror fogged. With a muted energy he worked through his closet changing into work attire. The black suede shoes had been cleaned to the t. The tie on them, brushed thoroughly and they smelt sterile. The wrist watch came next, its large metal dial wrapped his thick wrist in a deathly grip. The chunky metal look gave him a serious look and contradicted the dress shirt whose top three buttons were left open — a window to the tattoos that covered his chest.

Running some hair wax he set is long locks into a pushed back, lightly raised quiff. Rubbing his musky roll on cologne on his neck and wrists. With fast fingers he pulled on the suit jacket and stepped out of the largely bare bedroom. He was meeting the interior designer his brother had hired, today. The way she had furnished Emir's penthouse spoke to his own personal style, the mix of wood and metal, the contrasting shades and touch of marble. He barely had any time to do it himself and since his family seemed to trust the woman so much, he had booked a lunch meeting with her.

The kitchen was empty and a steaming plate of eggs and toast sat on the island. Of course it was his father's doing, the man even-though well in his fifties, liked to drop breakfast for him before he drove to work each morning. Slicing through his breakfast and the green smoothie that tasted of kale and celery — his mother's doing of course — he eat rapidly. Although he seemed to have a talent as not a single crumb fell on the island or his shirt. Placing the dishes in the dishwasher Taimoor was out like a thunder. Once there and the next second gone.

The ride to their hotel's headquarters was short. With it being a Friday, half their staff was working from their home hence the human traffic inside the building was lessened. His driver dropped him at the large entrance and the guards stood alert. Their eyes looking at the surroundings, ensuring no attempt to assassinate the young CEO occurred — once more. The hotel and restaurant monopoly was in the hand of the Khan's for almost eighty years. It threatened the newly opening businesses and there was no shortage of enemies his father had made, having won the heart of Italy's richest woman. Every now and then Taimoor would face a small attack, nothing major, but all the more reason for his mother's maternal radar to go frantic.

Small head nods were thrown in the way of his workers. His strict gaze focused on the private elevator. The one way glass doors opened and he stepped inside, his office on the first floor — courtesy of the height phobia he harbored. The ride was short and he stepped out without wasting a single second. His long legs looked beyond toned in the fitted slacks and the chill in his shoulders and gaze got him a lot of female attention. Ignoring their reactions and the way they all but threw themselves at him, Taimoor stepped inside his glass chamber and fogged the mirrors — technology was wondrous.

"Excuse me sir?" His assistant, a young university graduate, Anthony, knocked on his office door.

Taimoor hummed under his breath, motioning for him to step inside without breaking his gaze away from the screen of his computer.