Page 93 of Isabella

Once I hear the door latch close, I bring my attention back to Alessandro, who’s finally gotten his safe open. “What’s with all the nerves, Alessandro?” I ask.

He slowly turns, holding a manilla envelope of what better be cash, and reluctantly makes eye contact with me. “I just wasn’t expecting you, and since you saw how my evening was going, your presence threw me off kilter.”

“Yeah… okay,” I say.

If my dad sent me here to pick up cash, he would’ve told him, so why the fuck didn’t he?

Alessandro steps forward and holds out the manilla envelope, which I take.

“Well,” he says, “if you gentlemen don’t mind, I’d love to get back to my evening.” Alessandro extends his hand out toward the door, as if he’s going to see us out, but I ignore him, moving to the table off to the side.

“You don’t mind me counting this, do you?” I ask, but Alessandro knows better than to think that was an actual question, so he keeps his mouth shut.

I open the envelope and pull out the wad of cash. Based off the look of it, I fucking know I’m not going to like where this night will end up.

Leo stands off to the side, making sure to keep an eye on the entire situation while I count the money. He’s able to see everything from where he’s at, including if Alessandro tries to make a move while I’m counting.

After several quiet minutes, I put the wad of cash back in the envelope before handing it to Leo.

“So, here’s the thing, Alessandro.” I turn my attention back to him. “You just turned my pretty fucking good day into a pretty fucking shitty night.”

His widened gaze makes him look like a child who’s been caught, and the overhead lighting highlights the sheen of sweat that formed on his forehead while I counted his money.

“Niccolò, look, man,” he says.

“Don’t call memanlike I’m you’re fucking friend. You work for me, Alessandro, so explain to me why the hell you’re short twenty K.”

“I-I?—”

“Spit it the fuck out, because your time is about up.”

Alessandro begins backing up slowly, and if I were to guess, it’s because he’s trying to get to his desk without me getting suspicious. Too bad for him I’m trained to read situations like this. I’m already two steps ahead of him, knowing exactly what he wants from his desk—his gun. This guy is a fucking idiot.

“I highly suggest you stop moving toward your desk,” I say, which halts him. But when he looks up at me, his glossed-over eyes and shaky lip tell me I’ve already lost him.

As if on cue, Alessandro turns to beeline it to his desk, but before he’s able to take even two steps, I whip the gun from the back of my waistband, aim, and shoot him in the back of his leg. Falling to the floor, Alessandro lets out a loud scream that echoes through the room.

“What the hell!” he yells in agony, grabbing at his injured leg. “You shot me!”

I walk over and squat down to the floor. “Well, what the fuck did you expect, Alessandro? You ran from me. You know what happens when the prey runs from its predator.”

“Look.” He moans in pain. “Man, I’m sorry.”

“There you go again, calling memanlike we’re friends or something. Have you not learned anything with the bullet I just put in your leg?”

“Boss, I’m sorry. I was short today, but I’ll get the rest of it.”

“When?” I demand.

“I-I don’t know, but I will!” he shouts. “I’ll get you the twenty K; I just need a little bit of time.”

“What exactly did you think would happen if my dad had been here to find out about the little borrowing scheme you’ve got going on here?”

“I heard he was out of town, so I didn’t think he’d send anyone to pick up today.”

“Must’ve been a damn good surprise when my ass walked in then, huh?”

He averts his gaze to the floor and mumbles, “Yeah.”

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