Page 72 of Precious Hazard

I’m pondering whether to just cut my losses and go with the red monstrosity on my right when my gaze catches on the billboard across the street. It’s an ad for a new blockbuster. But it’s not the dude in a spandex suit that snags my eye. It’s what’s in the sky above him.

My lips pull into a smile.

Bingo.

“I’m in a meeting, Tony,” I bark into the phone and then immediately start coughing. Fuck, it feels like I’m gonna spit up a lung. I rummage in my pocket, grabbing another lozenge and popping it into my mouth. “Unless it’s urgent, it can wait,” I finally manage to add.

“It’s not urgent, sir, but I thought you might wanna know that… um, your wife… the vehicle she purchased has arrived. It’s—”

“Tony, that’s definitely not anything I need to know right now.” I cut the call and toss the phone to the massive desktop. “Where was I?”

“Projected increase in revenue and other benefits of switching from our current provider to Adriano Ruffo’s freight company for distribution,” Ajello says from his executive chair behind his office desk. “Is he open to discussing a potential partnership on that front?”

“Yes. On our video call this morning, after we discussed the latest on the project in Manhattan, I brought up the idea again. Ruffo insisted that it should be discussed in person, so we didn’t get into the details. But he’s undoubtedly interested.” I shift in my seat. Despite the way I’ve been swallowing cough drops like fucking candy, the scratching in my throat persists. “I’ve looked into the numbers a bit. Ruffo’s fleet consists of more than fifteen thousand trucks and nearly four times as many trailers. They move freight for over fifty companies across the US, exclusively. We’re talking big names here, multi-year contracts. Everything from home furniture and appliances to refrigerated goods to construction materials.”

“What’s their annual revenue?”

I look at my notes. “Financial reports put TTM at six point two billion. Mind you, that’s the trailing twelve months figures from his trucking side alone. That doesn’t include all the other stuff Ruffo is into, like the logistics services his company provides.”

“Commendable.” Ajello nods. “But here’s what I don’t get. Working with major corporations, the logistics processes must be vigorous, not to mention all the regulations and inspections that they face. And, I would imagine, the cargo is sealed for transport well in advance of being picked up. That means chances to mess with it or opportunities to use routes as a front to smuggle product have to be limited. So, how does he manage to distribute tons of drugs with that setup?”

The sharp, stabbing pain each time I draw a deep breath rears its ugly head. My throat clogs with a burning pressure, and I erupt into a gut-squeezing cough. Once the fit finally passes, I snatch the bottle of water off the table. “I have no idea.”

“You don’t look well, Arturo.” Ajello slashes me with a disapproving glare while watching me swallow another painkiller. “You should take a few days off. It’s Friday. Go home, get some rest.”

“Out of the question, boss. The annual Best In Business Gala is tomorrow night. We can’t—” Another bout of hacking overtakes me. “We can’t miss this opportunity to network, not to mention to schmooze with potential business partners out in the open. On Monday, I’m sitting down with Wang regarding that clusterfuck in Chinatown. And the following day, I’m meeting with the lead architect for the condo complex. Also, have I mentioned the arrival of our next shipment in just a few days?”

“Right. That gala would give you a chance to spend quality time with your wife.” His head bobs like he’s weighed my words and seen the error of his earlier remark. “But otherwise, you’re on sick leave, starting now. I’ll let security know not to allow you in the building until I inform them differently.”

“I do not need sick leave. And I don’t have the time to be sick, particularly now, since Nino isn’t available to fill in.”

There’s still no intel on the guys who jumped us on the road earlier this week. None of the stiffs had any ID. The truck they used was reported stolen two days before they ambushed us. With the number of people or groups with a grudge against the Family, or me personally, being endless, I can’t even guess who might have been behind the attack. Nino has spent the past week casing every dive bar and strip joint where lowlifes fromother shady orgs hang out, trying to see if there’s any chatter. All without success.

Ajello pins me with his gaze. “Yes, you do. You’re dismissed, Arturo.”

Indignation courses through my veins as I snatch my laptop and file folders off the desk and storm out of the don’s office. Ginger, Ajello’s administrative assistant, rushes toward me, blabbering on about the Princeton warehouse and the lease that’s expiring next week. I grit my teeth and continue down the hallway toward the elevator. Although I’m virtually ignoring her, she keeps trotting after me.

“You know what, Ginger?” I hit the elevator button with way too much force. Shoving the laptop under my arm, I hand her the file folders. “Take this to the don and tell him that I hope he has fun with the paperwork.”

The elevator dings. I step inside and slam my finger on the button for the parking level. As the doors close, Ginger’s dumbfounded face gets blocked from my view.

Fucking great. I can’t believe Ajello put me on forced medical leave. Especially when the shit I’ve got to take care of is piling up sky-high. Over the past year, I took exactly one day off. One! The day Sienna got married. No one can argue that I don’t carry out my duties to the don and this Family with utmost proficiency. And this is the thanks I get? All because of a little cough?

Said cough picks this exact moment to remind me that it’s whopping my ass. I bend over, coughing up a storm big enough to start wondering if my organs are going to come out. I do feel like hell warmed over, but I’m not going to let that stop me. Even though my lungs feel like they’ll implode from the pressure squeezing my chest, and every muscle in my bodyaches. Damn it, I need to kick this bug already. I dig out another throat lozenge and pop it into my mouth.

By the time the elevator stops at the underground garage, I once again feel like I can survive on the shallow breaths I’ve been reduced to. I finally got my driver’s license back this morning, so I head straight for my Land Rover. Sliding behind the wheel of the SUV, I sigh and lean my head back for just a minute.

What car did my hellion purchase? I got a call a few hours ago to confirm that my credit card hadn’t been stolen. Apparently, my wife was trying to put through a transaction of one point two million on the Amex. That’s what I get for telling Tara that she could buy whatever she wants. I own up to my mistakes, so I allowed the purchase. Hopefully, she didn’t get an ugly-ass convertible. I detest those.

As soon as I saw her junker parked on the driveway, the memory of Tara in that dark alley flashed in my mind. I don’t care how well her car was fixed; I don’t trust it. Can’t be convinced that rust bucket won’t let her down again. And what if I’m not there next time? What if she’s alone and gets stranded in the middle of nowhere? What if the brakes fail and my wife ends up in a crash? Nope. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t allow even the slightest possibility of that to exist. So I made it disappear. Sent it to car heaven, or wherever. Made sure she’d never get into that thing again.

I also doubled her security detail, assigning another team of bodyguards to trail her. Always. She’ll never be left unprotected again. And I know the new car will have all the safety features. I’ll also make certain we install all the custom upgrades. Tracking. Bulletproof glass. The works. I just need to know what vehicle she selected.

Maybe Tara would have reacted better to my move with her old car if I had simply admitted the truth. But instead, I came up with that asinine explanation, making it sound like she needed to drive something flashy, something more becoming of my wife. Like I’m a stuck-up snob, or something.

Stupid, I know. But it works better for the situation we’re in.

The dashboard clock lets me know that it’s just after six, still early evening. Plenty of time to get more work done. I’ll pay a visit to Wang and try to solve whatever issues his people have with our crew’s schedule. That damn storage location needs to be finished ASAP. Hell, it needed to be done weeks ago. Then, I can make a quick call to our lead architect and go over the new renderings he sent for the next phase of our construction project. Some of the details are not coming out the way I’ve pictured them. That means I’ll start my sick leave as of tomorrow. Tonight, keeping busy will distract me from thinking about my wife. And her tight little pussy.

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