Page 24 of Chicago Sin
I glance over and curse. “You try anything, Flowers, I will make you sorry.”
That’s the closest I can come to threatening her.
Would I hurt a woman? No fucking way. We may be criminals, but goodfellas swear an oath to respect women and our elders. I nearly punched myself in the face when I thought I’d scraped her arm.
Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t smack her ass and tie her up. Show her who’s boss.
“I won’t.”
I growl but find a spot to park near the bank. “Don’t open your fucking door until I come around.” I glare at her.
She pales slightly. “Chill, Armando. I’m not going to try anything. I just have to deposit this money.” She picks up the money pouch I set between our seats and waves it. Her hand’s trembling like crazy, and I feel bad about scaring her, but I don’t apologize. I just give her the hairy eyeball as I shut the door and stalk around to her side.
She waits until I open it, like I instructed.
“Good girl.” I offer a hand to help her out.
She clutches the bag to her chest. “Can I get my purse? In case they need I.D.?”
I already pocketed her phone, but I still don’t like it. I reach for the purse and pull the I.D. out of her wallet. “Let’s go.” I take her hand but fold it behind her back, like she’s under arrest. It’s symbolic—her other hand is free, but she’ll get my meaning.
I start sweating the moment we walk inside the bank. The air is thick with the smell of polished wood, antiseptic, and body odor. There are people everywhere. A security guard by the door with a gun. He’s a big, lumbering guy, with a mustache and an ill-fitting uniform. The eyes that look at you from behind his glasses are tired and bored.
All Hannah has to do is scream for help, and it’s over.
“Armando,” Hannah murmurs. I like it when she says my name. I like that she remembered me. She wriggles her hand in mine, and I realize I’m squeezing too tightly.
I loosen my grip slightly and pull her hand out from behind her back to swing between us. We walk up to the teller, and I swear to Christ my heart’s beating so loud I think the teller will hear it. She’ll probably think I’m trying to rob the bank and sound the silent alarm.
Hannah quickly fills out a deposit slip and pushes the cash across the counter.
“You had an overdraft charge today,” the teller informs her.
Hannah tenses. “I did? I thought I had until the end of the day to make the deposit.”
The teller looks at her screen. “No, it’s real time. The check came through around two p.m.”
Okay, so she wasn’t playing me. She really does have money trouble. I tap the stack of cash with the deposit slip. “Will this cover it?”
The teller counts the money and types into her computer. “The overdraft charge was $35, so you’re twenty-two short.”
I shove my hand in my pocket to pull out another five hundred Benjamins. “Put that in the account, too.”
She nods, counts it and types some more. “Will that be all?”
I close my fingers around Hannah’s hand again. “Yes.” I start to pull her away when the teller calls back to me.
“Hang on.”
I freeze, a tight cord of tension running between my shoulder blades.
“Here’s your receipt.”
Jesus, I just want to get out of this place. But I turn and grab the receipt then pull my little captive with me.
“You were short by a lot,” I say as we walk out of the building. Again, I’m not trying to shame her, I’m just wondering what the fuck her plan was.
She stiffens, tucking her curls behind her left ear. “Better to be short with the bank than short with the don, right?”
