Page 45 of Unrelenting
“It’s not for sale.”
“Perhaps you’ll change your mind when you hear what I have to say.”
It’s clear he thinks he has some information that will make me reconsider, so I nod. “Go on, then.”
“My client is a very wealthy man. He’s investing a considerable amount of money in the restaurant next door. He would prefer not to have a competing business so close by.”
Outrage courses through me.
“Perhaps he should have thought of that before deciding to open a new restaurant next to a well-established one.” I feel the need to emphasize that we were here first. “Gianetta’s has been here for sixty-two years.”
Signore Bianchi’s pale pink lips twist into a sneer.
“Then perhaps it’s time for a change.” He opens his briefcase and pulls out a piece of paper. He slides it across the desk to me. “This is the amount my client is prepared to offer.”
I pick up the piece of paper and have to read the amount several times before I believe what I’m seeing.
“Five thousand euros. Is this a joke?”
“Not at all,signorina. Under the circumstances, it’s a generous offer, a little something to help you until you find some alternative employment, or perhaps a husband to take care of you.”
Ignoring that sexist remark, I stare at him, trying to work out if he seriously expects me to take five thousand for a business worth so much more.
Even if there wasn’t a successful restaurant here, I still own the entire lower floor of the building. In today’s market, it’s worth close to a million.
Aside from that, five thousand wouldn’t cover my personal bills for more than a couple of months, never mind the severance pay I’d feel compelled to offer my staff.
Angered by what is obviously some sort of game his client is playing, I scrunch up the piece of paper and toss it in the waste basket next to the desk.
“I don’t know who sent you,signore,but I am not going to allow you to waste my time. Tell your client I reject his offer.”
As I move to open the door, Bianchi says something that stops me in my tracks.
“Who do you pay for protection?”
He isn’t referring to the security company that monitors my burglar alarm. What he’s talking about is protection money people pay to the Mafia to keep their businesses safe.
It’s not something people talk about openly, but I know most shops, bars and restaurants that aren’t Mafia-owned hand over a portion of their profits each week to ensure nothing bad happens to their businesses or employees.
As far as I know, my grandmother never paid up, and I’ve never been approached about it.
“I don’t pay for protection.”
“And why do you think that is,signorina?” His patronizing tone makes me hate him even more. He’s an odious little man.
“I don’t know. Enlighten me.”
“It’s because my client allowed you to operate outside of the usual rules. He has protected you and asked for nothing in return.”
“And now?”
“Now he wishes for his generosity to be repaid. Five thousand is what is left when the fees he should have charged you are deducted from the value of your business.”
What he’s saying makes me want to cry, but I stand my ground.
“I don’t care who your client is or what he thinks is owed to him. I am not selling my restaurant, and certainly not for such a paltry sum.”
Bianchi nods as if he fully expected this response.
