Page 14 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
A slightly evil grin crosses my lips as I type my response. Sure, my life is in shambles, but that doesn’t mean I can’t line up a fuck.
“I’m glad this amuses you, Mr. Portelli, but we have a serious problem.”
I pocket my phone and square up to this billion-dollar diamond-plated asshole. “No. You have a serious problem. I’ve got an ad executive who’d like me to return his wrinkled shirt before he leaves town.”
“Excuse me?”
“That wasn’t my shirt. Which is why it didn’t fit.”
“I don’t…” He cuts himself off again, and I take pleasure in the fact that, for the second time in as many days, I’ve pushed him off balance. Especially since I’m the one in the coveralls unloading fifteen kinds of illegal cargo just so I don’t lose my fucking apartment.
“The shirt is immaterial. We must find a solution. A way to work together.”
I pull my chin back, smirking at his attempt to tell me what the fuck to do. Asshat.
“There is no we. If you think I give a shit that your stocks leapt off the top floor, then let me help you: I don’t care. I hope your company goes under. I hope you end up impoverished with no health insurance.”
“This could mean hundreds of jobs.”
Second shift guys start filtering in, going to their lockers, staring between Wolfe and me.
“Yo, Joe-ee, slummin’ wit’ us again?”
“Hey, Mikey. You know it, right? Fuckin’ corporate America,” I say, dropping back into my Brooklyn.
Wolfe’s posture shifts as more guys pile in. “So, this is your actual speech? I’m surprised you managed to put together a coherent argument yesterday.”
“Look, dick stain,” I say, hoping to get this fucking liability out of this fucking warehouse, “I already told you to fuck off.”
He startles, his intense eyes narrowing. “I apologize for interrupting your very important pallet loading. Perhaps I should keep my lucrative offer to myself and see my way out.”
Thank fucking Christ.
Mikey’s heart’s in the right place when he answers for me, “Hey, Joe, this asshole giving you a hard time? He’s the prick from the video, no?”
Even Mikey knows about the video? I decide not to confirm Wolfe’s identity because I don’t want to figure out how to get his blood out of my clothes.
“You need me to teach him some manners?”
The rest of the second shift is looking at me funny now that I’m paying attention. Fuck me sideways. Wolfe blanches as more guys walk in, and I roll my eyes. Weak-ass billionaire asshole.
“Nah, Mikey. You’re good people, thanks for that. But I was just showin’ this jackoff to the door.”
“Hey, Joe, you back on the truck?”
“Who’s the suit? Somebody lawyer up?”
“Hey, Joe, ever heard of an iron? If you’re gonna rep Brooklyn, maybe fucking don’t do it looking like a clueless librarian.”
“Took down that bastard billionaire fuck, though, didn’t he? Bookies are making bank on how low his stock will go.”
“Fuck, is this the douchebag, Joe?”
The guys I never really think of as more than coworkers, crowd around us, curses flying low and furious. All these guys have dreams of becoming made men in my father’s army, and how better to do that than to make an example of someone who disrespects the family name? Calgon, take me the fuck away.
Sally, who’s been watching this whole time, walks up. “Joe, you still talking to this prick? It’s the end of shift, fuckin’ clock out if you’re havin’ a tea party. And the rest of yous fucks get to work. I’m not paying you to fuck around.”
He looks at Wolfe with too-sharp eyes and nods to Mikey, who turns to his locker. Ah, jeez. That’s Mikey going for whatever weapon he’s got stashed in his locker today because my half-brother has exactly two brain cells and no fucks to give.
