Page 21 of Protection (Mobsters + Billionaires 2)
Booyah, capitalist swine.
Said the billionaire.
Anyway.
Harris hops up, and Ryder, my dark-goth IT guru-slash-Chief Technical Officer, takes his place.
“Ryder, and I say this with all due respect, when I see you out in the daylight, it disturbs me,” I crack.
She’s got this dark fae-meets-Bettie Page-meets-death metal aesthetic that confuses the fuck out of people.
I dig it.
She raises an eyebrow, which has three piercings. Practically an entire workout. Unfortunately, her being here usually means bad news. “We get attacked again?”
She nods, pursing her painted, multiple-pierced black lips. Our servers have been under attack from high-level hackers for months now, and we’ve moved their physical location to a highly secure facility to prevent an in-person attack here at the offices.
Ryder and I are complete opposites, but we've been together since the beginning, and her defenses against these massive attacks have held beautifully.
We agree it's probably not an individual or small organization coming after us but a targeted government entity. Whoever’s doing it, their hackers are good. Ryder is better.
We’ve been cooperating with the US government, sharing our findings. They have their hand in our patent cookie jar but haven't been particularly helpful on the cyber front.
Ryder remains the thin line of defense between us and the people who would do many other people harm, and I wonder if the US government would act a little faster if they knew the person preventing the Russians from getting the polymer they want so bad is a young woman with gauged ears, a split tongue, and a congenital heart defect.
You bet your sweet ass I pay for her insurance and every damn deductible.
She confirms the attack, and we go back and forth over strategy, and I leave it in her capable hands.
I go back to my three hundred emails and feel the couch dip beside me again.
“Ooh, nice jacket.”
Hiding my annoyance, I turn, and my mood instantly transforms. My buddy Ford is dressed in skintight banana-yellow pants and a lime-green button-down with a baroque-patterned vest that coordinates the two colors beautifully. I think the purple glasses really complete his look.
When he says nice jacket, he actually means it.
“Please tell me you have good news,” I say, my hands in prayer.
He taps his chin, then cracks a beautiful smile. He’s got the biggest crush on Luca Stefano, mobster extraordinaire, and I know the good mobster likes him right back. I’m often curious about their little back-and-forth, but I let it slide because his news will have a huge impact on every one of my employees.
“I told you I was good with numbers.”
“No, you said you were good with bitcoin and my eyes glazed over. Finally, after far too much exposition, you said all of my employees could potentially retire at the age of sixty, and then I started paying attention again.”
“Alright, jackass,” he chuckles. “Maybe I’ll keep my news to myself.”
I roll my eyes. “Out with it, Rainbow Brite.”
“You’re one to talk,” he says, plucking at my jacket.
I beseech him silently with my hands thrust heavenward, and he shimmies his shoulders. “It’s official, Madsie. All of your employees can retire at the age of sixty if they so choose.”
Even though I knew what he was going to say, I’m still shocked. “You’re fucking kidding me. How did you do that?”
He shrugs, lifting a delicate shoulder. “I have my ways. I make quick cash on bitcoin, then I put it into a more stable environment to grow over time.”
“What about Benny? He's fifty-seven.”
