Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
“I have some business to handle. See ya later, Aria,” I say.
“Be careful, Nero,” she warns me. She’s a sweetheart, and my cousin is lucky to have her.
“I will do my best.” I wink and walk out of the house, hopping in my SUV to get my duties handled. I have to go into the office and make my presence known before I can split and drop the son of a bitch robbing us blind. After looking at the discrepancies, I’m shocked that he got away with it for so long. A junkie isn’t the kind of person to be meticulous. Call it a gut instinct, but I doubt he’s working alone.
Pulling into my parking spot, I head into the office. We keep a minimum amount of security in the building to prevent our own issues should our alibis be needed.
My assistant is on me with his clipboard, itching to give me the list of shit I have to tackle before I can get to my boss’s request. “Mr. Bianchi, you have three new messages this morning from Mr. Rodgers. He wants to know if you have time for a meeting.”
“Lord, does that man try my patience.” I rub my temples. “Carson, set it up for noon. He’ll get an hour of my time to give me what he has, and not a minute more.” That man drives me bananas. He’s so damned anal about everything, especially when it comes to finances. Hell, he makes Niccolò look chill, except my cousin is a lot better at his job. Niccolò’s his boss, but since I’m the one who determines which projects we fund, he needs to go through me.
“Yes, sir,” Carson says, tapping his tablet with his stylus and super proud that he’s able to check something off his list. He’s another one who is a perfectionist.
“I need a cup of coffee.” His face screws up in surprise, so I answer his unasked question. “My cup went cold this morning.” He knows that when I meet with my cousin, I usually forgo my morning dose of caffeine.
“Yes, sir.”
I slide into my office, closing the door behind me and hoping that no one else breaks my concentration. The first thing to do is to track Walsh down, take him out, and dispose of his remains before anyone notices. Still, that must wait until I handle the list of projects and reports waiting for me.
I spend my morning going over all my duties for the office, having Carson fill my coffee twice. It’s just one of those days. A headache builds between my eyes so I set the last cup to the side, focusing on my work.
A knock at my door twenty minutes before my meeting with Rodgers irritates me. If it’s that pipsqueak, I might wring his scrawny neck.
“Come in.” My assistant walks in looking a little rattled.
“Everything okay?”
“Sir, I have a family emergency.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, my mom’s cat tripped her and she’s on the way to the hospital.” Damn, that’s rough. His mother loves her cat. I happen to be a dog person, but I know they just love to get under your feet as you’re walking, and Carson’s mother isn’t young anymore so the risks of serious injury are much greater.
“I’m sorry. I hope she’s going to be okay,” I offer my sympathies because he looks so nervous to ask to leave early. He’s worked for me for two years, and I don’t believe he’s ever left early or taken a day off.
“Thank you. I hope so too.”
“Go on and get out of here. I can deal with Rodgers. Let me know if you’ll be in tomorrow when you figure it out.”
“Thank you again, Mr. Bianchi.” I nod, and he rushes out. That’s good, because having one last person running in and out of the office is better for my method of disappearing for a few hours. I have ways to go unnoticed; however, it does make it easier.
My private line rings, and this is for the other business I need to handle today. “Bianchi,” I answer.
“Boss man, it’s Bingo.”
I know who it is even though I don’t store names in this phone. It’s a burner phone that we have hundreds of, having fallen off a shipment headed for Chicago eight months ago. Of course, the manifests with the serial numbers on them disappeared as well. How fucking convenient.
“Hey, Bingo, where is Eddie Walsh?” He’s one of our guys who is in the know about almost everything. We call him that because instead of saying yes, his answer is always “bingo.” The man is a bit weird but is a dedicated son of a bitch.
“Walsh? Last I saw him was around two in the morning. He was on his way back from the strip club in Hinsdale. He said he had to wait at a home in the southwest suburbs to pay off a debt. He said if he did the job, he and the guy would be square.”