“I could say the same about you, Frank.”
He shifts his weight, and I notice he’s holding a tablet with what looks like HVAC schematics pulled up. “Just doing some weekend inspections. Quality control, you know how it is.”
I do know how it is. I also know bullshit when I smell it, and Frank Moretti is currently producing it in industrial quantities.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He shuffles in place. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly?—”
“Frank.” I keep my voice level, but there’s steel underneath it. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know the difference between a social visit and a problem. Which is this?”
He sighs, the sound of a man who knows he’s about to ruin someone’s weekend. “We found an issue during the systems testing yesterday. The ventilation in the truffle oil prep station.”
That’s a kick to the nuts on a day I’ve already been kicked plenty, but I keep my face neutral. “Go on.”
“The specifications you approved—they’re not adequate for the volume and heat requirements you’re planning.” Frank pulls up a schematic on his tablet and points a thick finger to a section of ductwork. “The high-heat processing, the amount of oil being prepared, the specific ventilation needs for that cooking method—none of it was properly accounted for in the original HVAC design. We started testing the systems under load yesterday, and the ventilation can’t handle it. You’d be looking at fire hazards out the wazoo. It’s a code violation waiting to happen, brother.”
“How bad?” I ask.
“Bad enough that we can’t pass inspection without fixing it. We’re talking about rerouting major ductwork at a minimum. At worst, we’ll have to upgrade the exhaust capacity andprobably reinforce some of the structural supports to handle the additional weight.” He scrolls through more blueprints. “I’ve got my HVAC guy running numbers, but we’re looking at around two hundred grand to fix it properly. Maybe more.”
Two hundred thousand dollars. In the grand scheme of Project Olympus’s budget, it’s manageable. Painful, but manageable. “What’s that gonna do to the timeline?”
“Tacks on two weeks if everything goes smooth. Could be more if we find other issues once we open up the ductwork. And we usually find other issues.”
My first instinct is to put my fist through a wall. Or, failing that, put it through Frank’s face. That’s the Izotov blood in me, the ghosts of my pasts screaming in my ear that violence will fix this shit.
And fuck, maybe once upon a time, that’s exactly what I would’ve done. God knows I’ve roared in the faces of enough underlings until they agreed to bend time and space to carry out my demands.
But something in me has shifted. It’s subtle but undeniable. A fist no longer feels like my best choice.
I could blame Aleksei. But I know the real culprit for this change:Eliana.
I don’t like it one bit.
“Do it,” I tell Frank. I’m suddenly exhausted. “Whatever needs to be done to make it right. Get me the revised estimates by Tuesday.”
“You sure? I know the timeline’s tight?—”
“The timeline’s fucked if we build something that doesn’t work. Better to do it right than do it fast.”
He gives me a strange look, but nods. “Yes, sir, Mr. Hale.”
I leave the construction site in a worse mood than when I arrived. I don’t want to go home—Sage will be getting back from physical therapy soon, and I need a few hours of silence before my little brother starts needling me.
So I tell myself I’ll just swing by the office to check on a few things. It’s a lie, and I know it’s a lie, but I’m getting really good at lying to myself these days.
I sayprivetto Jovanni on my way into the elevator, then ride up in silence. The doors open onto darkness. Lights out, the conference rooms shadowed, everything shut down for the weekend.
Except.
From where I stand, I can see into the cubicle area. Most of the floor is dark, but there’s one lamp still glowing.
Eliana’s desk.
She must have left it on when I rushed her out for the investor dinner. I almost tell myself I’m just being energy-conscious, just turning off an unnecessary light, as I walk down to her cubicle.
But that would just be lying again.
