I giggle, but when Alessio cuts me a look that tells me he’s serious, I hide my smile under my palm. Apparently, emotional support pets can’t talk unless he wants them to. That’s fine.
Since he’s discussing business, and I’m actually in his office, I snoop around his desk. Casually, I lift papers, folders, the stapler. The screen flashes, and I look up to see a spreadsheet with many random numbers matched with a row of numbers with many zeros. Are those dollars? Wait, what?
I point at the screen. “Are these bank accounts?”
Alessio mutes the phone line. “Try to contain yourself. You and money turn me on. You getting excited about money is dangerous.”
My cheeks feel hot, and I look away.
He opens the phone line again.
Since Alessio doesn’t mind me looking, I memorize the names of corporations and banks, and deposits with at least six zeros. Under the desk, a small drawer with a key hanging from the lock catches my eye. I turn the key and pull out the drawer.
Alessio stills, but I ignore him, pretending I didn’t sense a shift in his mood. Mr. Bono is still speaking, yet Alessio’s attention is on me. I’m the thirsty gazelle the lion is allowing to drink from the river that flows through his territory.
In the drawer, I find two handguns. A golden one with an initial F instead of an A for Alessio and a silver one that looks standard. There’s also a black leather wallet, a stack of passports, and an old plastic flip phone. Burner phone, I believe they call them.
I grab the passports.
Alessio’s chatting again, more relaxed as I go through his passport. There are four of them, and two are diplomatic. Unless they’re fake, it means he has multiple citizenships, and he’s a diplomat.
Wait, this man owns an island, which is a sovereign territory, so how did he get diplomatic access from other places? I guess nowadays, with how often people travel, he could be a citizen of five or more places if he wanted to. Some only require that he buy property.
I return the passports and pick up the burner phone.
Alessio snatches it from me and puts it back, gently closing the drawer but not locking it.
“Mr. Bono, I’m surprised you’re giving me excuses… Yes, I’m aware of days of the week, but Sunday is a working day for me and therefore for you as well.”
“Sunday is the Lord’s day,” Mr. Bono counters.
Alessio leans in. “Are you the Lord?”
Inwardly, I cringe, because Alessio picks up the phone and brings it to his mouth.
“There is only one Lord, and you’re not him, so you’re working today, and since you’re working for me, you must work like Noah did when the Lord told him to build an ark so he could survive the Lord’s wrath. You know Noah’s story, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you know why he survived?”
“Yes, sir. He built an ark.”
“That’s right. He was the man who worked relentlessly, tirelessly, while everyone laughed at him. That man survived while all the others drowned. Mercifully, because I bet God made it quick, but still, they did not survive. The point of me bringing up this story is that if you’re on my team, you have an admission ticket to my ark, but you have to keep delivering what I ask when I ask for it so that the ark I’m building can float on the water and not sink. Do you understand?”
“Mr. Angelini, my wife is in labor. That’s why I can’t update the data.”
“Awww,” I say. “Congratulations.”
Alessio frowns. “Your wife is in labor? Where are you right now?”
“In the hospital waiting room.”
“Doing what?”
“Waiting, sir.”
Alessio shuts his eyes tightly, and I get the impression he’s trying to contain himself.
