He nods fast.
I lean in just slightly, enough that my next words land where they need to.
“You will give it to her tonight. Personally. You will apologize for the accounting error. You will not mention me.”
Donald nods again.
“If she asks questions,” I say, “you will lie.”
“Yes.”
“If you ever steal from her again, I will know.”
His breath catches.
“And if you ever speak my name in connection to this, I will come back.”
I let that sit between us for a second.
Donald believes me.
That is the beautiful thing about men like him. Deep down, beneath the cheap cologne and petty cruelty and managerial fraud, they understand hierarchy. They know exactly when they have wandered into a food chain too high above their station.
“I understand,” he says.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Leone speaks from the mouth of the alley without turning around. “You should probably stop there, boss. He’s close to pissing himself.”
Donald makes a strangled sound of protest.
I lower the gun.
“Go inside,” I say.
He does not wait for me to repeat myself. He practically stumbles over his own shoes in his hurry to get back through the door, clutching the cash like it’s a live grenade.
For a moment I stay where I am, looking at the metal door swinging shut behind him.
Leone comes to stand beside me. “You’re slipping,” he reminds me calmly.
I glance at him.
“You used your own money.”
“It was faster.”
He huffs a laugh. “That is one word for it.”
I put the gun away. “Do you object?”
“Not at all.” He tilts his head slightly. “Though I suspect this is not standard extortion protocol.”
“It is not extortion.”
“What would you call it, then?”
