“Is there a—”
“Change,” he said.
“Where?”
He shook his head and tutted, his fingers resting in his eye sockets. “Maybe this isn’t for you,” he said.
“The shirt is—”
“No,” he said, his voice louder, more gravel behind it. “This. Maybethisisn’t for you. I need someone who’ll do as I say. I don’t need someone who asks me questions with every instruction.”
As I stared at him, light came in from behind, almost giving him a glow. I just nodded, slowly, maintaining eye contact even with the light forcing me to strain. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I need this job. I’ll change. Right now. I’ll—”
He snapped his fingers. “Then get to it. I need action. Do it.”
I zipped right out of my shirt, my fingers moving at the speed of light. I could’ve torn through it. I wore the tighter shirt, a nice blue—dry too, which was a relief.
Afterwards, Santo looked me up and down again. “Perfect,” he let out. “What did I tell you to do next?”
“Coffee,” I said with a firm nod. “What’s your coffee order?”
He smirked. “Black. There’s a machine on the third floor where the kitchen is. You’ve got five minutes. I’ll time you.”
I didn’t know what it was about him, but I’d follow anything this man told me. Even make him coffee in what felt like an impossible time limit.
2. SANTO
That boy is mine.
I’d called my brothers, Rocco and Tomaso, in a group call. They were both elsewhere, dealing with their businesses and the whole operation, making sure the Bianchi’s claws spread as far as they could scratch, digging far and deep into Boston and clawing back territories my father had let other families take.
“So?” Tomaso asked. “What’s the new guy like?”
“Obedient,” I said, as I sat at my desk, thumbing through all the receipts he’d clipped together. They were all ghost payments, heavily inflated for services and products. He hadn’t said a word about it, or maybe he hadn’t wanted to. “But we’ll see, it’s his first day.”
Rocco snickered. “I’ll break him for you, if you need me to.” I clenched my teeth. I knew what he’d meant by that. He wanted to play withmynew toy, and he wanted to use a knife, something I didn’t think this one would like.
“No,” I said. “He’s mine. Get your own. Or don’t. I need an assistant. You two fuckers don’t.” I sighed and swiveled around in the chair. Our father’s chair. I half wanted to piss in it then smash it through the window and hope it landed in the harbor. “I’ve got the job of dealing with all this fucking paperwork shit.”
“We have accountants for that,” Tomaso said.
“And we got that two million of fresh money in,” Rocco added with the smack of his lips. “I think we should expand Tales.”
“No,” I said. “We’re not making any decisions. We’re not making dad’s mistakes. He was trying to leave a shit stain; we’re leaving a legacy.” And I hated that the legacy would be in our father’s name, but despite him, our family name and line was strong.
Isaiah arrived at the glass door with my coffee in hand, and he bowed his head as he walked quickly toward me. “I hope I’m not late,” he said, placing the cup and saucer on the table.
“Brothers,” I said to them. “I’ll call you back. Someone... didn’t knock.” I hung up before they could respond.
He went bright red in the face, staring at me with his big eyes. “I’m—I’m—I’m sorry,” he said, hands shaking as he placed the cup on the desk, almost spilling the coffee.
“You’ve got to understand something, Isaiah,” I said to him. “I’m not a scary guy; there’s no need to look upset. This is your first day, and you’re learning, but I need you to learn fast. I need you to understand the business quickly.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “I’ll know for the future. I promise.”
“Good. I’m assuming it’s the good coffee. Freshly ground beans. Black. No sugar.”
He nodded to each one. “Freshly ground, used the machine fine. It should be as you wanted. If not, I’ll go back and I’ll make it again. I’ll make it as many times as you need me to until I get it right.”
