Every slip proved Bite Me could survive.
Every slip gave Sal Torretti another reason to want it.
I set my palm flat over the stack and looked at Nico. “Tell me exactly what your uncle thinks he can take.”
Chapter Four
“Uncle Sal would start with the missed payment,” I said. “He’d argue that the missed deadline lets Torretti Harbor Capital demand the full balance now.”
Nella sat at the tiny desk upstairs with the night’s card slips and cash count spread in front of her. She still wore the soft teal tank and shorts she’d pulled on earlier, and her dark hair fell over one shoulder, hiding most of the bite on her neck. The office smelled like lime, warm paper, and the ocean coming through the cracked window.
She picked up her pen. “Can he actually do that?”
“He can try.”
“That answer needs more words.”
“If the contract is as ugly as I think it is, he can claim the missed payment puts the whole loan in default. Then he’ll push for penalties, equipment, deposits, and whatever leverage he can find in the lease.”
Her pen hovered over the pad. “So he doesn’t just want to be paid.”
“He wants the bar.”
Nella glanced down at the card slips, the cash count, and the deposit notes she’d lined up by hand. “What makes him lose?”
“Numbers he can’t twist,” I said. “Closed card batches. Cash deposits. Order totals. Copies of every payment you maketoward the original balance. Anything that proves you’re earning and paying him instead of stalling him.”
“I can do that.”
“I know you can.”
She lifted her eyes to mine. “And you don’t take over.”
“I don’t take over.”
“You don’t talk to my staff like they work for you.”
“They work for you.”
“You don’t make side calls about my business.”
“I won’t.”
Nella glanced at a menu draft half-buried under the cash count and pulled it free.
“Tomorrow was supposed to be my first Jersey Shore Night,” she said.
“What’s Jersey Shore Night?”
“It’s a promo here,” she said. “Boardwalk-style specials, one margarita I can batch fast, printed specials on the tables, music, and a reason for beach traffic to stop instead of drifting to the next bar.”
I read the top line. “You already had this planned?”
“I had it planned before your uncle decided my week wasn’t stressful enough.” She flattened the page beside the cash count. “If I get people in the door, the money follows.”
“You think it can move enough?”
“It has to.” She met my eyes. “You can help where I ask. You can carry, watch the line, and keep the patio from becoming a lawsuit. I run the floor.”
