I held the phone up. “It’s him.”
“No side calls,” she said.
“No side calls.”
She nodded toward the tiny office off the back hall. “Speaker. Door closed. If he says anything that makes me want to throw marinara, you’re cleaning it up.”
“I’ll clean the marinara.”
“You’ll also carry two more cases after this.”
I followed her into the office.
It barely deserved the name. One desk, one chair, a shelf with invoice folders, a corkboard full of delivery notes, and a fan thatmade a tired clicking sound in the corner. Nella shut the door, leaned one hip against the desk, and crossed her arms.
I answered the call and put it on speaker. “Sal.”
“You’re late,” Uncle Sal said.
“It’s ten forty-six.”
“I asked for numbers before noon. Men who intend to obey don’t wait until the hour before.”
Nella lifted one eyebrow.
I faced the phone. “Nella is here.”
Silence followed.
Then Uncle Sal said, “That was a poor choice.”
Nella leaned closer to the phone. “Good morning to you too.”
“Ms. DeLuca.”
“Nella is fine if you’re going to discuss my bar while I’m standing here.”
“It’s still your bar this morning.”
She tightened her mouth, but her voice stayed even. “Then I’d better get back to running it soon. What do you need?”
Uncle Sal made a small sound that wasn’t a laugh. “You have courage.”
“I have meatballs on a timer and a lender with terrible manners. Courage isn’t the urgent item.”
I turned my head because I couldn’t help it.
Nella didn’t look at me. Good. I wasn’t sure what my expression was doing, and she’d already banned half of them.
“I want last night’s totals,” Uncle Sal said.
“You’ll get verified numbers after the deposits are separated and matched to card batches,” Nella said. “You won’t get guesses I have to correct later.”
“You think accuracy protects you?”
“I think clean records are harder to lie about.”
Another silence.
