“Alright.”
“Alright, you’ll take the money?”
I didn’t want his money, but I could tell this was one of those instances where Wolfe would not back down for any reason. “Alright.”
“Good girl.” He grabbed his phone and started to type again.
I finished preparing dinner, put the salad and bread on the table, and then served the hot plates next.
“Fuck yeah.” He pocketed his phone, grabbed his fork, and started with his salad. The animosity was gone, like it’d never been there in the first place. “How was your day, baby?”
No man had ever called me baby like that, and he did it so well. Pulled it off effortlessly. I sat across from him andstarted with my salad. “Busy. With the new business and the winery and everything else…it’s just a lot. Can never catch up.”
“Yeah, your father is hell-bent on expansion.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“He wants to make sure his grip on the arms business is ironclad before shit hits the fan.”
“My father is young enough that he has the ambition to take over the world, but he’s also a middle-aged man who’s already seen the best years of his life. He’s smack in the middle, and sometimes I think he’s ambitious but also in some kind of mid-life crisis.”
He regarded me as he chewed his food. “That’s not the impression I get.”
“What’s your impression?”
“That he’s a man who wants power and money and respect, like all men. It has nothing to do with age. You know how good it feels to buy a twenty-million-euro place in cash and see the real estate agent’s eyes pop out of his head? I think he’s just a normal guy like me or anyone else.”
“You are not normal.”
“Yeah, maybe that wasn’t a good example.” He smirked then kept eating.
I took a few bites of the ravioli, something I picked up from the market. Fresh made that day, just had to boil it for three minutes and it was done. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything—you know that.” He continued to eat like a hungry bear, arms on the table.
“You don’t seem like a guy who works for someone else.”
He took another bite and continued to eat.
I waited for him to respond.
He swallowed his food. “I’m waiting for the question.”
“Why don’t you do your own thing? Have people working for you? You just seem more like a leader than a follower.”
“I’ve been asked that question a lot by a lot of different people. And the simple answer is, it’s harder to see the details around you when you’re driving the car. But when you’re the passenger, all the details come into focus in much sharper quality. It allows me to do my job well. And when everyone is coming for the don’s throat, it allows me to come for theirs first. In some ways, I do think I’m the one in charge, but the don doesn’t want to admit that—especially to himself. I’venever been good at diplomacy or negotiation or even friendship, so I’m a much better pit bull that never gets put on a leash. Besides, there’s not much adrenaline in bossing people around and running a business and all that. Sounds like a fucking snooze fest. Tell me to kill someone who crosses the line. Tell me to torture someone for information. Tell me to break someone’s neck for showing disrespect. That’s the kind of shit I’m into.”
“So you like violence for the sake of violence.”
“Not how I would describe it. I would say I like to play the game. I like to be in the field. Let me put it this way. There are cops who are on the street arresting bad people and putting them in jail, and their bosses are the ones in their fancy corner offices signing paperwork all day long and getting fat. I don’t want to sit at a desk and get fat. I want to get my hands dirty—every single day.”
That was a better explanation than his previous one.
“Any other questions?” he asked as he continued to eat.
“Not related to work…but something more personal.”
“Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you.”
