Page 99

The screen lights up. It’s Morti. I stare at the name longer than necessary. Fuck.

I answer.

“Rio,” Morti says, voice tight, already pitched wrong. “Have you seen Alessio?”

I lean back in my chair, gaze drifting to the club below, now empty. “No.”

He exhales hard. “He was coming to see you last night. I can’t reach him today.”

I keep my tone even. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

There’s a pause on the line. “What do you mean?”

“He had some bad news,” I say. “Last I heard, or saw, he left the country.”

Another pause. Longer now.

“What happened?” Morti presses.

“He ordered a taxi and went to the airport. I assumed the rest.”

Morti swears under his breath. “Fucking hell. He owes me money. A lot of money.”

I let the silence stretch just enough to let his frustration peak.

“How much?” I ask.

“Seven grand,” Morti says. “At least.”

I nod, even though he can’t see it. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll give it to you,” I say. “I owe him for the work he did in the club. That was his money. If you worked for him, it’s only fair you get paid from it.”

Morti hesitates. I can hear the calculation shifting in his head, suspicion warring with relief.

“That… yeah,” he says slowly. “That makes sense.”

“It does,” I agree. “When you get here, talk to Sol. I’ll tell him now.”

Another pause. Shorter this time.

“Thanks, Rio,” Morti says. “Really.”

I end the call without ceremony and set the cell down on my desk.

The office feels quiet again, but it’s a different quiet now. Productive. Clean.

I pick up my cell and dial Sol.

He answers on the second ring. “Rio.”

“Morti’s coming in,” I say. “Have seven thousand ready.”

“Cash?”

“Yes.”