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Marco agreed but didn’t seem to be concerned. I guess, to him, Lorenzo was a nonentity seeing as his days were numbered.
“You ready to head home?” Frankie asked as he tapped away on his phone.
“Yeah. I’m all patriotismed out.”
“Tommy, clean up the floor, then meet me back at the warehouse.” Marco handed Tommy a card and ushered me to the elevator.
Frankie trailed behind us but didn’t get in with us. “I have a pickup to make, so I’m going to stay here and take Tommy.”
“You expecting a problem?” Marco held the door.
“No, but I figured it would be a good idea to get the kid’s feet wet.”
“Okay, then I’ll see you later.”
Frankie lifted his chin and then went back to the couch, leaving the twenty-year-old kid to clean up Lorenzo’s blood from the carpet. As the doors closed, Tommy stared at the red puddle with his brow furrowed and his hands on his hips. Hopefully, he had someone to call and get supplies from because with the way Frankie was kicked back on the couch, I knew he wasn’t going to be any help.
“Poor kid,” Marco muttered.
“Imagine Frankie being your mentor.”
We shared a smile, blessedly cruising to the lobby with no stops.
