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Shit
I immediately stand up and straighten my pants. “I suppose we’ll have to continue this conversation later.” I nod to him. He relaxes in the chair and says lazily;
“I hope not. You seem exhausting.” He gives another one of those smiles I know has hidden under it, every dark intent possible.
“You have no idea.” I turn and make my move out of the store. It’ll be hard to get him here again. Knowing him, he’s going to more than just randomize his routine, but I must make it to his and his archives of the family that killed my father.
Chapter three
Off Limit
Ferro's Encounter
As I watch her leave the restaurant, I can't help to think to myself, what a beautiful woman this is. A fine specimen of the female human species, one might say. Sexy. Tall…smart. But I don’t want to see her again. No one would bring me into the life I have left behind for nearly a decade. Not even the smart beauty. I shake my head and chuckle to myself when I realize that I have been staring at her rear the entire time, watching them jiggle deliciously in the stretchy office pants they wore.
The problem with encounters like this is the fact that it just makes me thirsty. I head back to the office when my detail gives me the go-ahead, noting that there are no threats on the road that we should be too concerned about save for one of the men that were armed. He was taken down when the lawyer and I were in conversation.
In the office, I’m given the same respect as I would have given Giuseppe’s father before his unfortunate demise by my hands, which should explain why I hate it so much. I nod to the head of the security department and give one of the guys with him a crass snare when he bows a little lower than usual.
“Permit him, Sir. He’s new here.” Harry pleads on his behalf before proceeding to scold the uninformed young man in a whisper. “We don’t do that here!”
I enter my office and crash on the chair in front of my computer, which is already running, and the files are still where I left them. The entire paperwork is arranged, and the files that I have already used are cleared into an orderly pile in case I need to revisit them later. There's nothing I'd be able to accomplish if it weren't for Hannah, really.
“You’re more of a paramedic than a secretary, you know that?” I appraise her as she enters with a file, probably from another department.
“You give me more credit than I’m worth.” She blushes.
"It's because I don't pay you enough. I have to compensate." I wink and collect the file from her. We both know that's not true, though. I have the highest pay percentage in the entire Los Angeles, with each of my staff in every department earning at least fifteen percent more than every other organization in the city. It explains why they're so motivated and they respect me more. Motivation is an important part of getting people to do things. The mafia taught me that enough. People in the mafia are motivated by fear and the hope of a better life when eventually, all that awaits you is death. In the civilian world, all you have to do is a little extra motivation, like an extra percentage on salary, with an abundance of praise for whatever work you do. The thought of not having those extras and praises is enough to get them working. I once gave a talk on how I might have to reduce the wages as our sales and requests for services were dipping. The impact this made on work productivity was awesome. They definitely didn’t want to see this God-sent of a company fall, and it benefitted the growth of the company enough to enable me to start the next branch of the conglomerates.
“Have you had your break?” I ask. She shakes her head. That’s another thing I don’t tolerate. It makes me feel like a slave driver to see my staff overwork themselves.
"Before you chew me off, that’s exactly what I was going to do after getting you this document from HR." she laughs and leaves my office.
By nightfall, I was in the opposite part of the fabulous city of LA, in the most exquisite of nightlife, looking for the next fix to help me forget the body of the lawyer I had no idea could affect me so much. It's an easy guess as to how easily an Italian stallion with a Bugatti Chiron would land an escort for the night.
It took one week for me to finally admit that I'd probably starve off the taste of other food if I didn't go to eat at La Belle Langues. When I do, staidly enough, I see her in the same spot she has always been in for the past three months, just waiting. I face-palm myself at the conversation we are going to have. The same sequence of events happens, but this time, she lets me eat my meal in peace and leaves the restaurant before starting after me.
Again, I feel enchanted by that smart, perky walk from such a seductive body shape. She is young, which explains her enthusiasm to prove that she can change a lot more than she actually can.
"Mr. Russo." She calls me as though I'd disappear any second from now if she doesn't stop me.
“Mrs…" I cue her to remind me of her name.
“Angela.” She says with the same enthusiasm as the last time. “MissAngela Braun.”
Beneath her smile, though, and her seemingly polite gestures, I sense something. Anger, maybe hate.
This investigation she’s conducting is beyond an organization or just a fuel of her passion. It’s personal.
Oh, well. Let the banters begin.
Chapter four
The Offer
Angela
"You have no idea what you're doing by refusing my offer to divulge secrets of the mafia. You should consider yourself lucky that I picked you." My facade dissolves, and I just want to get on with it. I'd have to be on the road in the next fifteen minutes if there's going to be any hope of me catching a taxi to Burbank if I’m ever going to be able to make it in time for the legal activities my actual day job offers.
