Thankfully, plaques were attached to each door, names boldly inscribed on each one.
Mac found the Ronnie he was looking for mid-way down the hallway. The heavier-set gentleman was alone inside his office, from what Mac could see through the window, and didn’t seem to be tied up with a phone call as he was busy sorting papers.
That was going to suck when he had to clean up the mess later.
Mac couldn’t find much remorse for what he was about to do.
Business was business, after all.
Cosa Nostra business was even tougher.
It simply couldn’t wait.
Mac didn’t bother to knock on the office door, but rather, turned the knob and walked right in, depositing his jacket on one of the two chairs meant for clients.
The insurance banker—Ronnie—glanced up, startled, at Mac’s sudden appearance. If Mac had to guess by the wrinkled dress shirt, the messy hair, and the tired gaze, Ronnie had some shit on his mind.
He was about to get more.
“You can’t just barge in here,” the man started to say. “Clients make appointments.”
Mac reached over and twisted the blinds closed on the windows and glass walls—no one could see in now. He locked the door, ensuring no one would walk in during the … meeting.
Turning back to face the man he’d been sent to see, Mac offered a wide-eyed Ronnie a smile. Cold as it was, Mac figured the guy would take this better if he were a little loosened up before the actual warning came about.
Ronnie started to stand from his desk, confusion writing heavily over his features. “Who in the hell are you?”
“I’m not important,” Mac said, rolling up the cuffs of his dress shirt.
Blood was a bitch to get out.
Maybe he’d avoid the few splatters that might occur, if it were possible.
But probably not.
“But Luca,” Mac continued, shrugging like it didn’t make a difference. “Now the boss and his money are a whole other story.”
For the first time since Mac entered Ronnie’s office, he saw the first trickle of genuine fear light up the man’s eyes.
“I-I have his—”
“They all say that,” Mac interrupted, knowing what the man was going to say.
Bullshit excuses.
Another stall tactic.
“Fact is,” Mac said, keeping an eye on Ronnie in case he grabbed for something to attack with, “… you’re two weeks late, according to the boss. And he was nice enough to fund your little project because, apparently, you go way back. Now you’re ducking and dodging Luca like it’s what you do for a living.”
Mac chuckled, waving his hand around at the office.
“Clearly, you work in another business, and you’re not very good at the ducking and dodging game,” Mac finished with another smooth, cold smile.
“Let me call Luca,” the man said quickly. “Please, we’re friends. He’ll understand, I’m sure.”
Mac sighed.
Luca didn’t care who a person was—friend, family, or enemy.
If someone owed him something, they owed him.
“Just let me make this easy,” Mac said. “You’ve only got to bleed, after all. Nobody says you’re going to fucking die from it. Now, if you make it hard on me, that’s going to be a problem, and it’ll probably hurt a lot more. Do us both a favor here, and let me get this over with.”
Ronnie opened his mouth to say something, his gaze darting to the windows, the door, and then to Mac.
Mac knew that look. It was the look of a man trying to find his way out.
Well, he had news for the guy.
“Make a single sound, and I will cut your tongue out,” Mac said quietly. “There is nowhere to run, and very few people left in the building. So unless you want your associates to know how you’ve been doing underground business with a mafia boss, I suggest you let me do what I came here to do.”
Simple, right?
Mac knew it would be—it always was.
Flexing his split, sore knuckles, Mac strolled toward his Challenger, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he slipped inside the car. He hit the number two key on the touchscreen, watching the number light up to call the contact attached to the speed dial.
On the fourth ring, the boss picked up.
“Give me good news,” Luca said.
“Your job should pay out by tomorrow evening, to the account you wanted,” Mac replied.
That was code for: Ronnie is going to pay you the money he owes by the time you want.
Mac had gotten better at talking in vague sentences, or rather, in a sort of code that his boss would understand.
“And?” Luca asked.
“And, what?”
“Is it all well?”
Mac chuckled. “It probably needs to be looked over.”
“Good, good.”
The pleased tone of Luca’s voice made Mac roll his eyes as he started the Challenger up and pulled out onto the quiet road. Luca had some kind of crazy about him—he liked to make people understand their wrongs in owing him anything.
Which meant, he liked for people in his debt to hurt a whole hell of a lot.
“It’s good, boss,” Mac assured.