“Wow!”
“Which means I probably have no chance.” I paint another section of Gina’s hair.
“Don’t say that. You deserve that kind of salary. You’re worth it.”
“I’m thinking about filing bankruptcy to clear my medical bills,” I confide because I honestly cannot pin my hopes on this job. Bankruptcy won’t help with the back pay for the apartment or the salon, but if I could get out from under the medical debt, I could breathe a little.
“Don’t tell Arissa that,” Ondrea warns. “She’s already freaking out because you’re behind on rent here.” Arissa is the salon owner. I’ll admit that paying her took a slightly lower priority to paying the rent on my apartment, but I’d like to think she knows I’m good for it. I mean, I’m here every day, working my ass off. She knows I’m trying.
“I’m going to pay it just as soon as I get my landlord paid off,” I say, in case Ondrea repeats this conversation to Arissa.
“I have two words for you,” Gina says, and I roll my eyes because I know what’s coming. “Sugar. Daddy.”
* * *
Bobby
“Mr. Manghini?” Greta, my secretary, calls me at the construction site.
“What is it?” She knows I don’t like to be bothered when I’m in the field, so the fact that she’s calling means something else has gone wrong.
“There’s an IRS auditor here. He’s demanding to review all your bookkeeping.”
Fanculo.
I grit my teeth. “Did you ask for identification?”
“Yes. He seems legit.” Greta has worked for me for sixteen years. She’s in the Family–the older sister of one of our soldiers–and therefore someone I trust. Not that I ever let her become a party to anything. She’s innocent, yet in the know, generally-speaking, which makes her an ideal employee as far as I’m concerned.
“Okay. Show him whatever he wants to see.”
“Are you sure?”
My books are tight. I may launder Family money through the business, but the paper trail is impeccable. They won’t find anything.
“I’m sure. Nothing to worry about at all.”
“Totally sure?”
“Greta, I appreciate your concern, but there’s nothing to be worried about. It’s fine.”
“All right. I will let him see the accounting.”
I end the call and dial the don. Even though it’s not going to be a problem, he wouldn’t like me keeping him in the dark about anything that involves the government sniffing around our affairs.
“Bobby. You’re interrupting my golf game,” he says when he picks up.
“Then I won’t keep you. Just wanted to let you know I have an IRS auditor demanding to see my books. Nothing to worry about.”
Al’s silent for a moment. Long enough to make me sweat his reaction. “Okay. Keep me posted.”
“Yeah. Will do.” I end the call and shove the phone in my pocket.
Cristo.
I sure as fuck hope things are as clean as I believe because if I bring anything down on the LaTorre family, prison time will be the least of my worries.
* * *