My hostile glare falters upon his words. I quickly recover and point the gun back to the Viper kid's head.
Why didn't Luca tell me? Does he not trust me?
"Who put out this hit?" I demand.
He shrugs. "I don't know. It was anonymous."
I massage my temples with one hand, still holding the gun with the other, and close my eyes.
"W-what are you going to do to me?" He asks me, an anxious and scared tone to his voice.
I snap my eyes open to meet his and clench my jaw, feeling the anger rise in my body. "That depends." I state, lowering the gun, sticking it in a pocket and crossing my arms. "If you cooperate with me and tell me everything you know, you live. If not, well, I get to have my fun with you." I threaten, smirking at my last sentence.
He takes a loud gulp and looks up, although doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact with me. "What do you need to know?" He says, smoother than last time.
I ponder for a few moments, and then I realize something. Luca should be here, no matter how angry I am with him, he should hear this too.
I stick my gun back and pull out my phone, stepping out of the room and locking the door. I walk through the concrete hallway and up into my office in the main warehouse. The office is fairly big, but it has no windows, meaning the lighting is a little grim. Towards the back of the room is my gray wooden desk, with two simple white chairs in front of it and a coordinating white spin chair behind it. A long bookshelf runs across the wall behind my desk, filled with trinkets ranging from family pictures to books on the French Revolution. The floor is a standard dark wood, but a light blue carpet covers most of the surface.
I walk over to my desk, and plop in the spin chair. I have a few pens and a lamp on my desk, but due to the fact that I barely do any work here, I don't really need much more.
Phone still in hand, I angrily jab Luca's contact and the soon phone begins to ring. Surprisingly, I only have to wait a few moments for the phone to signal that it's been picked up.
Not waiting for Luca to start talking, I begin the conversation. "You need to get to the main warehouse. Now." I grit out, the anger becoming even more prevalent.
I hear a chuckle lacking any humor from the other end and suck my teeth in annoyance at his antics. "I don't have to do anything." He finally declares, anger evident in his tone.
I sigh angrily. "Luca, this doesn't concern what I do or do not want, it concerns the fact that I think you should be here for an interrogation regarding the fact that there is a 100 million dollar hit out in your head." I retort, revealing the reason for the call.
The line is silent for a few beats.
"How do you know that?" He finally huffs out.
I roll my eyes even though he can't see me. "Why didn't you tell me?" I retaliate.
"It doesn't concern you." He responds coldly.
Ignoring the unpleasant pang that rushes through my body upon his words, I continue. "Last time I checked the fact that you could be fucking shot dead in the middle of the street is something I should know about."
I hear him scoff over the line. "So? Why do you care if I die?" He challenges.
I'm silent for a moment in shock, because the truth is, I shouldn't. I would have been fucking delighted at this if you had asked me a month ago. I am never scared, in the face of a gun or a machete, I am never scared. But for some reason, the idea of Luca dying makes me feel petrified. But I will never utter those words. Those words are a danger to both mine and Luca's lives.
