𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨:
⸻ 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴!
❝𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗨𝗧
𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗬 𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟❞
❝ She looks at you like you're her saviour. ❞
❝ Even though I'm a sinner? ❞
❝ You...
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CHAPTER SEVEN │ WILLING TO CO-OPERATE
VITTORIO CASTIGLIONE
There was a rebar sticking out one of the support columns that still held the entire abandoned construction site together. It won’t take long for the entire building to collapse.
Tarps covered unused supplies while the others walled off dangerous area of the site. We were currently behind one of the tarps, with a table filled with screwdrivers, hammers and much more resting on top of it.
The wind rustled the tarp and I caught a glimpse of the weather outside. The wind was blowing harshly, sending the trees swaying back and forth.
There were dark clouds gathering in the sky, and it won’t be long until more rain falls upon us. The breeze was cool against my skin but it helped a lot when a droplet of sweat ran down my forehead.
“What do you mean the money is just gone?” I ask the man in front of me, wiping my bloodied black leathered glove with a paper towel when I turned around to look at him.
The entire site smelled like dirt, dust and every once in a while I caught a whiff of chemicals and paint in the air. That is if the stench of the man’s body odour in front of me didn’t overpower my nostrils.
He was one of my most trusted me, but right now I didn’t trust him one bit.
He sobs in front of me, trying to get himself free from the binds around his hands but when he realises that the binds won’t budge because I tightened it around his hands a couple of times, he gives up and sobs again. “I-I’m telling the truth.” He says through sobs, tears and snot running down his face as he sobbed. “I hid the money inside my house but i-it isn’t there anymore, Boss!”
“Bullshit.” I spit, crouching down to come face to face with him. “The money can’t just vanish into thin air. So, it’s either you stole it from me, or you’re covering for someone. Which one is it, huh?”
He sobs again but he gets cut off mid-sob when I throw a punch straight to his jaw, sending his face flying sideways from the force of my fist against his jaw. My knuckles crack against his bone, but I was too angry to care about that right now.
Blood runs from his mouth and drips to the tarps covering the floor below. You would head the occasional drip, drip, drip as it falls on the tarp. It almost sounded like rain against a tin roof. It was equally just as damn annoying.
“You have exactly one minute to tell me where my money is,” I pause, twisting my arm to look at my watch wrapped around my wrist, “fifty-eight seconds left so you better start talking soon.”
I rise myself from my crouching position, walking over to the table where the tools were laying and grabbed a knife. I run my finger over the blade, hearing him sob behind me even harder, if that was possible.
