Page 9 of The Fighter

“Let’s see if the money materializes,” I say grudgingly. “I still think there’s a scam here somewhere. Maybe I should hire a private investigator to investigate this guy.” Okay, fine. I may have read my mother’s entire collection of Perry Mason novels as a child and developed a huge crush on Paul Drake. “How does one go about doing that, anyway?”

“I can give you a name if you’d like.” Jon regards me with a frown on his face. “Or you could just ask Aguilar about his background before you waste your money.”

“Fine,” I grumble. “You’re right again. I’ll ask him, and I’ll even sign the damn document. But Jon, this is a temporary truce. I’m done with partners who don’t pull their own weight.” Tomas is pulling his own weight by putting two hundred thousand euros into the business and taking a significantly reduced share of the profits, but I’m too annoyed to admit it. “How do I get out of this contract? Is there a way to buy Aguilar out?”

“If you can afford it, yes. You can buy his share anytime in the next two weeks for the same price he paid Groff. After that, the cost rises depending on how long he’s been involved. If you wait a year, you’ll have to pay him one-point-three million, a thirty percent return. Section 2.3.2 has the details.”

That’s insane. The man bought a share in an MMA gym, not a tech stock. This is not a business that makes three hundred thousand euros in a year in profit. Not even close. Even if I have a record year, I’m not going to make enough money to buy him out, not unless a miracle happens.

I thank Jon for his time and get to my feet. I need to buy a lottery ticket tonight. The way things are right now, that’s the only way I’m going to get rid of the insufferable and mysterious Tomas Aguilar.

7

ALINA

Ihalf-expect my contractor to ghost me, but when I get to the gym five minutes before ten, hot and sweaty from my quick run, Marcelo’s already there, standing outside the front door with a cup of coffee in his hand. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get to you,” he apologizes again. “Like I said, my office girl didn’t realize how urgent the problem was.”

“That’s okay.” It’s not, not even a little, but I’m still shocked that Marcelo’s actually here, and I’m half-waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Let me show you what’s wrong.”

I pull up the list I made on my phone about the things that need addressing and walk the contractor through them, one at a time. We finish in the women’s changing room. “All the bathroom taps are leaking,” I tell him. “And there’s a musty smell in the showers. I don’t think the water barrier was properly installed. If there’s mold, then the tiles will need to be ripped out.”

“Mmm.” He removes a chisel from his tool belt and pries one of the tiles loose. What he sees there makes him look acutely unhappy. “Yes, this will need to be redone.”

Crap. It took six weeks for Marcelo’s guy to install the tiles the first time. It was a disaster. They ordered the wrong tile, and then the man doing the tiling looked like he’d never done it before. The second day he was here, he installed six tiles. Yes, six. A blindfolded toddler could have worked faster.

“How long will that take?” I ask warily. “I can’t afford to shut down the gym while this is being fixed.”

He scratches his chin. “You’re closed Tuesdays, yes? I can get a team in here as soon as you close tonight. They’ll work around the clock to fix the tiles and will be done by Wednesday morning when you’re ready to open.”

My mouth falls open. “I’m sorry, what? Are you telling me you can redo the work in thirty-six hours? Because it took six weeks to do it the first time around.”

He has the grace to look discomfited. “I didn’t understand the situation,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “But given the circumstances…”

“What circumstances?”

He scratches his chin. “Well, you know,” he mumbles. “When Signor Aguilar called…”

I stiffen. “What does Tomas Aguilar have to do with this?”

Marcelo looks at me as if I’m an idiot. “I’m not going to get on his bad side, am I? I’m not a fool.”

I’m missing something here. “I’ve tried to get you to fix your mess for months, and you’ve been ignoring every single one of my calls. But when Tomas Aguilar, a guy who looks like a paper cut would ruin his entire day, makes a phone call, you come running. Why? Do you owe him money?”

My contractor crosses himself. “Dios no,” he says fervently. “And I’m going to do my best to keep it that way. Only the desperate borrow from the mafia.”

“The mafia?” I repeat in disbelief. Oh shit. Simon, the gift that keeps on giving, has gotten me involved with the mafia. “Are you telling me that Tomas Aguilar works for the mafia?”

“I’m their bookkeeper,” a man’s voice replies. Tomas. Damn it, I didn’t hear him walk in. He’s wearing another expensive suit today, and he’s carrying a brown cardboard box that he sets down on the counter before nodding to Marcelo. “You have a plan to fix this mess?”

Marcelo bobs his head like a puppet on a string. “I’ll put my best people on it, Signor,” he promises.

Tomas straightens his shoulders. “That’s not good enough,” he replies. He towers over Marcelo, and though his voice stays mild, the threat is clear. “You’re responsible for this job. You’re the person I’ll be calling if Signorina Zuccaro isn’t satisfied. Is that understood?”

The contractor swallows nervously. “I’ll be here myself,” he blurts out. “We won’t leave until you’re happy.”

“Not me,” Tomas corrects. “Signorina Zuccaro.” He gives Marcelo a nod of dismissal, and the contractor falls over his feet as he rushes out. Tomas waits until he’s gone and turns to me. “How was your weekend?”

No, we’re not going to pretend as if that bombshell revelation didn’t happen. “You’re part of the mafia?” I demand through clenched teeth, taking care to keep my voice as low as possible. It’s almost eleven, a slow hour at the gym, but there are still a dozen people here, lifting weights and sparring in the ring. A couple of my regulars, Sara and River, who don’t normally waste their time ogling the guys in the gym, keep shooting Tomas interested glances. So does Sergio Diaz, who’s been a member since the day I opened the doors. “What about the teaching gig at the university?”

---