Page 12 of The Fighter

“Groff said that to you?” I’m clicking through the real numbers. “None of that happened. There was no septic runoff. The city wasn’t involved, and Marcelo has only been paid two thousand euros for the project so far.” No wonder the contractor’s slow-walking the job.

There’s a slowly dawning look of awareness in Alina’s eyes. “Simon was siphoning off money from the business?”

“Yes. And the bookkeeper was in on it.”

She looks like she wants to murder someone. “The fucker,” she swears. “That’s why he dumped all those classes on me. If I was overwhelmed with my teaching load, I wouldn’t have time to figure out why we were losing money. I couldn’t investigate his bullshit stories when I was working over a hundred hours a week.” She clenches her jaw. “What are the real numbers?” she asks through gritted teeth. “How much money did the asshole steal?”

It takes me a minute to find the answer. “Sixty-three thousand euros, give or take.”

“Sixty-three thousand.” She squeezes a stress ball in her fist. “I was seriously thinking of getting rid of the cleaners and scrubbing toilets myself until things got better.” Her gaze snaps to me. “You work for the mafia. Can you find him for me? Because I would like to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze.”

The angrier she is, the harder my cock gets, damn it. “Don’t waste your energy on him,” I advise. If anyone is going to hurt Groff, it’ll be me. “You’re too pretty for prison. What’s the bookkeeper’s name?”

“Why?” she asks suspiciously. “You’re not going to beat her up, are you?”

Damn it, it’s a woman. I don’t like hurting women, even when they’re obviously asking for it. “You already know my thoughts on fighting.”

Her lips twitch. “You hate it because you faint at the sight of blood.” She tilts her head to the side. “No, wait, I have a better theory. It’ll crumple your jacket, and you can’t have that.”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a good tailor these days?” She’s fighting back a smile; trading insults with me has cheered her up. She has a nice smile, Alina. It lights up her entire face. I click through more files in an effort to stop staring at her. This is a mess, and it’s going to take weeks to clean up. I know someone who can do the work, but Luigi never met a woman he didn’t flirt with, and from what I hear, they all seem to like it. The thought of the two of them crammed together in this office…

“Her name is Felicity Fletcher.”

“She’s American?”

“English. She was one of Simon’s expat friends. She didn’t speak any Italian, so he dealt with her mostly, and I was happy to let him.” She makes a face. “I don’t think she liked me very much.”

“Considering she was robbing you blind, her approval is meaningless. Do you have an address for her? A bank account number? Her codice fiscale?”

“No.” She looks uncomfortable. “She wasn’t legal because of Brexit, so Simon paid her in cash.” She slumps in her chair. “I’m not being very helpful, I know.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll find her.” Valentina, our hacker, is a bloodhound. Felicity Fletcher doesn’t stand a chance.

“I need to find a new bookkeeper, don’t I? Not just a bookkeeper, but someone capable of fixing this mess.” She stares despondently at the wall. “Great. Just great. I can’t believe I let Simon dupe me so badly. What a fool I’ve been.”

Her smile is gone again. And maybe that’s why the stupidest words I’ve ever spoken come out of my mouth. “No need,” I say. “I’ll fix your books in my spare time.”

9

ALINA

You’re too pretty for prison.

Men have called me pretty before, but it’s always been because they’re making a move on me. That wasn’t what Tomas was doing. No, his voice had been matter-of-fact. Almost offhand. Tomas called me pretty with as much energy as if he’d said the sun rose in the east.

It’s been four hours since he left, and every time I think about those words, a shiver goes down my spine.

The last time I had sex was two years ago with Simon, and that ended as soon as we went into business together. I’d insisted on it. “It’ll complicate things if we’re sleeping together,” I said. He agreed without protest. At that time, I admired his professionalism, but it quickly became apparent that the only reason he didn’t grumble about it was because it left him free to hit on anyone who walked into our gym. His latest obsession was my friend Rosa, one of our regulars. She’s repeatedly told him she’s not interested, but Simon doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. She’s taken to texting me to ask if he’s around before she shows up. I hate it.

Simon’s gone—Tomas bought him out. You’ll never have to deal with him again.

That thought brings a smile to my face.

Before Simon, there had been another long drought. Being a caregiver to my mother left little energy for anything else. I had a vibrator to take the edge off, and that’s all I needed.

That same vibrator got a lot of use this weekend. I closed my eyes and pictured Tomas’s tattooed hands on my body, squeezing my breasts and asking me if I was going to be good for him, and that was all it took to bring me to several shuddering orgasms.

Gah. It’s never been more obvious to me that humans are animals in the grip of powerful and primal urges. It makes no sense that I’m attracted to Tomas Aguilar—he’s not my type. He’s too polished. Too put together. But yet, for whatever insane reason, I’m drawn to him, and I cannot seem to resist. Crammed together with him in that tiny office, I was powerfully aware of him. Of his every breath, the leather and spice aroma of his soap, his cool steel-gray eyes that saw too much…

---