Page 1 of Corrupted By the Capo

ONE

Molly

“Giveme everything you have if you don’t want to get hurt.”

I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes at the sound of the faux-aggressive voice.

This—this—was why I would always miss Hope working here.

If she were here, she would have told me what a terrible idea it was to volunteer to close the shelter up alone. And if I was being my usual self and stubbornly insisted it was fine, she would have stayed after with me and kept an eagle eye on our surroundings. Meaning this asshole wouldn’t have gotten the drop on me.

But Hope was long gone, retired from the life of a vet tech. Her entire world had changed. From her basement studio to happily married to the love of her life and in vet school.

Which left me alone in this alley, dealing with this prick who sounded like he practiced being a tough guy in the mirror.

As if to underscore how alone I was, a gust of warm wind blew through the alley. It carried the scent of exhaust fumes,fried food, and a faint whiff of garbage. The streetlight buzzed and flickered, sending down pulses of yellow-white light.

It was fucking comedy. So cliché I could have laughed if I wasn’t so irritated.

I sighed, not concerned but thoroughly unimpressed as I turned to face the source of the voice.

A quick glance: nice shoes, expensive pants that were terribly tailored, off-white polo two sizes too small, probably to show off huge arms inflated by some less than legal substances.

Not your standard-looking mugger, especially with clearly manicured nails, an expensive haircut, and the gold chain and the crucifix hanging around his thick neck.

If I squinted the right way, he might have been handsome if he’d eased up on the human growth hormone.

I met his dark gaze. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything,” I said.

I hoped I didn’t sound as bored as I felt, and I added a little sniffle at the end to try to throw him off.

“I know you have something on you or in there,” he said, gesturing toward the shelter, his voice cracking before he dropped it an octave and took the threat level from TV mugger to a middle schooler on Halloween.

I exhaled, but not with fear. No, it was pure annoyance at the utter stupidity of this entire encounter.

I worked at an animal shelter in an almost bad neighborhood. What could I possibly have? Diamonds?

I reached into the pocket of my cozy black denim overalls and pulled out the two crumpled dollar bills I kept there for just this occasion.

“This is all I have,” I said.

The man took the money, and I was glad he didn’t accidentally brush my fingers as he did. Something about this man made my skin crawl, and I didn’t want to touch him.

“Two fucking bucks?”

I bit my tongue to keep my temper in check.

Failed.

“This is an alley outside of an animal shelter, dickhead, not a bank. And before you ask, no, we don’t have any drugs here, either,” I snapped.

The man narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly.

And with that, something shifted in the air. For the first time, I felt it. Something like actual danger. I was still flabbergasted.

I mean what kind of degenerate robbed an animal shelter?

“I’m sure you have something,” he said, looking me up and down.

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