Page 27 of The Viper

“The figures aren’t matching.”

He narrows his eyes at me and sits forward, now invested in the conversation. “What do you mean?”

“The income figures that are being emailed to me are lower than normal, and what we’re depositing matches the lower figures. But our expenses are up.”

“Is someone stealing?” I look at him. “From us?” Adrian snorts and shakes his head. “Dumb fucks.”

“That’s why I’m here. I need to see where the problem is.” I bring up the liquor inventory and print it. “Grab that off the printer and give it to Tony or Marco. Have them go down into the cellar and count it.”

Adrian pushes up off the chair and walks over to the printer. He takes the sheets of paper off the printer and looks at them. “This looks right.”

“It does, but like I said, things aren’t matching up. I need it checked.”

“I’ll do it.” He walks toward the door and stops. “I’ll deal with the fucker stealing from us.”

Adrian’s temper is quick, but in this case, whoever’s stealing from the business needs to be taught a lesson. No one steals from the Saccos, and whoever does will need to become an example of what happens when fingers become sticky.

I continue with what I’m doing while Adrian is down in the cellar undertaking an inventory. I pull my phone out of my pocket and slide it on the table beside the computer. Marco bursts through the door and says, “It’s Rose.”

I turn and look to him. “What is it?”

“There’s a fire at her apartment building.”

I jump to my feet, swipe my phone and run out of the office. Marco is clearing the way making sure nothing stops us. Frank is waiting in the car by the time we’re out of Heaven. “Is she okay?” I dial her number and bring the phone up to my ear, waiting for her to answer, but she doesn’t. “Is she okay?” I repeat.

“I don’t know,” Marco replies.

My heart sits in my throat the entire way to her apartment.

Chapter seven

Rose

The bashing on the door rouses me from a heavy sleep. Instantly, I notice the hazy, thick smoke spreading through the apartment. My coughing is violent and immediate as I sit up in bed.

“Shit,” I groan as I spring to my feet. Completely woken from my slumber, I realize the intensity of what’s happening. I search through my apartment for what’s caught on fire, but everything appears normal. The pain in my chest hits me hard as I grasp the fact that the fire isn’t inside my apartment, but elsewhere in the building.

I look around to grab whatever I can of value, but my coughing is making it harder and harder to breathe. My eyes are watering from the intense smoke billowing into my apartment, and the air is impossibly thick to breathe through.

There’s more thumping on the door and someone bellows from the other side. “Help!” I call, but every breath I take in is filled with smoke. My coughing and spluttering increases, but I have to find a way to get out.

My head is thumping and I’m becoming weaker by the second. I drag my body toward the door, and finally grab onto the handle. In my declining state I find myself without strength to open it. “Help,” I attempt to call again. Black dots dance merrily in my vision as I lose the fight to breathe. I attempt several short, shallow breaths and claw at the door to open it.

My eyes slowly close and my feeble body loses the ability to even call out.

“Rosa!”

My arm feels like lead as I try to lift it. My voice is a meek and coarse whisper as I call out, “Here.”

“Rosa!”

“Here,” I try once again.

“Fuck!” Is he here? Or am I dreaming it? Is this what death feels like? Someone scoops me up and carries me out of my apartment. The weightless feeling is surreal, yet comforting. “Hospital, now!”

“Where am I?” I try to say as I flutter my eyes open.

“Shhh.” He strokes my hair while cradling me in his arms, close to his chest. “I’ve got you.”

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