Page 34 of Ruthless Saint

Also,DanteSantoro smells like Italian merda1.’

“I don’t think Italian shit smells any different from American,” he deadpans. “Curiously enough, you seem to be fond of the smell too, since you keep sniffing my jacket.”

I huff. “I don’t,” I mutter. “I was just trying to figure out what it smells of.”

“Let me guess,Italian shit.”

I turn in my chair, facing him, annoyed that he’s trying to spoil my fun. “Is there anything I can helpyouwith?”

I’m met with a cold stare. “Well,Stevie, since you’re my assistant, you could do your actual job and assist me.” He straightens, towering over me. I have to crane my neck up to speak to him.

“Sure thing,boss man. What can I do for you?”

“You can start by using my name.”

“I like ‘boss man’ better at the moment. Makes me want to throttle you just a bit less.” I cover my mouth with my hand, my eyes wide as I realise I’ve spoken that out loud. You see? This is what a day in solitude spent trying to entertain yourself does to a human.

His jaw ticks as he takes a breath and closes his eyes. I comfort myself with the knowledge that the annoyance he feels for me is mutual and that if he hasn’t drawn his gun to shoot me yet, he might let my comment slide.

“Just—Go get me something to eat.” He shakes his head then turns back to his door.

I clear my throat.

“What?” he asks without turning around.

I’m in a good mood. Probably because he hasn’t killed me yet, so it comes to me as no surprise that my brain decides to ride the endorphins in style, like a turtle rides a dolphin. “What’s the magic word?”

His shoulders tense. “You’re on thin ice, Stevie.” When I don’t reply, his fists clench by his side. “Go get me something to eat.Please,” he says through clenched teeth. See? That wasn’t too hard.

“No problem. Anything in particular?”

“I don’t care. Get something for yourself, and just get the same fucking thing for me.Please.”

He puts his hand on the door, then stops and pulls a money clip out of his pocket, throwing it onto my desk without turning around, then stomps into his office.

I look down at the silver money clip that’s so thick with one hundred-dollar bills there has to be a few thousand in it, at least. Who even carries that much cash on them? I pick it up, the clip heavy in my hand, and put it in the inside pocket of Dante’s suit jacket before making my way out of the casino.

Now that I’m no longer busy being petty and learning to code just so I can make a silly little program where I insult my boss, I finally feel the hunger. In fact, when I see the time and realise all I’ve had all day was a slice of toast with peanut butter for breakfast, I’m positively ravenous. I rush outside and run down the street to the only place that won’tmake me feel like I’m a fish out of water pretending to be a seagull. Even if the fish is dressed head to toe in Prada.

I pass all the expensive-looking restaurants and walk into a bar, the smell of spicy wings making my mouth water.

“Can I have two portions of wings and cheesy fries to go, please?” I ask the bartender, my stomach already lamenting the wait we’ll have to endure before eating.

“Any sauce with that?” he asks as he types the order into the till.

I grin. “Tell them to put ketchup all over one of the orders, and not to hold back. If they think there’s too much ketchup, they probably need to add some more,” I say. “And just a bit of ketchup on the side on the other order.”

When he rattles off the amount to pay without blinking an eye at my request, I know I’ve found ‘my’ people. I take the money clip, pulling a hundred-dollar bill out and handing it to him when my eye catches something on the side.

I stare at the cursive engraving. My eyes blinking, unable to process what I’m looking at. When the guy behind the bar tries to hand me my change, I tell him to keep it as I flip the money clip around. One side is clear, but when I turn it around, the other has me all confused. Blackwood. The name engraved, a perfect twin to the engraving onmypocket watch. It’s larger, but the font is exactly the same, down to the flourishes. Then there are the two curved lines on the side I thought were just scratches on my pocket watch, but can’t be, since Dante’s money clip has them in the exact same place. To anyone, they’d look like scratches since the lines are much thinner, almost looking like a mistake. But it would have to be one hell of a coincidence.

I’ve heard of jewellers leaving a signature mark on the pieces they create. Could this be one of those? And if that’s the case, I could find whoever engraved it and see if theyremember who bought the pocket watch I have. Maybe they have records of it. It could have been my father or mother. My heart flutters at the thought that I’m just a bit closer to finding my family.

I barely register when the bartender hands me the food or the older looking man who bumps into me as I walk back to the casino.

“Rosa?” he gasps.

I just shake my head and continue until I’m back inside, standing in front of Dante’s office door, with the money clip still in his jacket. I put my food on my desk, then knock on his door.

---