Chapter 4 （Not） A Date
Chapter four
(Not) A Date
Armando popped his head predictably into the Santino’s office not ten seconds after the keyboard crashed against the far wall. Shattered fragments of supposedly durable plastic and circuitry decorated the floor barely an arm’s length from the doorway.
Santino ignored his head of security while the older man studied the mess, still fuming.
He wanted to upend his entire desk just to release a portion of the anger coursing through him.
No. He wanted to put his fist through Osamu Matsunaga’s face, repeatedly.
He wanted to personally beat on the man he’d never met until whatever teeth Matsunaga had left were dotting the floor at his feet.
But if he indulged before Reiko clarified what all her father had and had not put her through, Santino was sure to find himself lacking a satisfying target later.
Osamu deserved his fury, of that, Santino had no doubt.
Just for the pain he’d heard in Reiko’s gentle voice.
But he needed to know the full story, the full scope, before he meted out any long-overdue, blood-soaked justice.
“Boss,” Armando said, calling his attention outward. “Everything okay?”
Santino grunted. “Just get that fucking cleaned up.” What on earth had compelled him to come into the office that morning? If he were home, he could at least take advantage of his personal gym and the punching bag he kept affixed to the basement ceiling.
Maybe he’d see about talking some fool into meeting him at the family’s boxing ring later. There was always somebody willing to take a few free swings at the boss, especially with the right bribe on the table.
Armando mumbled something into his attached radio before addressing Santino again. “Does this”—he motioned to the destroyed keyboard—“have anything to do with why you’ve kept that guy waiting?”
Santino scoffed. Max was well and dealt with, but he’d chosen to wait to deal with the employee who had twice complained about Reiko.
Of course, he couldn’t let that shit go outright.
Especially not once he’d found digital correspondence that verified the bastard’s involvement in her fate.
All of which he kept to himself when he asked, “How long has he been sitting out there?”
“Little over half an hour.”
Santino flicked a glance at the timestamp on his phone and nodded.
There was an undeniable part of him that would prefer to leave the poor excuse of a man sitting alone in a dark, damp room for at least a day.
Really fuck with his head. But he was too busy.
And he had a date to be getting ready for soon.
He leaned back in his chair as another of his men slipped in, broom and dustpan in hand, and set to work cleaning up the keyboard mess. “Send the fucker in, then. And get me a new keyboard. Something sturdier.”
Armando nodded sharply and backed out of the office, leaving the door open.
Moments later, Santino’s assistant ushered Reiko’s former colleague into the office.
Then both she and his other man disappeared, the office again pristine, closing the door behind the hateful worm with a soundless movement.
Santino said nothing as he stared across the desk at his employee of six years, whom he’d never personally met.
Charles was one of the last employees his grandfather had hired during their tenure of shared control, but Santino didn’t blame his senior.
There were some things that didn’t show up on applications.
Charles shifted his weight uncomfortably, unable to maintain eye-contact, and pulled at the collar of his wrinkled work shirt. “Ah, good morning, Mr. Guerra…”
Santino folded his hands together over his lap. “Come and sit down, Chuck. We have a couple of things to discuss.”
The other man blinked at him for a split-second, then hurried to do as he’d been instructed. He dropped into one of the chairs facing Santino’s desk and cleared his throat. “I, um, I actually prefer Charles.”
Santino let a humorless smile lift the edges of his lips. “Are you the kind of person who respects other people’s personal boundaries, then?”
“What?” Charles straightened. “Of course, sir! I-I would never—”
“Belittle your colleagues?” Santino interrupted, slipping into a practiced, lethal, faux-neutral. “Spew racial slurs? Harass someone who worked in the same position as you for the egregious offenses of being female and younger than you?”
Charles’ eyes widened and a flash of horror crossed his face before indignation settled in.
“Never!” Sweat broke out on his brow. “I swear, Mr. Guerra, I would never do anything like that. It doesn’t matter to me what sort of person works in the cubicles next to mine, as long as they do their share of the work, you know? ”
Santino hummed low. “See, now I know you’re lying to me, Chuck.” He pushed to his feet and walked slowly around his desk until he could prop himself up directly in front of his garbage employee. “I don’t like liars.”
Charles swallowed hard, the blotchy peach color on his face going pale before flushing urgently red with visible rage. He shot to his feet, as if to stand over Santino’s partially reclined form, and raised a curled fist. “It was that stupid Jank, wasn’t it?”
He might have attempted to say more, but Santino saw red.
Santino moved without thinking, his body responding on instinct to the slur that had spewed from the mouth of the scum in front of him.
His first punch sent the shorter male stumbling back and his second dropped Charles to his knees.
Then he stopped counting the swings. When Charles sank too low for easy punching, Santino delivered a few hard, gratifying kicks before following him down and sinking a knee into Charles’ abdomen.
He whaled on the bastard wherever he could reach, knuckles slipping in blood and digging into flesh as bone shattered beneath the weight of his blows.
It was the sound of a gurgled, strained groan of pain that finally seeped into Santino’s consciousness. He paused, blinked away the haze of his bloodlust, and stood upright.
Shit. It was always problematic when he lost his temper at the office.
Charles was on his back, his chosen office chair knocked askew. His face was fairly well pulverized, one eye swollen shut already, and blood bubbled out the side of his mouth. He was wheezing in the way that indicated notable internal damage and the white of his open eye had already turned red.
Santino sighed and took a single step back before dropping into a crouch at his employee-turned-victim’s shoulder.
There was blood on his polished shoes, to say nothing for his suit, and his knuckles had split.
“Now, see, I have a zero-tolerance policy for that racist shit, Chuck. I really wish you’d been straight with me so maybe we could have worked something out like professionals, instead of making it come to this.
” That was a lie. It had been rather therapeutic beating the life out of this trash.
He flexed his messed-up hand. “Well, if I’m being honest, I just wish you weren’t a scumbag.
But I guess that’s a non-issue now.” He reached out and patted Charles’ shoulder as if they’d merely had an amiable chat.
Charles made a wet, gasping, groaning sound and his chest heaved harshly. His open eye promptly rolled up in his head. But from the continued labored breathing, he seemed to only be unconscious.
Santino stood again and snatched his cell off the desk, simultaneously working to carefully slip off his ruined loafers.
Armando answered on the first ring. “Yes, Boss?”
“I made a mess in my office again.” An unpleasant odor wafted into the air and Santino crinkled his nose, his throat threatening to close.
“Send in the cleanup crew, immediately. Also, bring the car around. I need to shower and change.” He still had a date to get ready for and it wouldn’t do to greet her while covered in some bastard’s blood.
The subtlest of sighs preceded Armando’s response, and if he were anyone else, Santino would have handed him his ass for it. But Armando had been stuck with him most of his life, so Santino let it slide. “Of course, Boss. What about your meeting?”
“Reschedule it,” Santino said. “In fact, have Irene rearrange my entire day. I’ve made other plans. And make sure she knows not to come in here. Just tell her the usual.” He disconnected without waiting for Armando’s response, scooped up his shoes, and slipped into the adjoining private room.
Positioned off the far wall of his office, it was perfect for off-the-record meetings, phone calls, and the occasional nap.
Anything at all that he didn’t want interrupted.
And since the completion of the very hush-hush renovation several years earlier, it had become an excellent option for sneaky escapes.
Plus, he always felt a little like Batman when he pressed the hidden button and watched the opposite wall slide apart.
It was a boyish sort of glee, but it never failed.
As he stepped into the secret elevator that would take him straight down to the parking garage and his waiting escort, Santino couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever get to share these secrets with Reiko.
She would be the first woman he brought into his private inner office.
This is insane.
Reiko stood in front of her most hated mirror, trying to see herself objectively.
A woman looked back at her as if afraid to meet her gaze.
Her brown eyes were hooded with a permanent combination of exhaustion and shame.
Makeup lightened the circles that usually emphasized the former.
Her dark, naturally straight hair was pulled back into a bun and the inevitably too-short strands that popped free had been carefully curled.
The curled bits took a small portion of the edge off the crisp professional look … she hoped.
Did she?