Chapter 2—Bobby
“Shut up.”
“Didn’t say anything, boss,” Marco says with a stone-cold face I can see in the rearview mirror from the back seat of the town car.
“Your mannerisms are talking.”
“Sorry, sir. I’ll try to stop those.” He doesn’t smile, but I’ve known Marco long enough to know he’s laughing at me. No one else would know, and no one else would dare laugh at me, but we’ve been together for far too long to not have developed a friendship of sorts.
If I had friends, he would be my closest. But I don’t have time for friendship, or any relationship for that matter. I have an empire to run, the legit side to Vinny’s Mafia side. Second-born or not in the Leone family, I still have my fair share of the famiglia to run. We all do. All four of us.
Vinny heads it, as he’s the oldest and natural leader.
I run the numbers, and most things those numbers control.
I’ve got more determination than the others to work long into the night over the data.
Danny, the third in line, covers security.
Always was the protective type, even before he took over the role.
And Tommy, the youngest, recently became the face that anyone can go to with an issue.
He’s the in-between man, what some might see as the bottom rung, with access to the top guy.
Milly, our sister and Tommy’s twin, would also be in the family business, probably running it, if it weren’t for her desire to just spend time with her man and kid down in Kansas.
She’s already had enough issues, and the last thing she needs is our regular family drama, not to mention the drama that comes with running the famiglia and being in charge of the East Coast.
I don’t mind doing my part. I actually prefer to live in suits most days, work at the office more hours than I spend at home, and handle things from a single phone call or email.
But on days like today? Days where I was actually planning on spending time at home and relaxing?
Well, relaxing for me. I had a session booked with my martial arts instructor.
I had to cancel twice already because of my busy schedule, and now this.
Someone’s going to pay for this inconvenience. Even if it’s one I created for myself.
I got so wrapped up in cleaning up our last famiglia mess—finding a mole and going over everyone’s application to make sure we wouldn’t do it again—that I forgot that I fired my assistant last week, another one, and I left my work laptop at the office.
I have a few other computers at the house I could use, but this one has access to files meant for Leone Holdings only. Unlike the others.
I never said my relaxing day wasn’t just going to be me working from home after my workout session.
I find work to be therapeutic when I want it to be.
Besides, I run a very large corporation, so a day of not checking emails can lead to three weeks of being behind schedule.
Something I refuse to do. If I had a damn assistant, they would have reminded me to pack my laptop last night.
But I didn’t. Because, like the last two before this one, they thought they could have a life beyond my work.
One where they could show up when they wanted and not show at all if they needed a “mental health” day.
What does that even mean? You wake up cranky, so you take the day off so you don’t have to deal with getting your shit together and making a living?
I don’t understand some of these young people.
I get needing breaks to avoid burnout, but the man was only with me two days.
Two days and decided a mental health break was needed.
I’m not that bad to work for, right?
Depends on who you ask.
Doesn’t matter. I’m here at the office on a Saturday.
And since I’m here, Marco is too. As my second, he goes where I go.
Also, Danny made sure he knows that he’s meant to jump in front of any danger that could be bestowed upon me.
That includes the dangers of driving in the city or even opening my own damn door.
Marco knows I can take care of myself, and so does Danny.
Neither care, though, and I just deal with it.
We park in front of the building and make our way inside. I might expect the place to be empty, but that doesn’t mean I leave it unguarded.
“Jimmy.” I nod at the man standing behind the desk.
He checks in everyone on the weekends, even the cleaning staff, with a written sign-in and sign-out sheet to log names and the locations they’ll go to.
We have a badge system as well, but since very few people come in at all on the weekends, I prefer the hand log.
I get it every Monday morning as part of my briefing to see who was here and who wasn’t.
Micromanaging? Maybe. But I run the company and can do whatever the fuck I want.
I sign my name and Marco’s, noting the cleaning people and one other name on the list above mine: Willow Frazzer, floor seven.
The name rings a bell, but nothing stands out.
There are hundreds of people who work here; I can’t possibly know them all.
Still, someone here on a Saturday, especially on a lower floor reserved for grunt work that doesn’t usually require weekend hours, warrants an extra stop.
If someone is trying something in my building, it wouldn’t be the first time they started on a lower level to work their way up.
The badges only grant them access to their floor and the common floors. Nowhere else, unless access is changed.
We approach the elevators, and without a second thought, I hit the button for floor seven.
Marco doesn’t question it. He’s not paid to question me, and he knows it.
I only answer to Vinny and Mama. Occasionally, my other brothers chime in when something falls within their area of expertise.
Everyone else either works for the famiglia or isn’t someone I care to talk to.
My reasons are my own, and no explanation is needed.
The doors open a few moments later, and I step out onto the floor.
It’s an open plan with a few offices on the back wall.
The rest of the room is divided into rows of cubicles with walls that only go halfway up.
Enough to keep you from matching eyes with the person in front of you, but not high enough for me to miss the woman sitting at one desk.
The floor is carpeted, and while we don’t hide our presence, our movements are stealthy from years of practice.
She doesn’t look up when I approach from behind, and I have time to look her over, letting recognition snap into place. And something else I don’t bother naming.
One of the new hires I made a few months back.
Part-time, I think. I don’t recall anything notable about her, but if she was confirmed to the position, I must have liked her well enough.
Her frame is slender, and despite it being the weekend, she’s dressed as if it’s a Monday morning.
Including the heels kicked under her desk, her legs crossed at the ankle below her chair.
I clear my throat. Once is enough. Not enough to startle, but to alert her I’m here. Her head tilts to the side as if she’s looking at me in her periphery, but her fingers continue to type away.
“One second,” she murmurs in a soft voice.
I glance at Marco and see a twitch on his lip. He knows better than most that I haven’t had many people tell me to wait before.
“Yes, how can I….” She turns with a smile only for it to die quickly on her face when she sees me. She casts me a look up and down, not sparing Marco a glance before standing and placing her smile back on her face. The ease with which she reacts and then adjusts so quickly is intriguing.
“Mr. Leone, nice to see you again.”
“You as well, Mrs. Frazzer.”
“Ms.,” she corrects me politely with an easy smile. I try to ignore the way her foot searches behind her for her shoe under the desk.
I don’t need to be told things twice. One reason I’m in charge of this side of the Leone family is that I remember things.
Constantly. Minor details that others overlook, I focus on and recall.
It makes for some insomniac nights, but I’ve never lost millions in a deal because of it. Saved us a few, though.
“What brings you in on a Saturday?” I ask. I don’t see a need to be coy when it involves my company.
“Just finishing a few things I wasn’t able to complete this week that Mr. Folly needs first thing Monday.”
“We don’t allow weekend work.” I speak in an authoritative tone, but I let a polite smile slip onto my face.
Mama made it clear on day one that weekends were meant for time with the family, that it was unacceptable for a boss to demand that a person work on the weekends if they gave them a full five days of their week.
Something I implemented into this business.
Obviously, there are certain sectors to which it doesn’t apply.
Like Marco’s job. But his pay is five times that of my top executives here for a reason.
Also, if I gave him the day off, he’d just hang out with me as it is.
We both like to work. For him, that’s watching over me.
“Oh, Mr. Folly explained the no-overtime policy clearly. I understand, and I’m not expecting any reimbursement or anything. I made the mistake of stating the file would be done Friday, and since it wasn’t, I understand I needed to correct that.”
“No-overtime policy?” I ask.
She nods quickly, mistaking my repeating her words as confirmation that she understood and not that they’re foreign to me. That policy shouldn’t exist.
I glance at Marco and see his jaw tick. He might not work in the building as an office employee, but he knows all the policies and what everyone does here. He could probably run the business if given the opportunity, or if he wanted to.
“Remind me again, Ms. Frazzer, what is your job title here?”