Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Armando
I sit in the workshop area to stay out of Hannah’s way.
On one wall is a long workbench with shelves above it that have all her materials like vases and baskets and the green foam things that you stick the stems of flowers in.
This is where she puts together her designs.
On the narrow half-wall is her desk, covered in stacks of invoices and old school ledger books dating back thirty years. Mary Alice’s shit.
Hannah moves quickly through the place, arranging things in the cooler, tidying up. Then she turns the open sign around and props the door open.
I start sifting through the invoices and paperwork, making a quick mental tally of the totals as I go.
She’s done three weddings in the last three months—those pay big.
But the rest of the stuff is all small- time bouquets and arrangements.
Looks like deliveries stopped four months ago.
That must’ve been when the van started acting up.
For kicks, I pull down the most recent ledger and open it. I used my time in prison to get a degree in business. I guess I was thinking I’d impress the don when I came out. I haven’t even told him about it yet.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm for much of anything right now, business still interests me.
I open the ledger and look through the receipts and payments.
Arturo had me use an old-fashioned ledger like this to record our car heist income and payouts, so I’m familiar with the layout.
I pull out the next ledger and the next.
The entries I see reflect the strain Hannah’s under.
Mary Alice’s income hadn’t grown in years.
It had only maintained. And her profit margin hadn’t been huge to begin with.
The major expenses were employees and rent.
The flowers and other materials are next.
Hannah walks back and jerks to a stop. “What are you doing?”
I don’t answer—instead I ask, “You paying the same expenses Mary Alice paid?”
She steps closer, her body rigid. “More or less. The rent went up by two hundred when I took over, and I also have to make monthly payments to Mary Alice for the business.”
“How much?”
“Fifteen hundred.”
I give a low whistle.
“What?” There’s a mountain of defensiveness in her voice.
I shouldn’t push, but I want to dig into this. Figure out what went wrong. “You run the numbers first before you entered that deal?”
She goes a little pale. “What do you mean?” When she pushes her hair over her shoulder, I see her hand shaking. She may be perfectly capable of handling me—a legit killer who’s taken her prisoner—but she’s over her head when it comes to running her business, and she knows it.
I catch her trembling fingers and hold them. “Ah, I just mean, I can see why you’re hurting. There wasn’t much wiggle room to begin with.”
She stares down at our joined hands like they’re foreign objects. Christ, she looks like she’s going to pass out. She pulls out of my grasp to hold onto the edge of the desk and blinks rapidly.
“Hey—don’t freak out. It’s workable. It just means you can’t do the same thing Mary Alice did and expect to make any money. You gotta make changes.”
She leans heavily on the desk, like her legs aren’t holding her up. I want to pull her into my lap and tell her everything’s gonna be okay, but I’m not her hero. And I’m too cynical to believe it’s gonna work out unless she changes strategy.
“What changes?”
I stand up and fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t know. You gotta drum up new business. Make new connections. Work new angles. You’re paying Mary Alice for her good will—the steady business she had—but you might be overpaying. And that business has dwindled.”
Hannah’s eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them back. Someone walks in, and she hurries out to the shop floor, throwing a death glare at me over her shoulder when she arrives.
I keep an eye on her. She’s within earshot, so I could hear if she asked the customer to help her and see if she tried to slip them a note or something.
Honestly, I don’t expect her to try anything, but I’d be stupid to blindly trust. No one does that, especially not when it comes to a beautiful woman.
Hannah rings up a cheap bouquet for the woman, sending me another angry glance over her shoulder.
I crack my neck. Why do I feel like such a dick?
I was only honest, and I was trying to help.
Still, I don’t like seeing her pissed. Same as last night—when I left her tied up—something uncomfortable slithers in my gut.
Feelings.
Fuck.
Do I even want to feel again?
Maybe life is fucking easier when you’re numb and can’t make yourself give a shit about anything.
I should stay and keep a close eye on Hannah, but I’m itchy to solve my own shit and end this fucked-up situation with her, so I pull out my phone and walk to the back of the shop to call Luis, a guy I used to know.
He owns a pawnshop and is happy to move things off the books, too.
He’s a fence of all things big and small.
He’s connected with most everything underground in Chicago—including the gangs.
He picks up with a “Hey.”
“Hey, it’s Armando, from the Pachino Family. Been a while.”
“Armando. You out?”
“Yeah, just got out.”
“Whatcha got for me?”
“Nah, nothing. I’m staying legit, but I wondered if you could help me with some information.”
He pauses. I know nothing in this world comes free. There will be a price for anything I get from Luis. “What info?”
“There’s a hit on me. Wondered if you’d heard about it?”
“Nah, I don’t know anything about that. Who do you think it is?”
“I’m guessing the Hermanos. I had a run-in with one of their members on the inside. Could you find out if I’m right?”
“Yeah, I’ll ask around. This your new number?”
“For the time being.”
“‘Kay. Be in touch.”
I hang up and open the back door to the alley, feeling restless.
Something got me thinking this morning that it might not be the Hermanos at all.
Seems like they’d do a drive-by with a bunch of guys and automatic weapons.
That was more their style. Sending a single guy to plug me on the corner screams hired hit.
And why would they hire a hit when they’re all perfectly capable of killing me themselves?
Only two reasons you hire a hit: you aren’t a killer yourself, or you don’t want it known you’re responsible. And when I say don’t want it known, I don’t mean proven. I’m not talking about cops knowing. I mean known on the street.
Say Don Pachino puts a hit out on someone. He’s sending a message. He wants everyone on the street to know he’s responsible for it. I would think the same goes for the Hermanos. The message would be don’t fuck with our guys in prison or on the outside .
So a hired mercenary coming after me seems strange.
I don’t like it. And it gets me thinking maybe I have more to worry about than I thought.
And now I’m getting fucking paranoid.
Like thinking I shouldn’t have ordered from Gio’s last night. People know me there. The owner would know my name. And I used a debit card, which means now they have me connected to Hannah’s address. So I might’ve ruined my plan of laying low at her place.
It’s the reason I took her van to a random mechanic this morning.
I know mechanics. Guys who would give me a great deal on it or even do the work for free.
But there is no way I’m gonna link Hannah and her business to my name.
She’s already in this shit deep enough. If something happened to her because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
I watch her at her workbench, putting together new arrangements. She’s talented. And in over her head.
I want to help her.
It’s the first thing I’ve been clear on—apart from wanting to fuck her—since I got out. First thing that’s generated even a spark of interest.
Too bad me getting involved with her business is the worst idea. If I really did care about her business, I’d stay way the hell away.