CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: WINTER
He wants a fucking rat then that's what I'm going to give him.
I angrily sling my tray onto the bar and Dave jumps. "Jesus, fuck, I swear every time I look at you your pissed," he mutters, shaking his head. "I would appreciate it if you refrained from nearly breaking my bar." He runs his hand along the sleek wood of the bar.
My lips press into a thin line. "Sorry," I mutter, the apology sounding half assed even to me. Dave raises a brow but doesn't say anything else before he's moving away from me. I place my order pad on the counter next to it and roll my ankles slightly, trying to relieve the uncomfortable pressure in them.
Turning around, I lean my elbows on the bar and relax slightly as I look around the club for Enzo. When my eyes meet his across the club, I hold up my hand and put up two fingers before jerking my finger at the door leading to the backroom. It's become our way of communicating when I'm going on my break. One finger signals a bathroom break. And if I don't show back up in a certain amount of time from either one of them, Enzo comes looking for me.
It could be worse.
He could still insist on standing outside of the stall as I use the bathroom. I raise my hands above my head, stretching. The tension in my shoulders shift slightly but I know what I really need is a nap. I've been pouring myself into the job, no into both jobs. I've been waitressing my ass off while also keeping an eye on all the employees.
I'm going to find his fucking rat and then he's going to let me go.
I survey the club, taking in all the patrons and once again I have the thought that Giovanni could have selected someone else for this job. He claimed he chose me because of a time crunch, but I have the distinct feeling that if he would have put Vito on this, the rat would have already been found. I've seen how quickly the man works when Giovanni gives him an assignment.
Twisting my lips to the side, I push the thought to the back of my mind. It isn't going to help me get the job done, so there's no point in concentrating on it.
I move to the back room, easing past a couple of the other waitresses on my way. Stepping into the back hall, I let the cool air rush over my body. So many crowded bodies in one room always leaves the club feeling like a furnace even though I know that the air is set to a low temp, even in winter.
I make my way to the bathroom and quickly relieve myself. Usually, I spend most of my breaks in the breakroom, rehydrating, but I decide to change my routine for the night. I roam down the hallway, pausing when I find Todd's office door cracked.
An eerie feeling enters my gut and I suck in a deep breath, staring at the thick wooden door for a moment.
I'll tell you this, you need to look a little further up the chain than a waitress.
Amarie's words ring through my head and my mouth goes dry. Did she mean Todd?
It's been on my mind to ask Amarie for more information since she clearly knows something but I have a feeling I won't get anything further out of her, so I haven't even bothered. But I've been replaying our conversation over and over again in my head, trying to decipher what her words meant.
Further up the chain than a waitress.
I place my hand on the door, but I don't push it in, still on the fence.
You can just take a little look around if Todd isn't inside and if he is inside then you can pretend you needed to ask him a question.
I've never seen Todd working with his door open, so I already have a sneaking suspicion he isn't inside. And he wouldn't leave the door open if there was anything worth finding, would he?
You'll likely come up with nothing.
I push the door open.
Like I thought, Todd isn't inside and I take a step inside the room, my shoulders tense. I gently close the door behind me, keeping my steps light despite being alone.
Where to start?
I look around the office but the only thing of real interest is his desk. If it doesn't hold anything interesting, I'll move onto the file cabinets next.
I move over to his desk, placing my hand on the handle to the top drawer. I try to pull it open but it doesn't budge and I let out a curse, noticing the small keyhole on the top of the handle.
Fuck, of course this couldn't be easy.
I give it another pull, placing my free hand on top of the desk. I let out a yelp when my hand slides against the papers on the desk and I nearly go falling face first. Papers fall to the ground.
Shit, now I'm making a mess.
I hastily get to my knees, picking the papers up. I pause when numbers scrawled in black ink catches my attention. Turning the paper around, I stare at the row of numbers, my brows pulling together. It's a balance sheet, I realize. I haven't dealt with many of them before, but something about this one seems to be off. There's way too much additional math written in the side of the margins and a bunch of the numbers inside the boxes have been scratched out, a new number appearing above it.