Dante
“You’re f*****g with me, right?” I run a hand through my still sleep-rumpled hair and stare at the foreman of this section of the warehouse.
“N-no, sir.” His wide face turns red with the effort of either not yelling at me or not pissing himself.
“Fine. Go away,” I spit.
As soon as the foreman disappears, I slam my foot into the nearest crate of goods.
“Goddammit!”
Tony snorts. “I’m glad you’re taking the news that we haven't been robbed well.”
“Am I supposed to be thrilled someone snuck into one of my most secure warehouses just to knock over a couple boxes of s**t and leave?” I demand. “He’s f*****g taunting me, Tone.”
“No s**t, Sherlock.” My caporegime crosses his arms and leans against a high, metal shelf. “But getting pissed like this just gives him exactly what he wants.
