"You're late!"

"Sorry, Dr. Pina," Rae stammered, throwing her bag over her chair. "I was donating—"

He lifted his hand. "I don't care. If it happens again—"

"It won't." Her promise rang around the quiet office and Dr. Pina narrowed his eyes.

"It had better not."

He dropped his threat and slunk off to his office. A few minutes later, Tetris music floated out into the lobby. Rae let out her shaky breath and powered up her computer. Her knee bounced under her desk like she had downed four espressos. Being late wasn't part of the plan. Nor was losing her job.

Rae took a deep breath, training her eyes on her computer screen and trying to block out the low-grade anxiety coursing through her veins. Mistakes happen. Unfortunately, that acknowledgement did little to stop her knees from bouncing. Failure. She shivered.

Silence lingered in the office; on Fridays, the company who shared the workspace took off. While JPG investments technically remained open, Rae held down the fort most weeks by herself. The one day she was late, Dr. Pina hovered like a vulture.

Rae pulled up Dr. Pina's calendar and, sure enough, nothing scheduled. Strange.

"Rae!" Dr. Pina's angry voice burst from his office.

Rae smoothed out her skirt before heading into his office. When she stepped in, Dr. Pina held a used coffee cup in his hands. Rae tried to keep the confusion off her face.

"Why is this here?"

"A coffee cup?"

Dr. Pina nodded, arching a skeptical brow. "What is this doing in my office?"

"Is it not yours?"

Dr. Pina scoffed and tossed the cup into the trash. "Of course not. I came in today and found this cup in my trash can. It isn't mine." He lifted his eyebrows like a mother chastising a child with his hand in the cookie jar.

Rae glanced around. "Are you suggesting custodial used your trash can?"

Dr. Pina frowned. "I'm suggesting that someone earlier today used my office and left evidence. Would you happen to know who that is?" The eyebrows went up again. He pointed at her.

Rae pointed at herself. "I don't drink coffee. I also...have my own desk."

"I didn't accuse you. I just wanted to know if you had any ideas."

Rae shook her head. "No idea, sir."

He nodded and spun back to his computer—a blank Excel spreadsheet covered the screen as the tell-tale tune of Tetris hummed on another tab.

Rae escaped and slid back behind her desk. Her knee stopped bouncing, but now her skin crawled. She glanced at Dr. Pina's office door. What was he up to?

&&&

Dominic glared at Jimmy. The man groveled at the feet of Senior Rossi, avoiding eye contact and falling on his knees before him. Pathetic. Dominic's father sat in a large leather office chair, watching them with an unreadable gaze. Rossi kicked Jimmy off his feet, and the man retreated to where Dominic stood calmly, arms clasped in front of him.

"What are you saying, Father?"

Rossi leaned forward with the severity of an old man but the power of a youth. His eyes darkened. "You. Screwed. Up."

Dominic clenched his teeth as Jimmy dissolved into tears and pleas. "We got the bags. One of them broke as we left. Five out of six—"

A short laugh echoed around the room. The lamps flickered. "Five out of six. That's failure." Rossi tilted his head. "You know what we do to failures?"

Jimmy nearly passed out, throwing his face to the ground. Dominic paused. Yes, he knew what his father did to failures. He staked them to the top of his penthouse on a sunny day. His father would generous toss those who managed to survive onto the streets with a silver dagger in one hand and fifty dollars in the other.

"I know you know." Rossi smirked and gestured to Jimmy. "Does he?"

Dominic sighed. Jimmy knew the punishment for failure when he snatched the blood bag from Dominic's bag and sucked it down. Redness still marked Jimmy's neck from where Dominic had dragged him through the streets back to his father's place. Idiot.

"Dominic, tell me what happened. There's no reason for you to suffer for this man's sins."

Dominic's body tensed as he felt the truth rise in him like bile. Rossi smiled as he watched his son convulse against his compulsion. Dominic clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms until he felt the skin split and blood drizzle the floor below.

Rossi leaned back. "You're getting better. Tell me."

The truth rose steadily to his lips, but so did his hatred, burning just below the surface. "This idiot drank the produce before we turned it in." He worked his jaw, furious at his own weakness—his helplessness. Once the words left his lips, he felt control return to his limbs.

Jimmy spluttered, melting into the floor in despair. "He's lying."

"He can't." He chuckled. "Nor can you. Did you drink the produce?"

Immediately, Jimmy burst with an affirmation. Then, he vomited and passed out. Rossi's nose twitched. He glanced at a guard next to him, who grabbed Jimmy's unconscious body and hauled him through a side door.

Rossi didn't even look at his son. "You may go."

Dominic nodded before slipping out. He passed the guards lining the long hallway to his father's office. He staggered out the front door before turning and slamming his fist into the brick building. His knuckles split, but his bones chipped off a piece of the brick, raining it down on the pavement below.

A few pedestrians cast wary glances but scurried away. Dominic looked up, closed his eyes, and took a long, deep breath. In a few seconds, his hand had healed. He glanced to the street, where a nondescript black car stood at the curb with an older gentleman holding the door open.

"Take me home, Frank."

The man nodded as Dominic slid into the car. Dominic shook his head before gazing out the window and pulling out his phone. He dialed Crockett. "Meet me at the house. Bring him with you."