Chapter 40

Dante

Iwalk into his workplace with a smile on my face.

Terrance Vaughn appears up at me from his desk. A little bit of frustration crosses his eyes, nevertheless it shortly disappears as soon as he sees my grin. He doesn’t say a phrase. No salutations or pleasantries. I can’t actually blame him, although.

He is aware of he’s about to die.

“Good night, Mr. Vaughn.” I keep on my toes, ignoring the chair on the different aspect of his desk. Intimidation 101. At all times keep standing.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat. “Good night,” he says. He lowers his pen to cover the shaking in his fingers.

I stare him down. What a pathetic man. Center-aged. Extra grey than brown in what’s left of his hair. He let himself go years in the past. The world will most likely keep in mind him for what he was, however they’ll recover from his loss of life shortly.

“Are you aware who I’m?” I ask.

He’s undecided how you can reply. He might not know my title, however he positive as shit is aware of who I’m. “Sure,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“My title is Dante Hart. I work for Antony Zappia.”

He presses his fingertips into his desk. “I simply want a bit extra—”

“You’ve run out of time, Mr. Vaughn,” I interrupt. “I’m not a debt collector. I’m the one Mr. Zappia sends in when the cash doesn’t matter anymore, and he requires one thing… private as a substitute.”

He lowers his head. “Please… don’t kill me…”

I let my eyes wander his workplace. I’ve heard this half loads earlier than. All of them do it. Each one in all them tries to motive with me or enchantment to my humanity.

“I’m begging you, Mr. Hart.”

I like them for the try, I actually do, however they’d be higher off reaching for a weapon as a substitute. They’ve better odds making an attempt to kill me first than of me letting them stroll.

“I’ll provide you with something.”

I take a look at the bookshelf behind him. He’s not huge into fiction. Books on enterprise and ballet and music line the cabinets with no actual order or system from what I can inform. It annoys me, maybe greater than it ought to, however that additionally means I’ll get a bit pleasure from killing him. Greater than normal, that’s.

A lonely picture sits on the center shelf, about eye-level with him if he had been to gaze over his shoulder. A woman, younger, with lengthy hair tied again in a decent bun on the highest of her head. Petite and match. She wears a skin-tight, dark-colored leotard and pink ballet footwear with one pointed foot raised excessive towards a beam. Sleek, elegant.

Acquainted.

I sit down on the sting of his desk and level on the body. “Is that your daughter, Mr. Vaughn?”

He glances again. “Sure, sir.”

“Could I?”

His eyes shake with confusion, however he reaches again and grabs the body. I take it from him and maintain it nearer to my face to absorb the finer particulars of her. Inexperienced eyes. Brunette hair. Not a single wrinkle in her crème-colored pores and skin. Athletic, however not overly muscular. Poised to perfection.

I lick my lips. “How outdated is your daughter, Mr. Vaughn?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Does she dance in your firm?”

“Sure.”

“Is she right here tonight?”

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