Carmine stared at Vinnie. Rocco looked at Joey. Joey shrugged.
“No,” Vinnie replied, tucking the money into his shirt pocket. “I got documentation. Balls are for guys who don’t have paper trails.”
Vinnie picked up his revolver, wiped a final smudge off the barrel, and put it back in his coat. “Mauricio, you gotta stop thinking like a victim. In this city, the only thing stronger than a guy with a gun is a guy with a folder.”
Then Vinnie did something unexpected. He smiled. “You know, Carmine, you’re right. Fine print. I respect a man who knows his contracts.” He folded the receipt, put it away, and pulled out a second piece of paper. “That’s why I brought this.”
There was a long pause. Rocco cracked his knuckles. Joey stared at a spot on the wall.
Carmine laughed—a real laugh this time—and gestured for his goons to leave. As the door swung shut, Mauricio collapsed into the folding chair, breathing like he’d run a marathon.
