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Mouse Trap
Dante
“You’re fucking 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 shit and leave?” I demand. “He’s fucking taunting me, Tone.”
“No shit, 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.”
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