26) See You Later

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Double update. Please vote, chicas y chicos.

;)

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                 “My wealth is deeply routed with a handful of smart decisions that I’ve made,” Fico Vitali barked into his cell phone, pacing back and forth in his office. “If you don’t get all my fücking money for that inventory I gave you, by tonight, I’ll make another one of those smart decisions, and wipe you off the face of this planet!”

                        “Yes, sir,” the man clipped on the other side of the line. “Of course, sir--”

                        “Piacere mi chiami alle sette. Call at seven. Give me results. I want results.” Fico hung up, and then dialed another number. Another man answered. “I heard you're slacking, Tyler. If I find out that you’re getting your dîck sucked instead of making my méth, I’m going to be fücking livid.”

                        “Fico,” a wavering answered. “Sh!t, man. I swear, the batch is almost done, I’m not—“

                       

                        “Almost, is not quick enough for this business. I want the crystal by Tuesday.” Fico let out a humorless laugh. “And so help you god, if your batch isn’t the weight I’m expecting, I won’t be as merciful as I was the last time. Capisci?”

                        Fico hung up and loosened his tie around his neck. He hadn’t been this stressed out in a while. His blood pressure was skyrocketing through the roof, and his office was sweltering hot. The damn heater was all fücked up. Just like him.

                        Fico dialed another number into his phone. “Hello?” a man answered.

                        “Is Samantha in her room?” Fico inquired, in the same unpleasant tone he had all day.

                        “Hold on, Boss. I’ll check.” Fico shut his eyes as he waited, trying to keep his pulse down. “No, sorry. Max says she went to breakfast this morning, and hasn’t been back to her room.”

                        “Is her bed made?”

                        “What?”

                        “Her bed. Is it made?”

                       

                        “No, sir.”

                        “Make her bed,” Fico growled. “And make sure she doesn’t have any butter knives hidden under her pillow from the kitchen. She does that shît.”

                        “Got it, Boss.”

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