* * *
The following day, Rizzo stormed into Cesare’s house once more.
“Promises are meant to be kept,” he asserted.
It was the thirteenth time he had stressed this point, and a furrow deepened between Cesare’s eyebrows.
Observing the mounting tension, the lawyer swiftly intervened.
“He signed the contract, so legally, there’s no backing out.”
“Your most trusted lawyer also confirms this, Rizzo.”
Cesare retorted grimly, and only then did Rizzo’s face light up.
He looked at the decade-long contract with Cesare, his expression a mixture of relief and excitement.
Cesare, irked by his apparent happiness, stood up abruptly and issued a stern directive.
“Time to get the hell out, Rizzo.”
“Mio Dio, you really know how to make an exit request feel like a ‘fuck off’.”
Rizzo jested, his large eyes blinking, seemingly surprised by the sudden dismissal.
But Cesare was not in the mood to entertain his banter.
He gave Rizzo a frosty glare.
“Rizzo.”
