Boisterous laughter infiltrated the seams and hinges of the dark cherry door. Ace turned the chrome doorknob then walked into the dim office. Inside, he found Gian-Paolo Accai whispering into the attentive ear of their boss. Ace cleared his throat, alerting them of his presence. The men broke out of their secretive huddle.
“Pull up a chair,” his boss, Alfie, said. His stark red hair was providing the most color in the otherwise sedate interior.
Ace did as he was told, casually draping one knee over the other.
“Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour.” Paul stood to Alfie’s right. He had an unforgettable voice—deep and mysterious. When Ace had first met Paul, the other had joked that his parents had thought he’d make a great addition to their family church choir’s tenor section. His association with men like Alfeo ‘Alfie’ Graziano and Antonio ‘Ace’ Salvai put an end to that hope because the three men had been blazing a straight path to Hell for years.
“What’s going on?” Ace asked. Alfie had been on a mental vacation, so to speak, for a while. “It’s real good to see you, boss.”
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