Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I watch as he maneuvers to a college app, and then opens the coursework. I read quickly, figuring out that the assignment has to do with one specific case.
“Can you look up this case?” I ask, pointing at the citation on the screen.
He flicks over to another tab and calls up Westlaw. I watch as he deftly enters the specifics in the search bar and all the literature on that case pops up. We spend a moment skimming through the titles before I select the file I want to see.
“How do you know that’s the one?” he asks.
“I’ve been through enough of these questions to know,” I say.
“So what should I look for?” he wonders.
“Just the one that says full text,” I respond.
He opens the file, and I spend the next fifteen minutes reading through it. He splits his focus between me and the screen, which is a little irritating. Every time I catch him looking at me, I nod back to the computer. Finally, he gives up, apparently losing interest in what we’re supposed to be doing.
“So why didn’t you decide to go into law school?” he asks.
“It just didn’t seem like the right move,” I answer, trying to figure out how to answer the question on his assignment. I’m not putting a lot of effort into the conversation, but I’m not shutting it down either.
“Why not?” He continues. “You said you got a good score.”
“I wanted to be a teacher instead,” I explain.
“No shit,” he exclaims.
“Watch your language,” I scold him.
He gives me a funny look, and I can tell he’s trying to decide whether I’m serious or not. I laugh, proving that curse words don’t bother me that much. What really bothers me isn’t Frankie at all. It’s this mansion, and all the invisible people who work in it. I gaze out the window and see nothing but trees in the background. They have their own little oasis here, and I know it costs a fortune.
“Do you want to take a break?” Frankie asks.
“We’ve barely gotten started,” I object. “Let’s at least finish the assignment.”
“All right,” he says with a gigantic sigh.
I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me. Not only does he have more money than I would ever make in three lifetimes, but he’s easily distracted. If I had to guess, I’d say that he’s never worked a day in his life. No wonder he doesn’t get along with his dad. Whoever the father is, his work ethic is obvious. For someone to have amassed such a great fortune in a single lifetime, he must be driven. I wonder who he is, and what life is like on a daily basis under his roof. With any luck, I’ll be out of here quickly, and I’ll never have to find out. I’m seriously starting to reconsider this side gig, no matter how well it pays.
CHAPTER 4
FRANCISCO
The older I get, the more my job resembles that of a CEO. I’m behind my desk more often than not, talking to people who only bring me problems. I remember the good old days when I was out on the streets. And then I met the girl who stole my heart and made me the happiest man alive by agreeing to marry me.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think about Alessia. Sure, I’ve been with other women since then; I’m not a saint. But late at night and even throughout the day sometimes, when the burden of my position gets to be too much, I think about her.
If she were still alive, who knows. Maybe I would have retired somewhere and let Marcello or Giovanni handle things for me. Lord knows the two of them are chest-deep in the whole mess. I like to keep my inner circle close, and I know the two of them like I know the back of my hand. They’re good men, good, loyal men. I wonder again if I’m making a mistake by being so hands-on with the business.
“Frankie’s tutor is upstairs with him,” Marcello informs me.
“Good,” I say, not really paying attention.
“She’s a looker,” Marcello says.
I shake my head, knowing exactly what my son is up to. He’s hired a pretty girl off the street to be his tutor, knowing that as soon as she sees this mansion, she’ll take her clothes off and hop into his bed.
“I wish he would just pick up a prostitute and drop this whole law school thing,” Marcello says.
“And what would he do then?” I snap. “He doesn’t have the heart for the family business.”
Marcello shifts uncomfortably. He’s walking a tight line, insulting my son. We know each other pretty well, but I can see the calculations running through his mind. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and risk me coming down on him hard. I appreciate the circumspection. Frankie’s my son, and I can complain about him all I want, but no one else is allowed to say anything.