Oh f**k. I guess this is the plummeting toward my death part of my roller coaster morning.
“What do you want, Mr. Vitalo?” I cross my arms over my chest, not at all fond of the faint trembling in my hands. I’ve dealt with bullies like him all my life, I tell myself. This isn’t exactly new territory.
Except, it kind of is.
He remains silent, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes revealing nothing. But they don’t have to; I already sense that things are about to get very bad. I decide to provoke him the best way I know how—with words—to see if he will unravel. And maybe, just maybe, I could talk my way out of whatever he’s got in store for me.
“Since you can’t, or won’t, tell me what you want, Mr. Vitalo, I’ll hazard a guess,” I begin, keeping my voice steady. “Your wife—whom you love and cheri
