VINCENZO VOLKOV;
“What the hell is this?” I slammed the files onto the table, my voice dripping with anger. Nothing irritates me more than lazy workers riding on the back of my hard work.
“Boss… that’s the sales report from last month,” he stammered, and I couldn’t help but smirk coldly.
“Last month’s sales?” I leaned in, my tone rising. “Are you telling me we only sold ten thousand cartons of wine?” I half-shouted, grabbing something nearby and tossing it at him. I didn’t care what it was, not when this was the mess I had to deal with.
“I’m sorry, Boss… please forgive me!” the pathetic excuse for a manager pleaded, trembling as he spoke. His whining only fueled my anger, making my blood boil.
“You think 'sorry' is going to fix this?” I growled, flipping through the files, my eyes nar
