Allan rolled his stiff neck. The owners of Casa Italiano, the Torino family, had found out that the other shareholders had sold to him and were now putting up roadblocks to keep him from completely taking over. They held forty percent and after that afternoon’s sale, he held sixty. That was great if he intended on keeping them on, but he didn’t. He wanted all of it.
A week of their ignorance, that’s all he had needed to buy their debt from the bank. But someone had alerted them and they now—somehow—had gotten two months’ extension on their loan. That meant accumulating additional interest at a higher interest rate and more money for him to shell out if they faulted.
Mr. Torino wanted to meet in Venice in two days’ time. Allan didn’t respond because he had no intention to. He had less int
