Mauricio — Vinnie And

Slowly, Carmine reached into his jacket. Mauricio flinched. But Carmine only pulled out a thick roll of cash, peeled off nine hundred dollars, and slapped it into Vinnie’s palm.

“You got balls, glasses,” Carmine said. “I’ll give you that.”

Then Vinnie did something unexpected. He smiled. “You know, Carmine, you’re right. Fine print. I respect a man who knows his contracts.” He folded the receipt, put it away, and pulled out a second piece of paper. “That’s why I brought this.”

“That,” Vinnie said, “is a sworn affidavit from the city zoning board. Turns out that warehouse you’ve been renting to the senior center? The one you told them was ‘renovated for safety’? It’s got three code violations—electrical, fire, and structural. The city’s been watching you for months. I’m a retired accountant, Carmine. I audit city contracts for fun now. This copy goes to the Daily News tomorrow morning unless my seven hundred dollars—plus a two-hundred-dollar inconvenience fee—is in my hand in the next sixty seconds.”

Carmine stared at Vinnie. Rocco looked at Joey. Joey shrugged.