With gritted teeth and slanted eyes directed at Brad, Vincenzo sent the account number Nick called for him to his accountant, and the amount used to reserve their seat for the twenty-four hours was instantly transferred to it. Nick nodded at Brad. "Seen, boss." Nick had barely finished his sentence when Vincenzo turned to Brad, his voice dripping with unbridled malice, "There you have it!" He seethed, "Your refund. Leave now." Brad took his sweet time, smoothing his palm on the tablecloth as he rose to his feet, his eyes trained on Vincenzo's. With his lips stretched in a smug smile, he said to him, "Have a nice trip, Vincenzo." And with that, Brad strutted out of the restaurant with Nick in tow, leaving an enraged Vincenzo to clench and unclench his fist around the notepad he was holding. His eyes bore holes in Brad's back as he sauntered toward the door. He wondered who he was. The manner with which he spoke, the unrestrained confidence and arrogance he exuded. He might be rel
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