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 ...